Chapter 1 #4
‘We’re all clichés in one way or another.
Everything about us is inherently repetitive, no matter how special and unique we’d like to be.
We’re only ever a copy of someone else.’ For a moment the expression on his face was so forlorn that it disconcerted me.
I swallowed, hard. Before I could answer, he shook his head gently.
‘But at least you’re a cliché to be proud of.
’ And that was all. No jeering, no arrogance, no mock-approval.
His reaction astonished me. And I liked it. More than I wanted to let on.
I tilted my head, contemplating him again.
Everything about him was clean and neat.
His clothes weren’t flashy, but although I could see no obvious branding, they were clearly expensive.
His skin looked healthy, flawless, even – except for the delicate scar.
His hair was glossy, and I knew that if I looked at his hands, they’d be soft and well-manicured.
Every aspect of him was somehow like a painting.
A perfect snapshot of a human being. Yet I couldn’t help thinking that the most perfect-seeming images were usually the ones with the most chaos underneath the surface.
And I’d have bet money there was chaos under his.
I could see it in his eyes, in the subtle, pensive air he’d emanated ever since he set foot in the room.
Everything about him saddened and fascinated me all at once.
I’d never met anyone like him before. Someone who felt so present, even as a part of him was clearly elsewhere.
‘Mind if I take a stab at your cliché?’ I didn’t know why I was asking. I only knew that I wanted urgently to find out if what I saw in him was the truth.
He sipped his drink, caught a little off-guard. ‘You’re welcome to try.’
I twisted a lock of hair, grasping for the right words.
‘You’re the son of wealthy parents. The kind who had your whole life planned out before you were even born.
You’ve always done your best to live up to their expectations, but you’ve never had the chance to figure out what you really want.
You don’t know who you want to be, and it’s eating you up inside.
You’re studying…’ I paused, examining him closely: the impassive face, the slightly tense shoulders, the glass gripped tightly, the melancholy cast to his features.
‘Philosophy. You’re hoping it will guide you to the right questions, but the more you learn, the fewer answers you find.
You’re afraid of wasting your life, but it’s even more difficult to admit that you don’t actually know what you want to use it for.
’ I stopped and gave him a quizzical look. ‘Am I on the right track?’
He said nothing, but gradually his shoulders relaxed as he held my gaze. I even thought perhaps I saw the trace of an appreciative smile at the corners of his mouth.
‘So, what brought you here, then, if you think so little of our world?’ he asked at last, dodging the question. Maybe I should take it as a sign of how close I’d got – very.
‘The same thing that always makes people put someone else’s needs first.’ I lowered my voice to the dramatic tenor of a horror movie. ‘Love.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘Oh no, I’m talking about a much deeper connection than that.’ My smile felt more genuine when I thought of Zoe. Hotheaded, impulsive, heart-on-her-sleeve Zoe – although we often disagreed, she was the closest confidante I’d ever had. ‘My best friend asked me to come.’
‘Ah, I see,’ he responded softly, running his little finger along the rim of the glass. ‘And where is she now?’
Good question. Glancing at my watch, I realised it had been more than an hour since I’d left the party.
‘With the reason she wanted to come in the first place, I suppose.’ Ashton’s name was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it.
There were a lot of people downstairs, but I couldn’t be sure the two of them weren’t friends.
‘The guy who looks like a Michelangelo statue come to life,’ I said instead, deliberately vague.
He frowned, as if something I’d said had surprised him. Or displeased him. ‘So you were invited.’
‘How else do you think we got past the guy at the door? Convoluted scientific names for animals aren’t part of my standard vocabulary.’
‘I thought you had a knack for getting into places that are technically off-limits to you, Pica.’ Despite the restlessness in the shallows of his eyes, this time I was sure I saw a smile on his elegantly curving lips.
‘Pica?’ I replied, baffled.
He didn’t respond, merely sipped his whisky and eyed me thoughtfully.
Reluctantly, I went on. ‘I mean … yeah, I am. But this isn’t an event I’d attend by choice. I didn’t last two minutes down there.’
The smile was wiped abruptly from his lips. ‘What happened?’
‘Your friends.’ I shrugged casually, although the memory brought back a surge of fury. ‘It’s the principle, you know? I don’t like being referred to as a “contribution”, or treated like something you’d win at poker.’ It was meant to sound sarcastic, but I could feel my bottom lip quiver.
We were silent. My anger pulsed between us – I could see the waves of it lapping against his face. His expression twisted into a faint grimace, as though the emotion had crawled beneath the skin. ‘I’m really sorry about that. I’d like to tell you they didn’t mean it that way, but—’
‘But you’re not a good liar either?’
‘I’m an excellent liar. I just prefer not to,’ he corrected me flatly. It didn’t seem like he was proud of it – more like it was a fact he simply couldn’t deny. Something about it made me smile.
I looked again at my watch. It was time to go.
Partly because I didn’t want to leave Zoe alone any longer, but also because I didn’t like how comfortable I was getting.
This conversation was going to be a one-time thing, and the more intense it got, the longer it would take to put it behind me.
I didn’t have time for distractions – I needed to focus every glimmer of attention on my studies.
‘I should go.’ I snatched my hairpin off the desk with a determined gesture and turned towards the door, but something stopped me in my tracks, and I looked back at him again. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’
‘Cliff.’ The word was barely out of his mouth before he clamped his mouth so tightly shut that I saw the muscles in his jaw go rigid. He wouldn’t meet my eye, frowning as though annoyed.
I gave a terse nod and strode over to the door, although everything about the room was tempting me to stay.
It was absurd, but leaving it knowing I’d never see it again, felt deeply, painfully wrong.
It was like I’d forgotten something. Something my mind didn’t remember but my emotions did.
It was almost literally blocking my path, and I had to force myself to keep moving.
‘Well, I hope you have a lovely evening, Cliff.’
‘Wait.’ His voice held me back. When I turned again he was standing beside the armchair, his hands buried in his pockets, his enigmatic gaze fixed on me. ‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
I tucked the slightly bent pin back into my hair. ‘What’s the point? You’re better off forgetting all about this conversation, anyway. A name without a face means nothing, right?’
He shook his head earnestly, taking a step towards me. ‘I don’t see it that way at all.’ The glow from the corridor fell in a slender oblong across his face, illuminating the deep brown of his eyes.
For one long moment I stared at him, felt myself committing him to memory.
A snapshot of a snapshot of a human being, someone I knew I would remember much longer than I cared to admit.
Then I turned and opened the door wide. ‘Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.
You never know what kind of riffraff might be prowling the halls. ’
As I walked off down the passageway, I thought I heard him laughing softly.