Your Inaccessible Light

When I wake up the next morning, my body feels heavy and my lips are sore from having chewed on them so much. It is a stupid habit I have when I get nervous. Ronnie is sound asleep next to me and I try to play back the previous night’s events one by one. Of course, my brain has other ideas and without warning I am inundated with not just recollections of last night’s chillingly familiar events, but also the bad thoughts and anguishing memories to go with them. I shudder as I try to make sense of the thoughts. I soon discover that the thought which is eating me up most is the striking resemblance between Ronnie and my brother; their posture and their mannerisms and their attitude. I haven’t known Ronnie for long at all, but already he and I sustain a similar sort of relationship to the one my brother and I shared. I can’t tell you the amount of times Austin went out and got completely wasted then relied on me to bail him out. I always did of course but not without giving him a lecture the next morning. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long though. After all, intoxicated Austin was a completely different person from my Austin. Intoxicated Austin was a jerk and didn’t give a shit about my feelings. My Austin was sweet and kind-hearted and did anything and everything he could to make everyone else happy. Sometimes I think that the only person he didn’t make happy was himself.
Maybe that’s the reason I am the way I am. Each and every day of Austin’s life, all he ever did was strive to be what other people wanted him to. He excelled academically because that’s what our parents wanted him to do. He always behaved in class because that’s what his teachers wanted him to do. He spent every night after school writing essays for other people to claim as their own, because that’s what the popular kids wanted him to do. When he finished school, he started hanging out with the wrong crowd because that’s what they wanted him to do. He started taking drugs because that’s what his ‘best friend’ encouraged him to do. I can only think of one time he ever did what he wanted to do and that is a time I will never speak of again, even though it haunts me on a daily basis.
I snap back to the present moment when I feel Ronnie shift beside me. I take in his dishevelled appearance that I have already fallen for just as hard as I’ve fallen for his charm and his wit and his sparkling personality. “How are you feeling?” I ask him.

“I’ve been worse,” he murmurs, hauling himself into a sitting position, “I don’t remember a thing though.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I snap.

“I sense an edge of bitterness in your voice,” he smirks.

“That was intended.” Ronnie stares at me blankly for a few seconds, but his face falls when he realises I am not messing around.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, shuffling so he’s sat next to me with his legs hanging over the side of the bed.

“You’re not very nice when you’re like that,” I tell him.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, wrapping a tattooed arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him.

“What did I do?”

“You turned up here late last night shouting the odds. You probably scared poor Amber to death. You went mental when I flushed away a bag of cocaine. How can I forget? You also called me a bitch and said, and I quote, ‘you’re lucky you’re a chick; otherwise I swear to god I’d hit you right now.’” I don’t trust myself to tell him the rest without blushing bright red. There is no way I am risking him finding out about whatever feelings I have for him.

“Shit. Oh my god Noelle, I’m so sorry,” he exhales, and I can see genuine shame in his eyes, just like I used to see in Austin’s. “I swear I’ll make it up to you. I know I’m an ass but fuck.”

“Ronnie it’s fine,” I tell him honestly. I can’t stay mad at him the same way I couldn’t stay mad at Austin. Like I said before, the intoxicated version of a person is not the same as the real person.

“It’s not sweetie, I fucked up.”

“You were drunk and high; I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I promise I didn’t mean any of that. I really like you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

Ronnie heads off soon after to meet the guys and I feel a lot better. I can’t deny I’m not still a bit hurt, but I know he didn’t mean it. He tells me to go to the same place as I did two weeks ago once I have met with Harlee and Amber, as that is where they play a fortnightly gig apparently. I am apprehensive about spending another night with Ronnie and his friends thanks to what happened last time, but I feel slightly more reassured having seen how apologetic Ronnie was after last night. With any luck he’ll think twice before getting completely wasted.

Having spent the day writing an essay on the most boring topic known to man, I am thankful when it is finally time to get ready for the evening. I put on a floral bralet with a black skirt and then slip into my tattered pair of Vans that used to belong to my brother. I can’t stand wearing heels unless absolutely necessary. Then I shove a few essentials into a bag and grab a set of headphones before leaving my room.