Freaks and Fortune
34
It wasn't as if I'd suddenly began to like Cal. God, no.
He still annoyed me just as much as he had when I'd met him two months ago. We got in just as many fights. But there was an element to the relationship that hadn't been there before. There was a sort of ache somewhere in my chest when I wasn't with him, which was definitely new. And, when I was with him, there was this feeling stretching from the soles of my feet up into my eye sockets... contentment.
And that contentment was so pure and powerful, I just couldn't tear myself away from it. Cal and I saw each other in secret. Savannah and Aqua knew, but they pretended not to notice, for our sakes. Because the truth was, if anybody saw Cal and I together and just so happened to mention it to Mr. Piccadilly... We would be out of jobs so fast we wouldn't even have time to pack.
We met in the darkness of abandoned booths for brief minutes and stole kisses from each other. Empty cabins became my destination during all my breaks where Cal and I could talk and be close without interruption. Well, as little interruption as possible -- seeing as we weren't the only ones with these kinds of ideas. We were constantly running into Ravi and Anthony. Great minds think alike, I suppose.
And that's not to say that all of this secret business didn't go on without rules. Not my rules, no. Not the circus's rules, either. Calvin Orion's rules. And Cal's rules were not fun.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder.
"I'm picking daisies," I snorted. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm holding your hand, idiot!"
"In public?" he asked weakly.
We were at breakfast, sitting in the mess tent. I rolled my eyes and smashed my fork into the last bite of a syrup-drenched pancake on my plate. I had no intention of picking it up and eating it. I was repeatedly slicing rivets into it with the prongs on my fork and pretending it was Cal's head.
"Yes," I sniffed. "You big wuss, and in broad daylight, too. Nobody can see."
"I know, but..." He wiggled his fingers under the table. "I'm also not wearing my gloves."
"Cal-"
"You know the rules, babe."
He wormed his hand from mine and got up from the table, tossing his paper cup of orange juice in the trash without drinking any of it.
Cal's rules were as follows:
1. Gloves on. Always.
2. If gloves are not on, no touching.
3. If gloves are not on and touching occurs, pain or burning must be recognized.
4. Pain or burning must be recognized out loud.
5. "Out loud" does not mean "out loud in my head."
6. No public displays of affection.
7. Using names such as "Calvy Walvy" and "Fire Bear" in the presence of others counts as public displays of affection.
Needless to say, it made the relationship difficult.
And that little ache in my chest turned to a tiny spark. And the tiny spark caught. It quickly became very annoying to have to follow Cal's rules. He was using them as a defense mechanism for himself. No matter how many times he denied it, he was still afraid of getting close to me. Because getting close to me meant that it was a distinct possibility that he could hurt me. Or worse, I could hurt him.
It wasn't as if Cal hadn't gone through enough abandonment in his lifetime. His mother's death, the whole ordeal with his father... None of it bode well. And he was only backing himself further into the corner.
His need to feel the world without the shelter of his gloves had prompted him to kiss me. But, now that he could kiss me whenever he wanted, he found the possibilities frightening. It was too open. Sensory overload.
It was a lose-lose situation. And come two weeks later, on the fourth of July, I discovered that I just couldn't take it any more.
"It's childish," he groaned, pulling a pillow over his head.
"What?" I cried, in mock offense.
"Fireworks, hot dogs," he muttered. "I'm just not in the mood."
"Calvin Orion is not in the mood for explosions and greasy meat?"
"Har, har," he said dryly. "No. I'm not."
And then I did something I knew he would hate. I walked over to the hook the held up the front end of his hammock, and untied the knot that attached the netting to the wall. Cal's hammock came crashing down to the floor, and Cal came with it.
"Umph!" he uttered, hitting the ground. "Ivy!"
"Let's go see the fireworks!" I squealed, grabbing his hand and jumping up and down. The Circus always put on a fantastic display of fireworks.
"Ivy, I told you-"
"Fireworks! Fireworks!"
"Will you-"
"Fi-ur-works! Fi-ur-works! Fi-ur-works!" I chanted.
"It doesn't even sound like a word anymore. I don't want-"
I stood up on my tip toes and pecked him solidly on the cheek. His eyes slid closed involuntarily and he sighed. I traced the sharp angle of his collarbone and pressed my lips to his chin.
"Let's go see some fireworks," he said, grinning in defeat.
"Yes!"
Ten minutes later, he was smiling.
His face turned red, gold, and then blue in the light of the fireworks. I could see the explosions reflected in his teeth.
I had never seen Cal smile like that.
I leaned my head on his shoulder. He tensed.
"Ivy-"
"Stop it."
"We can't."
