14 | Pretty
?? ?????????? ??
In the car my vision flits between the road and Ava sitting beside me, her body slipping lower in the seat than it should. Each second is drawn out, achingly long, and some part of me can't shake the idea that she's still not okay.
She's just extremely drunk. I know that.
I don't why it's so fucking hard for me to not take small glances as much as I can, make sure her seatbelt hasn't slipped off or she's not about to throw up again.
If this is the burden of caring about things, moving away from whatever part of me is still heartless, then maybe I'm not ready to deal with it.
She hasn't fallen asleep, maybe that's a good thing. I'd probably be driven to check her pulse every five seconds. She stirs beside me, throwing her head back against the seat before angling it a little to face me. I can feel the eyes, attached to me, staring through me.
"Your car smells like a forest," She mumbles, sighing a little.
My brows furrow, curiosity across my face. I don't know what drunk words I thought she'd ramble but I wouldn't have guessed that. It catches me so off guard I'm almost smiling.
"Yeah?"
She nods a few times, still looking at me. I can only see her gaze in my peripherals but it's started dancing around my hair, the brown locks closest to her.
"I thought that... the other day," Her words are slowed, like she's processing them in real time, "And now."
I'm amused, "What did you think it would smell like?"
She scrunches her face, "I don't know... women?"
I can't help a laugh of disbelief from falling out my mouth, interrupting the heavy air. Women?Really?
"Who do you think I am?" I mutter, almost to myself.
She sighs again, twisting herself in her seat so her whole body is more angled towards me. When I look over I realise that she's closer, warm breath distantly grazing my arm. She smells like alcohol and that rosy scent from earlier. I note that her seatbelt is still safely across her.
"You..." She swallows, "You're Nolan...you fuck women and get into fights and everyone falls head over heels because of your stupid face."
It's weird to hear her say it so plainly. She sees me how she did back then, I could've figured that out. But she'd never straight up say that, never teeter so close to the truth like she is now. It makes my head swirl, flash back some of the past.
"Like the girls, in the bathroom..." Her voice trails, distant. I don't know whether some small sober part of her is holding back or she's too out of it to hold a consistent thought.
"What are you talking about?" I mutter back curiously. Her shallow breath echoes beside me.
"The ones...who you'd sleep with," She mumbles, "And they were all hot... and looked like mo-models."
It takes me a second to even realise what she's referring to, when she's referring to. Dipping into the past feels like it requires a second brain, a completely different space in my head where I have to avoid falling too far into anything that shouldn't resurface.
High school, the women I slept with, the girls I hung around. It's distant and unfamiliar, nothing I think about. Does Ava think about it? It's clearly been locked up in her head somewhere.
"Not like me..." Ava whispers suddenly, adding onto her previous thought.
I blink towards her again, "Hm?"
She just shakes her head, like the time for talking is over, like she's used up all the words she has. She moves away again too, pressing her back flat against the seat and flattening her blonde hair against the leather.
Not like me. Not like the girls I used to sleep with? Is that what she means?
I'm puzzled again, trying to form a link between her fluttering thoughts. If she's saying she doesn't look like a model then she knows I disagree with that. I told her. She didn't like it, didn't want to hear it, but it was true.
She hates being in front of a camera, gets that sheepish look when anyone compliments her appearance, changes the topic if you bring it up. There's a weakness there, some part of her that can't see the things everyone else does.
And maybe my weakness is trying to get her to recognise that when it should be none of my business.
When I pull into the driveway both houses are quiet, stirring with late night haziness and a lack of light.
The engine hums to a stop, filling up our bubble of silence and we sit still for a moment.
I half expect Ava to have fallen to sleep by now but, no, she's still looking at me.
I twist myself fully now that I don't have the road as a distraction.
Shadows dance over her face, her lips, the curve of her soft jaw. A little makeup smears beneath her eyes, reminiscent of how it was when I drove her home the other day. Her eyes stand out, still shining like an ocean's trapped inside them.
That place inside my stomach somewhere shifts again, twists itself. All I can seem to do is think about how pretty she looks. Like when she looked up at me earlier or caught my eyes with that curled hair in the photo studio.
It's bad, really fucking bad.
I can't think like this.
I rip my eyes away, hoping my shuffling will cover her little breathless exhales. I'm moving quicker than anything in my head can catch up to. I'm back on autopilot, back to a pattern, a set of steps I know how to manage.
I walk around to the passenger seat door and help Ava out the car because I know how to do that. I move my hand from behind her back and use it to sling her arm over my shoulder. It steadies her wobbles, allows her to make some coherent steps.
Her arm is gentle at first but wraps round the back of my neck harder as we reach the steps to her porch.
The pressure of her cold skin is hard to ignore but I do, watching her feet so they don't miss any of the ledges below her.
