Chapter 3 Boys Don’t Cry #2
“It’s not that bad!” I huffed a laugh as I passed her a steaming mug and leaned against the counter to eat my toast. She fixed her eyes on me again with the same intensity as before. I looked down at my plate, focussing on my food and trying not to think about why her stare stirred something in me.
“Mmm, this jam is delicious.”
“It’s wild hedgerow. I suspect Mother Dearest was trying to assuage her guilt by dropping me off with an F he’s like my brother. My dad manages his family’s estate.”
“I see.” Francesca tapped her chipped black fingernails against the mug.
She stared into the middle distance, and I took the opportunity to drink her in.
The curve of her jaw and smooth white skin — made paler by the makeup she was wearing.
My eyes travelled to her full lips, which quirked into a grin, and I realised I’d been sprung.
Francesca levered herself off the countertop and moved towards me, her dark-red lips still grinning.
My cheeks burned and I stepped back, rising onto my tiptoes to minimise myself out of her way.
She pushed on, confidently taking up the small space.
My skin tingled at the brush of her hand on my arm as she reached past me and dropped her dirty plate in the sink.
Oh, she was trying to get to the sink, but — she was standing so close I could smell her shampoo again. Our eyes met, and she opened her mouth slowly.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around campus,” she said.
“I… yeah. I’m like literally next door to you… so, I—”
Her gaze dropped to my lips, and my heart raced because, for a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she smiled and stepped away.
When she disappeared around the corner, I exhaled. It felt like a sigh of relief, but I recognised my disappointment. I wanted it — I wanted Francesca to take control of the moment and kiss me. I wanted those blood-red lips on mine. I wanted to see if she tasted as fruity as her scent.
Until now, my sexuality had been an abstract concept — a vague awareness that I liked girls generally. But now I desired Francesca specifically.
In the days that followed, I couldn’t get Francesca off my mind.
Even with a full timetable of lectures, my thoughts kept snagging on those dark eyes and red lips.
In most of my daydreams, we kissed in the kitchen as I ran my fingers through her soft, fruity-smelling hair.
In every daydream, she tasted sweet like jam and hot like tea, but despite all my best efforts to orchestrate a hallway collision, I hadn’t seen her since.
I’d heard her, though. Not as loud as the first day, but still at a volume that usually would have driven me mad.
Somehow, it became the comforting soundtrack of Francesca.
I came to recognise the songs thumping through the thin wall between us; the bass pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
I even found myself humming the melodies as I walked around campus, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
When I knew she was on the other side, I’d pressed my hand to the Blu Tack-stained wall and imagined her, wrapped in her oversized hoodie with knees clutched to her chest, doing the same.
I wished for the courage to knock on her door, to ask if she wanted to hang out or go to the union for a pint of Purple. I rehearsed the conversation in front of my mirror, but I couldn’t even look myself in the eye, let alone her.
I leafed through books in the library, failing to find a big enough distraction. All thoughts led back to Francesca. Jeremy must have sensed the shift in me, as he broached the subject when we met for dinner in the canteen.
“Don’t worry, Trusty.” He squeezed my shoulder. “It took me a while to settle in and make friends, too. You’ll be fine by Christmas break; you wait and see.”
Without looking up from my plate, I nodded and prodded a tube of pasta with my fork. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Is that neighbour of yours still causing you grief? I can enquire about getting you moved, if that’d help.”
“No,” I said a bit too quickly. My head snapped up, and I met his startled gaze. “I mean, no, she’s fine.” I tried to reassure him with a flat smile. “You’re right; uni life just takes a bit of getting used to.”
“Well, you know you can always talk to me.” He squeezed my shoulder again, and this time patted my back for good measure.
“Thanks, Jer. I’ll be fine.”
Except I was far from fine. I needed to get a certain gothy brunette out of my mind or the next time I saw her I’d likely implode — or worse, pin her to the wall and snog her senseless, which is what I’d done in the fantasy that had swept me away during my Cognitive Psychology lecture.
Later that evening, I nearly jumped out of my skin as I walked back to my room from the kitchenette and Francesca’s door sprung open. Hot tea splashed over the edge of my mug, and I swore under my breath. Francesca popped her head out, those dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. I was just…” I jutted my chin to my closed dorm door.
“Do you fancy a biscuit with your tea?”
I nudged my glasses up my nose. “I need to do the reading for my seminar tomorrow, so I should probably…” What the hell am I doing? Yes! Say yes, you moron!
