Chapter 11 #2
I’m ecstatic to find that Hennie included make-up remover in my tote and almost moan with relief when I rub away the make-up, grit and glitter from my face.
Feeling like a new person, I look at Elliot to ask him to turn away while I change but his eyes are already on me, anchored to my features. Now entirely un-made-up. I resist the urge to cover my face.
I swallow. ‘Would you mind turning round for a second?’
‘Making plans to steal the stick and run?’ he jokes, his voice rough.
‘Not yet. I am making serious plans to get undressed though.’
He blanches at my words and quickly complies, turning to face the opposite corner of his tent. I breathe a sigh of relief when I replace my outfit with the warm embrace of my fluffy pyjamas. I could weep.
Elliot’s hoodie is the perfect second layer over the top of them as it is getting colder by the minute, I have to admit. I crawl onto his bed with maximum awkwardness and give him the all clear.
He switches off his lamp and pulls a knitted jumper on. I narrow my eyes to see what the front depicts in the darkness as he slowly reclines next to me, being very careful not to touch me. I’m not convinced he’s even breathing.
I can’t suppress rolling my eyes at his laughably obvious effort to stay physically as far away from me as possible.
I get it! I am a worm!
He lies on his back completely still, his clean and woody scent reaching me. Every part of me wants to laugh at the bizarre nature of this situation.
‘Nice crocodile,’ I whisper, breaking the silence.
‘Do you have a problem with my attire?’ He narrows his eyes at me in the dark. Perhaps he’s sensitive about his knitwear.
‘No, it’s lovely,’ I say quickly. ‘Beautiful work.’
‘You’re mocking it.’
‘Not at all. The enormo-tent is a safe space. All attire is good.’
‘Thank you, my nan made it.’ He snorts. ‘I was just patiently waiting for you to turn on your organ music.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’
‘I’m looking forward to hearing this.’ I can hear the smile in his voice.
‘Ah,’ I put on my most disappointed voice. ‘I can’t. My phone is dead.’
He immediately shifts. ‘Use my charger.’
‘No, no, it’s fine – I couldn’t possibly–’
‘I insist,’ he says, sitting up now, holding the charger out to me.
I give him a tense smile. ‘Thank you. The camp will be… so happy to hear my music.’
‘And just imagine how well you’ll sleep,’ he adds, sounding very satisfied.
My phone comes back to life, the screen temporarily blinding me. I open Spotify and type in ‘organ music’ and click on the first playlist that comes up. Mentally, I cross my fingers, scroll down to a random song and press it.
The sound of a soft organ starts playing quietly and honestly, I’m not sure what the fuck to do with myself.
‘You like it on maximum volume, you said.’ He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. ‘Don’t hold back on my account, please.’
‘No, no, we have neighbours,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
‘Don’t feel bad – you’re right, it’s very soothing. Turn it up. Like you normally do.’
My whole body tenses as I push the volume up to maximum and the somber music fills the tent. It is horrifically loud. It’s also not relaxing in the slightest.
I cover my mouth to hold in my laughter as the sounds of the organ seem to get louder and louder. I think Elliot is laughing.
‘It’s lovely,’ he says, his voice shaking. ‘I’m going to sleep really well, I think.’
‘You’d be surprised–’ I say, just as the song explodes, the sound of multiple organs hits the tent all at once with a terrifying boom. I feel the suddenness of it in my bones, like a jump scare in a horror film.
I can hold my laughter in no longer, and it falls out of me all at once in a desperate wheeze. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes when I realise with relief that Elliot is laughing too, the mattress shaking under us as he tries to catch his breath.
I relent and reach for my phone, turning the volume all the way back down.
‘Oh no,’ he says in a broken voice. ‘I was looking forward to the singalong.’
‘That stays between me and God,’ I whisper.
‘Shut up, what the fuck?’ a distant voice shouts, making us fall apart into fresh laughter.
By the time we pull ourselves together, I don’t feel quite as uncomfortable lying next to him. His head pops up suddenly.
‘Shit, sorry – you don’t even have a pillow. Let me get you something, hang on.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’ I’m amused by his level of panic. ‘My head isn’t going to fall off.’
‘No, you can’t sleep without a pillow.’ His voice is muffled as he searches in the darkness for something. ‘That’s insane.’
A puff of laughter escapes me. ‘Yeah, that’s what’s insane.’
Strange warmth spreads through my chest at his concern as he continues to root around for God-knows-what.
Eventually he hands me a t-shirt stuffed with something. I eye it with skepticism.
‘What’s inside this? Not… your pants?’
He shakes his head incredulously. ‘Christ, give me some credit, Nora. It’s a spare couple of tops in there. I wouldn’t make you sleep with your face on my pants.’
‘Alright, alright. Worth checking.’
I lay my head on my freshly created pillow and make myself comfortable as Elliot crawls back onto the mattress carefully.
‘Huh, that is better actually.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he grunts.