Her alcohol-tinted, flowery scent wraps around me, my face so close to the warmth of her neck I can feel it.
When we reach the door I carefully slide off the bag on her shoulder, glancing inside for keys. There's no car in the driveway, no one else home. A little butterfly keyring dangles off the chain as I pull it into my hands, the small rustle sounding a lot louder in the quiet.
Ava still leans into me, quiet. Her soft hair brushes my arm a little and I remember the sensation of it between my fingers as I held it back earlier.
I slot the key in the door, walking us both inside and flicking on the nearest light. It's strange being here, being inside. I've only ever stood in this hallway a handful times, either too young or too out of it to remember it clearly.
But the layout is similar to my own home and easy enough to navigate. I get Ava to the stairs, taking a look up at them before glancing to her.
She laughs a little, very giggly, like she knows it's gonna take effort for us not to fall backwards halfway up. The smile across her cheeks is soft, unguarded.
It makes something peek at the corner of my lips too.
When those giggles have worn off I take her up the stairs, a little pressure as she presses down on my neck. There's a few times she almost misses the next step but I pause and let her straighten herself before we continue.
When we reach the top I let out a breathy, "There we are."
I hadn't even noticed I said it but it makes her smile at me again, a thank you, maybe? I have no idea how to read her like this, whether she's showing me part of a person without their usual walls up or she's as far away from herself as she could possibly be.
We make it to her room and I gently place her down on the bed.
Now, this I remember. It's not faint in my memories, that time I climbed through her window achingly vivid. The bed is the same, the layout is identical, a few details seem familiar. Not everything, though.
Whatever teenage obsessions were scattered on the wall behind her have been replaced with different posters, new films, artsy things I vaguely recognise. There's photos too, her and my sister, the rest of her friends. There's a soft rug, a fluffy chair at her desk, a white metal bed frame.
It's like the colourful chaos she once had has been more refined, more mature and a lot less 14 year old girl exploding her brain onto the walls. But it's still her, somehow.
Once I've stopped glancing over everything I blink back to Ava.
Her fingers are gripped at the bottom of her cherry-red top, weakly attempting to pull it up and over her head. She hasn't got very far, only a small line of skin visible just above her belly-button.
"Woah, hey, no," I rush to say, moving over to her and pulling one hand off the top. Our skin grazes for a second before she tilts her head up to frown at me.
It feels like the right thing to do. I'm sure half the things she's said tonight she wont've wanted me to hear, I doubt she'd want to wake up knowing she'd flashed me in her bra either. Maybe it'd be better for her change but I doubt she could manage that without help.
Instead I sit myself beside her on the bed, the white sheets dotted with a little pink flower pattern. She's staring at me quizzically, still not saying a word, just giving faint smiles I can't understand the meaning of.
She does let me reach down for her foot though, my fingers pulling off the shoes still attached to her. Once I've taken off one I move to the other, slipping it off and putting gently down on the floor.
I catch an oversized t-shirt hanging over the chair beside her desk and move over to grab it, then return to face her. I pull it over her head gently, helping her arms through each loop. It falls down over her body, hair trapped slightly and bunching up beneath the fabric.
Before I can think I pull it out, hand brushing the nape of her neck. It doesn't seem strange or too close - it just seems like the level of attention she needs in this moment.
I help her backwards, letting her shuffle until she can submerge herself under the covers. Her head hits the pillow behind her, sea of blonde splaying out around her hair head in messy waves. I stand above her, watching as her eyelids fall heavy. She's barely fighting sleep.
It's only now that something in me uncoils, relaxes itself. I know that she's okay, safe in her room and about to fall away into sleep. I can feel my conscious brain fighting its way back in, about to bombard me with a million thoughts.
We're not even friends, why am I helping her? She'd hate that I'm helping her like this. I'm breaking my promise to leave her alone.
Although I didn't technically promise. I just made a solid statement, something I fully intended to follow. And I will, from tomorrow, when the girl in front of me is awake and ready to scowl at the thought of coming close to me.
"Why the hell did you get this drunk, Birdie?" I whisper into the air, asking myself,the universe. I hadn't even meant for that nickname to slip through the cracks.
I don't expect her small voice to croak through, but it does, even with her eyelids softly closed.
"It was him... th-the car..."
I tilt my head in interest. Him? Car?
"What?" I say back, maybe too curiously. I'm sure this is drunk rambling, that she's already halfway through a dream that makes no sense.
"Following... me," Her words are so light I wonder if they're even being spoken at all.
But I know they're real. Following me? There's no way I'm mishearing that. But what does that even mean, who is she talking about?
"Who's following you?" I push, gently. Even if this is unimportant I'm drawn to what's going on in her head, what her subconscious is pushing forward.
Her chest rises beneath the covers, gentle and unsteady. She sinks her face deeper into the pillow so her next words are muffled, "My- my dad."
