18. M Card
M CARD
When we reach the movie theatre, I stay in the car a little longer. My phone vibrates, and multiple messages from Andy come through—one. After. Another.
I open the first message, but as I realise he’s asking where and who I am with, I ignore it.
Switching my phone off, I step out and meet Conner. He’s leaning against this car, cigarette pressed between his lips, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. As he leans down to light the smoke, I notice the red mark across his cheek.
“Does it hurt?”
“Nah,” he says after blowing smoke up and in the wind’s direction. “How about your wrists? He grabbed on pretty tight.”
I rub my right wrist and say, “It’s better.”
“I wanted to punch him,” Conner admits. “I wanted to fucking wail on him when he touched you like that.” He inhales deeply, and the orange sparks glow. “I didn’t give a fuck if he hurt me. It’s whatever. But you,”—he shakes his head—“I won’t take too kindly next time.”
I’m not sure what to say. I like the idea of someone—anyone—there to protect me. It’s what I have always dreamed of. I want that knight in glistening armour riding their stallion to come and rescue me from the light of slavery given upon me.
I dreamt of the day someone stood protectively before me, not monstrously. And here he is, with me now, and acting as I always dreamed of.
Except I never thought I would gain it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Oh…” I look away from him. Heat trickles across my cheeks. “What movie are we watching?”
“You will see.” Conner drops the cigarette, drags his foot across it, and we walk to the automatic doors.
This intense, buttery, salty flavour wafts in my face as the doors open. I inhale, tasting the popcorn on the tip of my tongue, and it salivates my insides as I yearn for a bite.
Conner comes up behind me, and I flinch as his hands move over my eyes. “Take everything in.”
I reach up and hold on to his arms, taking in the noises and aromas: the cash register ringing, the popcorn popping, and the movie previews playing on the display screens.
Then, I listen to the soft breaths from behind me, and I drink him in.
He has a musky, drinkable aroma coming from him, and it mingles with his smoky, ashen breath. His hands are soft and smell of lavender, perhaps from lotion. And his chest presses against my back, a steady breath in and out. Conner’s presence keeps me calm and aware, but not afraid.
I lower his arms and look up at him. His smile is enchanting, and if I don’t step away—away from him—I will fall for him so effortlessly, as if we have known each other for years and not mere days.
There aren’t many people there. Most are elderly and families.
A kid points to a cartoon poster while the mum digs into her purse until she finds her card.
When we reach the cashier, Conner says, “Two tickets to see Warlord: Overtaken Crown”, when we are next in line.
“Anything else?” the lady asks.
“Yes. One large popcorn, two large drinks—cola and orange—and two choc top ice creams…and also two Snickers bars, please.”
“Thank you,” I murmur as Conner hands me my ticket and the large popcorn. I hug the popcorn, feeling the warmth and smelling the heavenly buttery flavour on the tip of my tongue.
The man at the bottom of the stairs rips our tickets. I straighten up, baffled. Conner chuckles as he walks up the stairs.
“Why did he rip the ticket?”
“I don’t know. They just do,” Conner says with a shrug.
The door is open, and as we step inside, we’re swallowed up by the darkness. The temperature drops, and goose prickles rise along my arms.
Only one couple is sitting at the back. Otherwise, it’s just us.
Conner finds a spot in the side row at the back. He shuffles in first, and I sit beside him with the popcorn on my lap. He sets my drink next to me, and his goes on the other side before he gives me the chocolate ice cream and a Snickers bar.
“What’s this movie about?” I whisper, fearing my voice will carry and the people across from us will hear me.
“It’s an action fantasy, and everyone is raving about it.” Conner reaches over, and my body stiffens until he goes into the popcorn box and grabs a handful. He shoves every piece of popcorn into his mouth until it’s full. And with his mouth full, he says, “Take some.”
I reach in and grab a few.
Conner chuckles, saying, “You’re supposed to be messy. Grab that inner-grub by the horns and stuff your face.”
I’m not sure if Conner is playing me for a fool, but I can’t deny how good it looks as he shoves more popcorn into his mouth than he can take. So, after I take a handful, I open my mouth wide and push in the buttery, salty, melt-in-my-mouth popcorn. “Good, right?”
I nod as I take another handful. It’s addictive. This was one of the many things I wanted to try, and one of the many things I wanted to do was go to the movie theatre. Except whenever I asked, Mum and Dad complained they were a scam and a waste of money, so I waited until I was on TV instead.
It might be expensive (Conner paid a lot), but it’s the experience.
The door closes, and I jump. The orange lighting dims, and the curtains hiding part of the cinema screen draw back, exposing the entire screen.
Bright lights glare out, and the immersive sounds blast through my eardrums, reminding me of when I turn my music up so loud that my eardrums feel like they’re about to burst.
I lean forward, and my eyes widen at the sounds and tones of voices. This is entirely new for me, and to experience it with Conner…
* * *
I have sudden chills as we leave the cinema. It was cold in there. It shouldn’t bother me, considering I wore a long-sleeved, knee-high dress and tights, but it’s as if the coldness seeped through the layers.