I sigh and shuffle under the sleeping bag to generate some warmth as silence hangs over us. I’m wide awake, and when I see him pull his hand through his messy hair out of the corner of my eye, I assume that he feels the same.
‘So,’ he says softly. ‘Why do you want this thing so much? If you don’t mind me asking. You can tell me to fuck off, if you want.’
I steal a glance at him in the darkness, just about making out how his hair falls haphazardly across his forehead and pillow.
I weigh up the potential answers to his question in my mind. I could go for the soft version of the truth: that I discovered the band while I was going through a difficult time and their songs helped me through it. It wouldn’t be a lie.
My mind stutters. I’m hesitant to divulge the truth, as I always have been.
That a horrific period of time in my early teens left me in tatters and Queen Ego helped to piece me back together.
When I had never felt more alone, I desperately sought connection.
And when I discovered Queen Ego, I found it.
Back when I was thirteen, listening to their music on my bus ride to school cooled my fear and dampened my dread.
To my bullies, I might have been tall, freckled, awkward, odd-looking, all wrong.
But I was able to build a music and light-filled cocoon around myself each day, an invisible shield that no one could touch.
The kids that tormented me never knew it was there, and couldn’t break it down because they couldn’t even access the knowledge that it existed. It gave me a power nobody could see. Because the music would always welcome me when I needed to hear it. And that was enough.
And so for years, with their music I created a sanctuary in my mind that was just for me.
The safety and consistency of the music – of their existence – was enough on some days to keep me going.
Even when I hit my twenties and my first and only romantic experience imploded, leaving me reeling, the music was there.
Their words held me up and the melodies kept my feet on the ground.
As I got older, I rarely told people about the depth of the love I held for my favourite band.
It was too often met with mockery, pity or obvious discomfort.
Strange looks and raised eyebrows. Most responses left me feeling judged or like I had revealed too much, almost always making me wish I had kept the more sensitive parts of myself private.
Like it was a mistake to put that side of my life on display.
Especially if I said anything akin to the band ‘saving my life.’ People didn’t like that.
It took me a while to realise that some people aren’t comfortable with the power that art can hold.
I always wondered if it was because some people couldn’t understand it – because they had never travelled to that place in their mind. I couldn’t blame them. Sometimes I envied them.
Trying to explain this to Elliot, though…
the fact that a band kept me sane? Kept me safe?
I’ve come across a few too many people who hold genuine contempt for people who happen to love something that fiercely.
With a love that is so overwhelming that it used to make me wonder if I was deranged.
Fangirl, freak, nerd. They could all be used in the same breath.
The idea of Elliot having that kind of reaction makes my skin crawl. I don’t think I’d be able to look at him.
He even said it himself. He had already assigned that role to me the moment we met – the fangirl, the crazed girl. I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth now, see a look of derision directed at me and then continue to be tied to him for two days. Not after he’s shown me signs of genuine kindness.
I can’t risk it. Of all the things about me, I refuse to be mocked by him for this.
I quietly fiddle with the rings on my fingers under the sleeping bag.
‘I suppose it’s a long story. I was having a bit of a tough time in my teens when I discovered them and… well, their music helped. I’m not really sure what I would have done without them.’ I swallow nervously, hoping that’s enough to keep him satisfied.
I feel his gaze burning through the darkness. ‘I get that,’ he says gently.
My chest deflates with relief.
‘What about you? You really don’t want it at all? It’s just for your brother?’ I ask. There’s no sass in my tone, I really just want to know.
He’s quiet for a moment as he stares dully at the ceiling of the tent.
‘I mean, yeah,’ he says in a low voice. ‘I’m doing this for him.’
Minimal information shared. I can’t blame him when I just did the same.
‘I don’t want you to feel like I deserve the stick more than you do – I just can’t let go because of him. I know how much it would mean to him. Especially coming from me.’
‘He loves them like I do, do you think?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Yeah.’
‘Why isn’t he here? Didn’t he want to come?’ I ask.
‘No. He isn’t getting out much at the moment.’
I frown. His eyes finally flick back towards me.
‘Looks like neither of us are going to back down, then?’ he asks gruffly.
‘I don’t think so,’ I whisper, my eyes flicking down to his lips as I feel the light tingle of his breath on mine.
I stamp down on the guilt that erupts at the idea that I’m taking something so precious from a boy I’ve never met.
I immediately can’t help but feel a kinship with him, knowing he loves Queen Ego the way I do.
He looks away and clears his throat.
‘Didn’t think so,’ he says with a hint of frustration. ‘Looks like we’re in this for the long haul.’
‘Yep, sorry.’ I roll my eyes.
He lets out a long sigh.
I know it’s likely that he’s counting down the minutes – the seconds – until he can be free of this situation. Of me. It’s not lost on me that Elliot being stuck in his tent with me wasn’t exactly on his list of dream situations.
But he could try to tolerate it with a little more grace.
I give his arm a comforting pat. ‘You’ll survive, champ. Chin up.’