“Suit yourself.” Her head popped back inside, and her door clicked to a close. I stood there internally kicking myself until her door opened a crack. Francesca’s hand poked out and shook a tin of Fortnum ripped denim and faded black T-shirts spewed out and over the floor like a jumble sale for cool people.
I wished I were one of those people, but if I wore an outfit like that, I’d look like I’d been mugged.
Francesca opened the tin and pulled out a biscuit before leaning over to dunk it in my tea.
“Oi!” I said, my jaw dropping in mock outrage. She giggled and popped the biscuit into my open mouth. I tried not to spray crumbs as I returned her laughter.
She dunked another biscuit in my tea and bopped her head to the music.
The soft motion of her swaying next to me made my heart race, and I tried not to think about the way the bed was moving beneath us.
My eyes settled on the poster she’d pinned above her bed, featuring a pale-faced man with unruly hair and heavy eyeliner.
“I love The Cure!” she said, answering my unasked question.
I nodded like one of those stupid parcel-shelf dogs. “I sometimes wish you’d love them a little quieter.”
She smirked and nudged her knee into mine. My gaze dropped to a flash of white flesh, her thigh beneath her ripped jeans.
“Don’t tell me you like The Smiths? Morrissey is an arsehole. You know he deliberately called the band that just to piss off Robert Smith?”
“Who’s Robert Smith?”
Francesca rolled her eyes and gestured to the poster over our heads. I really should have made more effort to find out what other people my age liked. I’d lived in a bubble with my dad and the Daltons — they weren’t like other people. No wonder Jeremy had found it so hard to make friends here.
“Who do you like then?” Francesca crunched another biscuit and dropped the tin in my lap.
“Er…” Don’t say Enya. Don’t say Enya. “Enya,” I said.
Francesca snorted a laugh. “You’re so funny.”
I laughed along, making a mental note to hide, or even bin my Enya cassette in the unlikely event that Francesca would ever set foot inside my room.
“I’ll make you a mixtape sometime,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, of course.” The stereo whirred and clicked to a stop. Francesca bounced up from the bed and rattled through a stack of tape cases on the desk before raising one of them in the air like a prize. “The Pixies, now we’re talking.”
She twisted the dial, and the bassline throbbed from the small speakers. Francesca swayed her arms and then held them out to me. “Dance with me.”
“I can’t. I mean… I have two left feet.”
“You don’t need to be good at it.” She pulled me up. I groaned but muted my protest when she put her hands on my waist. Heat flared through me at her touch.
“You’re all stiff. Try to loosen up.” She pulled me closer to her, which had the opposite effect of loosening me up.
My nerves pulsed with her proximity. Her hands touched the tender skin around the top of my jeans as she swayed our bodies together.
She threw her head back as the song hit its refrain, eyes closed and lost in reverie.
“Oooh, Kim Deal’s voice,” she moaned. “It’s so… arousing.”
I didn’t know who Kim Deal was, so I couldn’t speak for the effects of her voice, but Francesca’s pelvis rocking into mine was setting me alight. I wanted more but had no idea how she’d react if I made a move, or even what the next move was for that matter.
Francesca threaded her hands behind my neck, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, she was staring at me. My heart clamoured in my chest as her lips parted. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, like it had in the kitchen the other night, and the room shrunk to just the space between us.
As she leaned in, I pulled away, breaking the rhythm of our sway.
She looked startled and quickly spun away to turn the music off.
Embarrassment and shame doused my desire.
I’d ruined the moment. Kissing her was all I’d thought about for days, and I’d ruined it.
I glanced at my watch, eyes widening at the time.
“Shit — I said I’d meet Jeremy at the library.”
Francesca hugged her arms around herself. “Go if you have to.”
A loaded silence charged the air, and I felt myself diminish under her penetrating gaze.
“Why don’t you come with me? I could introduce you to Jeremy, and the three of us could get a drink together afterwards.”
Francesca’s left eyebrow arched as if I’d suggested something utterly ridiculous.
“Sorry, I just thought… maybe…”
Her features softened, and her lips quirked into a wry smile. “Alright, I will.”
I exhaled, unsure whether I was more surprised I’d had the guts to ask her, or that she’d actually agreed. I mean, it wasn’t a date exactly — Jeremy would be there — but I felt like she’d given me a second chance. If the universe gifted me another opportunity to kiss her, I wouldn’t mess it up.