That surprises me so much I pause, gaze stilling on her. Her dad?
She prises her eyes open, wincing at me, "Doesn't matter..."
The words dance through the air and then her eyes are shut as quickly as she opened them.
Her faint breath has already trailed into sleep.
What the hell?
I don't know what to make of it. Is she having nightmares about her dad? Is that situation something that follows her? Is that why she never talks about it?
I shouldn't care but my thoughts have started rattling together in that way I always try and avoid them doing. There's no way she meansactuallyfollowing her. It's probably some subconscious dream metaphor, that or it's all fully made up, fictional.
It's none of my business either way.
I take one more glance over her, the side of her small face pushed into the pillow, the spread of golden hair that surrounds her. She looks peaceful, like sleep has whisked her away from everything and anything. I don't think I've ever seen her in such a vulnerable position, so still.
I doubt I'll ever see her like this again.
I turn to leave, feet suddenly sounding loud on the floor now that she's asleep but something stops me, a small, faint echo that might've well been a ghost.
"Goodnight..."
I freeze, looking back over my shoulder. She's still lying in the same position, breath still rising and pushing up her chest. If I was intentionally moving quietly I probably wouldn't have heard it all.
"Goodnight, Ava," I whisper back. I don't really know why.
As soon as I flick off the light and trail myself down each step slowly my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, somehow communicating the frantic nature of the caller. I know who it is but I let it buzz as I place Ava's keys on the kitchen counter.
Only when I've left the quiet hum of her house, hovering on the driveway with my breath visible in cold wisps, that I pick it up.
"Where are you?" I ask, bitterly.
"Where are you?", Riley gushes, tone rambles, "Are you with Ava?"
"Yes," My voice is harder than it sounds in my head, "I took her home, she was fucking wasted,Riley."
It hadn't fully gripped me yet, not until now. How could her friends possibly let her get to this point and let her wander outside all alone? Something bad could've happened to her, anything could've happened to her. I clear my throat, noise echoing in the darkness.
"I- I didn't mean to leave her, but some shit happened and when I came back she was gone," I can hear the small rise of emotion, "I've been worried shitless."
"What shit?" I hit back, wondering what is that important it includes stranding her supposed best friend.
Riley sighs. I can't tell what she's going to say, what excuse she's about to give. Her voice almost breaks, somewhere between exasperation and guilt.
"Cole got into a fight."
A fight?
"It was really bad, Nolan, he's in hospital," She continues, breath crackling through the line, "We tried to stop him, tried to calm him down but- but it was no use."
My judgement doesn't dissipate but it does soften, mainly because Riley does really sound exhausted, there's a level of pain in her voice I haven't heard since it was aimed at me when we were teenagers. I hate that it claws at my rationale.
"Alex told me Cole was being an idiot, me and Kat thought we could help. Ava seemed too drunk to come with us. I honestly thought I was leaving her for a minute, that we'd be able to drag Cole away, but everything just got so nasty, so quickly..."
Her voice teeters on the edge of tears. Ava must've slipped outside in that moment, just after her friends went to de-escalate the situation. That's when I caught her how I did.
I'm not sure what to say. Part of me is still annoyed, wants to tell her they should've stayed with her, no matter what. Not all three of them needed to leave her. But I also can't blame her for a lack of judgement, a clear mistake.
Because I did find Ava, I did take her home.
"Is she okay? Is she safe?" Riley splutters with a change of topic.
"Yes," I murmur.
"Fuck- thank god," She's breathes out, "I'll get home as soon as I can, come and see her-"
"No," I interrupt, firmly, "She's sleeping, she needs to rest."
I'm not sure when Ava's rest became my priority but it seems to be now.
Riley goes silent but not in the way I expect her to. I can hear that instead of about to argue back with me she's just relieved.
"Thank you, for taking care of her," She speaks, "I mean it."
"It's fine," Is all I can say. Maybe it's not fine but I can't remember the last time Riley said thank you to me, never with this much actual sincerity.
"I...I'm sorry, for giving you so much shit. I know you'd never really hit on her," She murmurs, like the truth hurts to admit out loud. I know this is fuelled by whatever alcohol is still in her system. "You're proving that you can care about the people I care about, that you can care at all."
The words float over me, just out of grasp. I'm not sure if I can comprehend much of it.
"You making an effort like this means a lot to me, really."
The little crack in her voice jabs at me, hits a weakness. Whether she's still drunk or not her gratitude is real. Some part of her is starting to trust me again, see me as someone worth knowing.
The air around me is colder, feelings confused in my chest.
I'm caring about the people Riley cares about.
It's odd, that that's what she wants, for me to look out for her friends. Ava wants the opposite, to push me to the opposite end of the earth.
But, like some sort of magnet, I ended up closer to her than ever tonight.
And worse than that, all I seem to be thinking about is how pretty she is.
?? ??