"Hm, that's funny. Because it sort of looks like we already are."
"Don't do that!"
"What? What am I doing?"
"You're being deliberately cute."
"Is it working?" I laughed.
"Yes. Very much."
I traced circles on his arm, trying to coax the smile from hiding again. He reluctantly grinned.
"Tell me something?" he asked.
"Okay."
"Why did you come here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... I don't know. Why did you leave your home?"
"Oh."
I searched for something to say.
"No, keep doing it."
"Huh?"
"The circles. Keep drawing the circles. They felt nice."
I laughed and continued to trace tiny patterns on his arm.
"Uh... Well, I guess I left because I was unhappy. I was bored and curious and... I just wanted to go out and live."
He shot a quick look over his shoulder to check that nobody was watching us and then kissed the side of my head.
"Can I ask you something?" I asked.
"Uh..."
"What are you afraid of?"
"What?"
"I mean... Why won't you let yourself relax around me?" I muttered. "I keep telling you to take off your gloves-"
"God, Ivy!" he groaned. "You and your questions."
"Sorry."
He took his arm away from me and scowled.
"Cal!" I protested.
"It's nothing!" he hissed, annoyed. "Sorry if I want to keep from burning my girlfriend to a crisp just because I'm excited about a little kiss."
"Cal..."
"Whatever, Ivy. Drop it."
He still annoyed me just as much as he had when I'd met him two months ago. We got in just as many fights. But there was an element to the relationship that hadn't been there before. There was a sort of ache somewhere in my chest when I wasn't with him, which was definitely new. And, when I was with him, there was this feeling stretching from the soles of my feet up into my eye sockets... contentment.
And that contentment was so pure and powerful, I just couldn't tear myself away from it. Cal and I saw each other in secret. Savannah and Aqua knew, but they pretended not to notice, for our sakes. Because the truth was, if anybody saw Cal and I together and just so happened to mention it to Mr. Piccadilly... We would be out of jobs so fast we wouldn't even have time to pack.
We met in the darkness of abandoned booths for brief minutes and stole kisses from each other. Empty cabins became my destination during all my breaks where Cal and I could talk and be close without interruption. Well, as little interruption as possible -- seeing as we weren't the only ones with these kinds of ideas. We were constantly running into Ravi and Anthony. Great minds think alike, I suppose.
And that's not to say that all of this secret business didn't go on without rules. Not my rules, no. Not the circus's rules, either. Calvin Orion's rules. And Cal's rules were not fun.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder.
"I'm picking daisies," I snorted. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm holding your hand, idiot!"
"In public?" he asked weakly.
We were at breakfast, sitting in the mess tent. I rolled my eyes and smashed my fork into the last bite of a syrup-drenched pancake on my plate. I had no intention of picking it up and eating it. I was repeatedly slicing rivets into it with the prongs on my fork and pretending it was Cal's head.
"Yes," I sniffed. "You big wuss, and in broad daylight, too. Nobody can see."
"I know, but..." He wiggled his fingers under the table. "I'm also not wearing my gloves."
"Cal-"
"You know the rules, babe."
He wormed his hand from mine and got up from the table, tossing his paper cup of orange juice in the trash without drinking any of it.
Cal's rules were as follows:
1. Gloves on. Always.
2. If gloves are not on, no touching.
3. If gloves are not on and touching occurs, pain or burning must be recognized.
4. Pain or burning must be recognized out loud.
5. "Out loud" does not mean "out loud in my head."
6. No public displays of affection.
7. Using names such as "Calvy Walvy" and "Fire Bear" in the presence of others counts as public displays of affection.
Needless to say, it made the relationship difficult.
And that little ache in my chest turned to a tiny spark. And the tiny spark caught. It quickly became very annoying to have to follow Cal's rules. He was using them as a defense mechanism for himself. No matter how many times he denied it, he was still afraid of getting close to me. Because getting close to me meant that it was a distinct possibility that he could hurt me. Or worse, I could hurt him.
It wasn't as if Cal hadn't gone through enough abandonment in his lifetime. His mother's death, the whole ordeal with his father... None of it bode well. And he was only backing himself further into the corner.
His need to feel the world without the shelter of his gloves had prompted him to kiss me. But, now that he could kiss me whenever he wanted, he found the possibilities frightening. It was too open. Sensory overload.
It was a lose-lose situation. And come two weeks later, on the fourth of July, I discovered that I just couldn't take it any more.
"It's childish," he groaned, pulling a pillow over his head.
"What?" I cried, in mock offense.
"Fireworks, hot dogs," he muttered. "I'm just not in the mood."
"Calvin Orion is not in the mood for explosions and greasy meat?"