“That ending!” Conner says, and bob my head in agreement.
“What should we do next?”
“Um…” I glance at the time. It’s half-past one.
“What else haven’t you done that you want to do?”
I stop at the bathroom, raise my index finger, and say, “I’ll be back.”
I enter the bathroom, and as I wash my hands, I look in the mirror and stare at my cheek—redness tickles where Dad welted me. The foundation isn’t the best, and I notice it seeping into my pores, revealing more bruises than I wish.
After I touch it up, I leave the bathroom and go to Conner. He’s glaring at his phone, but as I move closer, he pockets it and grins.
With a strained smile, my focus trails to his pocket, wondering what is bothering him he doesn’t want to show me. It’s not a big deal—or a deal at all—but he does a lot for me.
I want to do something in moments like these and be there for him. However, the words seem trapped in my throat, and I can’t get them out.
Conner turns the volume up as we enter the car, and he sings as we drive to the…indoor playground? As I eye Conner, his grin widens further.
He parks the car, and we make our way inside. Only the workers are there, and they look at us questioningly, and honestly, I’d have done the same. We don’t have any siblings or children with us for this more kid-friendly playground.
“Conner?” the man behind the counter says, and the surprise seems clear in his tone of voice. “What are you doing here? You aren’t here to beg for your job back, because if you are,”—he darts a look to the right before he leans towards us—“I’ll do it within a heartbeat.”
“No,” Conner laughs. “I’m still studying for my finals. We are just here to have fun.”
“Fun?”
“It’s a Monday. No one comes on a Monday. You know that. So, can we please play in the playground?”
“Uh…”
“Look, Tony—I’m here with the girl I like, and I want to impress her. So, I’m being spontaneous, taking her places she has never experienced.” Conner looks at me. “You haven’t been to an indoor playground before?”
“No.”
“See.” Conner leans closer to the man, and that charismatic smile plays across his lips. “You owe me.”
Tony sighs as he shakes his head. “Fine, but for half an hour. And if you get stuck, I’m not helping.” He then looks me up and down and says, “She should be fine.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
The indoor playground is massive. There’s an entire netted area with long tubes weaving around it. Conner heads to the slide as I fight off my anxiety. I’m not sure how any child can scramble up there and not feel the pit of their stomach drop at the sheer height of it all.
An ache shivers in my legs as I go up the stairs. As we reach the top, Conner is already brimming with excitement as he sits on his slide. I stand before the other, gripping the railing with my hands.
“Are you scared?”
“A little,” I answer.
“Come with me, then.” He shimmies back and pets the spot in front of him.
With a shake of my head, I sit down at mine. Except my fingers dig into the plastic like a life force.
“Closing your eyes might help.”
“Conner,” I breathe. “I must confess that I don’t like heights.”
He rises, and I freeze up when he steps behind me. My arms tense, afraid he will push me. People do stuff like that all the time and then claim they were doing it to help the other conquer their fear.
“All right,” Conner grunts as he sits behind me. I suck in a breath when his hands settle against my waist, pulling me towards him until his chest rests against my back. “We will go down together.”
I glare at the pits of hell simmering at the bottom of the slide and awaiting my fate. It’s ready to suck me under as soon as I realise my hold on the edge of the slide. To make matters worse, if something goes wrong, I am first.
Then, I think about asking Conner to go ahead of me. If something happens—no.
“I can count down.”
“Counting down is worse,” I admit through gritted teeth. “I need a moment.”
His warm breath draws closer than expected as he says, “Take all the time you need.”
“Conner,” I say, and I’m unsure what I will say next because I need to talk to stop myself from crying at how high I am above the ground. “Why were you sad when you looked at your phone?”
“When?”
“When we were at the movie theatre.”
“Ah.” He shifts awkwardly. “I wasn’t sad. More annoyed. A girl from school texted me, and what she said bothered me.”
“Oh…”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“But…it bothers you, right? And…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I don’t want to see you upset, too,” I squeak out before I realise my hold on the slide.
My stomach plummets, and the swirl of adrenaline with the flutter of butterflies sends a rush to my head. With little to no control, it brings a sense of morphine to my head, leaving me woozy and dizzy.
And when we reach the bottom, I can’t get up. My legs become jelly, and my arms tremble, knees buckling—but in a good way.
I lean into Conner, the laughter filling my chest bursting out.
“Again?” he asks.
“Yeah!”
“I’ll race you to the top.”
Crap. It isn’t a fair fight. Conner is quicker and more agile, taking the stairs three at a time. He reminds me of an antelope in an earthly open field, and I’m the slow, useless lion cub on its first run in training on how to catch the antelope.
It’s not a stunning sight. I’ll probably get kicked out of the pride for my horrendous athletic skills.
We stay for an hour after. Conner buys milkshakes, and when I admit that I don’t like it when he spends money on me, he brushes it off as if it’s not a big deal. So, instead of spoiling the fun, I let it slide, even with the guilt weighing me down.
Conner’s right. Sometimes, we need a mental health break day.