"Har, har," he said dryly. "No. I'm not."
And then I did something I knew he would hate. I walked over to the hook the held up the front end of his hammock, and untied the knot that attached the netting to the wall. Cal's hammock came crashing down to the floor, and Cal came with it.
"Umph!" he uttered, hitting the ground. "Ivy!"
"Let's go see the fireworks!" I squealed, grabbing his hand and jumping up and down. The Circus always put on a fantastic display of fireworks.
"Ivy, I told you-"
"Fireworks! Fireworks!"
"Will you-"
"Fi-ur-works! Fi-ur-works! Fi-ur-works!" I chanted.
"It doesn't even sound like a word anymore. I don't want-"
I stood up on my tip toes and pecked him solidly on the cheek. His eyes slid closed involuntarily and he sighed. I traced the sharp angle of his collarbone and pressed my lips to his chin.
"Let's go see some fireworks," he said, grinning in defeat.
"Yes!"
Ten minutes later, he was smiling.
His face turned red, gold, and then blue in the light of the fireworks. I could see the explosions reflected in his teeth.
I had never seen Cal smile like that.
I leaned my head on his shoulder. He tensed.
"Ivy-"
"Stop it."
"We can't."
"Hm, that's funny. Because it sort of looks like we already are."
"Don't do that!"
"What? What am I doing?"
"You're being deliberately cute."
"Is it working?" I laughed.
"Yes. Very much."
I traced circles on his arm, trying to coax the smile from hiding again. He reluctantly grinned.
"Tell me something?" he asked.
"Okay."
"Why did you come here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... I don't know. Why did you leave your home?"
"Oh."
I searched for something to say.
"No, keep doing it."
"Huh?"
"The circles. Keep drawing the circles. They felt nice."
I laughed and continued to trace tiny patterns on his arm.
"Uh... Well, I guess I left because I was unhappy. I was bored and curious and... I just wanted to go out and live."
He shot a quick look over his shoulder to check that nobody was watching us and then kissed the side of my head.
"Can I ask you something?" I asked.
"Uh..."
"What are you afraid of?"
"What?"
"I mean... Why won't you let yourself relax around me?" I muttered. "I keep telling you to take off your gloves-"
"God, Ivy!" he groaned. "You and your questions."
"Sorry."
He took his arm away from me and scowled.
"Cal!" I protested.
"It's nothing!" he hissed, annoyed. "Sorry if I want to keep from burning my girlfriend to a crisp just because I'm excited about a little kiss."
"Cal..."
"Whatever, Ivy. Drop it."
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry for the lack of updates! If it makes you feel any better, I've been working on a future story! Heh... heh... *placates with chocolate chip muffins and shiny objects*Here's a tiny preview:
My last class of the day was History. Turns out, we'd been studying the Middle Ages for the past two weeks and I was about two hundred years behind. I sighed and drew tiny stars and planets all over the calendar Mr. Cross had given me.
D.B., Kim, and Mikey all entered the room at the same time, laughing and whispering excitedly. Somehow, they all looked windblown and disheveled. Their excited twitters died as Mr. Cross rapped his knuckles on his large desk.
"Sit!" he barked. "Michael, button your shirt!"
Mikey looked as if he'd just swallowed something slimy. He buttoned up his shirt hastily. Kim made her way over to her seat, head down. Mr. Cross looked at her accessories with disdain.
"Daniel, would you mind telling the class where your tie has gone?"
"My huh?"
"Your tie, sir," Mr. Cross growled. "The tie that is required by the school board to be properly fastened around your neck for the duration of the school day! The tie that represents the fine education you would be getting if you didn't insist on coming in late to every one of my classes!"
"Oh. That one," he muttered, giving Mr. Cross a dark look. "It's in my pocket, I think."
Laughter.
"Mr. Hawkins... Must we do this again?" Mr. Cross sighed.
Daniel shrugged and shuffled over to the desk directly to the left mine. He pulled a few things out of his pocket and dumped them on the desktop before locating his tie and fitting it into a knot on his neck.
Mr. Cross nodded and pulled out a warm-up for the overhead.
Amongst the items that D.B. had emptied out of his pockets were:
- 2 sticks of Juicy Fruit gum
- 3 crumpled drawings, which he absentmindedly smoothed out and looked at while he was supposed to be paying attention
- 1 battered copy of a book of "Calvin and Hobbes" comics
- 2 plastic wind-up toys (one in the shape of a gorilla, and the other a polar bear)
- 1 golden pocket watch, with the letters "D.B.H." carved into the front.
My heart stopped. He clicked the watch open and turned around to wink at Mikey, who sat behind him. It was the watch.
The same watch.
Love,
Sophie