Better Than Burroughs

Marina

I notice his torn knuckles for the first time and sigh. Standing up, I turn back to the kitchen and find myself some paper towels, wetting one, “Do you have any hydrogen peroxide?”

“Stop fussing. It’s just a bloody scratch.” His voice is screaming annoyance, but I ignore him. Turning around, I fix him with my most demanding stare and wait until he relents.

“I’ll get it,” he says with a sigh, standing up and hauling himself up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. I sit on the couch and wait for him, wondering what it looks like up there. He comes down a minute later with a brown bottle in his hand and tosses it to me as he reaches the couch.

“Thank you.” I take his wounded hand, noticing that it’s his left. I lay a paper towel in my lap and set his hand down on top. He begins to pull his hand away but I grab it before he can, “I promise it won’t hurt much.” He frowns at me and I don’t think he appreciated my humor. Spinning the cap off and slightly tipping the bottle, I slowly poor some of the clear liquid on to his knuckles, the paper towel catching the extra. It soaks through my pants a little and I can feel the cold on my knee. It dries clear. I suppose I could have put it on the paper towel and dabbed it on, but I’ve never felt that doing it that way gets the job done. I’ve always been the pourer type.

It bubbles up a little, but not much. Callum doesn’t make a sound. I would have been surprised if he had. This stuff has never hurt me before, I don’t see why it would hurt him. I dry his hand off and let him take it back. “I never noticed you’re left handed,” I say, making conversation.

“I’m not,” he says with a shake of his head, looking at me in confusion.

“I assumed…” I trail off, pointing to his hand.

Looking down, he slowly nods, “Yeah, I work well with both.”

“You should keep the pack on your jaw,” I say while mentally locking away the strange bit of information he just fessed up to. Picking up the forgotten ice pack from the couch, I bring it up to his face and wait for him to take it from me, which he does pretty quickly. Sitting back, I stare forward. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He’s barely spoken to me, but I don’t want to go home.

A couple silent minutes go by, all in which Callum hasn’t even glanced my way. Standing up, I decide to take a stroll around his apartment since he’s going to ignore me. Not upstairs of course, just around the room. The spare room to the right, I find, is in fact completely empty. I stand in the doorless doorway and ask, “What this for?”

He rolls his head toward me, muttering, “Nothing.”

“Sounds exciting,” I say sarcastically, not being able to help myself. Walking around, I notice a pile of charcoal packets and a few erasers laying on top of his desk. I had no idea that he was an artist. I glance at the back of his head, impressed. I wonder if he’d show me. I’ve always wanted to use charcoal but have never known how it’s supposed to be used. I usually just stick to pencil. Walking back to the couch, I sit down facing him, kicking my shoes off before I do, so I can curl my feet up in front of me. My toes poke his thigh, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What do you draw?”

“Pardon?”

“The charcoal. Do you draw nature? Or people? Yourself?” I ask, hoping he’ll either confirm or deny at least one of the options I gave him. I quickly add, “Still life?”

“Yes.” That’s all he says. Just ‘yes’. What an annoying pain in the ass.

“Well, which is it? All of the above?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sort of frustrating, did you know that?” I ask with a grin, fully expecting him to say ‘yes’ again.

He turns his head, the ice pack held to his jaw, and he says, “So I’ve heard.”

I can’t help but laugh and I think at some point, he loosens up a little bit more and even joins me. That is before he groans in pain and pulls himself up from the couch. He stomps into the kitchen and tosses the ice pack on the island counter. Opening a cupboard, he riffles through some things before pulling out a bottle of Advil.

He opens it, pouring a few out into his hand, and turns to look at me, “Do you still have that migraine?”

I don’t, but even if I had, Advil would never help. I shake my head and watch him put the bottle away. Tossing his head back, he drops the pills in his mouth and swallows. He doesn’t take a drink of anything to help it go down. I could never do that. I’ve tried. They just end up getting stuck in my throat and the taste is always terrible. Even Advil with its candy coating. It doesn’t taste so lovely when it’s stuck in your throat and rapidly dissolving. Pills are just the worst.

He unzips his jacket, tearing it off and leaving it on the counter with the ice pack. His t-shirt rises up to show his stomach as he stretches his arms up. The short sleeves are pushed up even farther and for the first time I notice a tattoo on his inner right arm. It’s black and simple, saying something but I’m too far away to know what. I watch him as he next stretches each arm out to it’s opposite side and I hear one of his shoulders pop. He sighs in obvious pleasure and drops his arms, pulling his shirt back down to its rightful place in the world. I’m glad for that. It would be too easy to begin appreciating his stomach. I have a boyfriend, I’m not supposed to be appreciating other men.

I wonder if he has any more tattoos and begin thinking about what parts of his body I’ve actually seen. Not much. Usually he’s always wearing a jacket and I’ve never seen him in shorts. He slowly walks back to the couch and it’s as if the world has slowed down. I notice everything. The way he swings his hips. How his arms seem to hang loosely at his sides, but still somehow convey an air of authority. His t-shirt is tight but still drapes over his chest. His black pants hang low on his hips and as he walks, the hem of his shirt rides back up, flashing his hip bones. I’m almost struck dumb at how he wears clothing.

Instead of taking his previous seat, he stops in front of the couch and looks down at me, “Ready to go?”

Dropping my head, I look down at my lap, actually surprised with how badly I do not want to leave and also genuinely shocked that he actually asked me. I just didn’t expect it. I really thought he’d let me hang around. He seems to be able to tolerate me for only a very short period of time. A part of me wants to insist upon sticking around just to get to him. I don’t think he’d ever force me to leave. If I ever asked, I think he’d let me stay. He would have before, I’m the one who ran off. What I really want to know is what it is about me that bugs him so much.

A ringing phone breaks my train of thought and I realize that it’s mine. I pull it from my pocket and look at the screen, seeing that it’s Emma. The movie can’t already be over. I stand up and motion for Callum to wait a second, moving over to the empty room at my right. I’ve never felt comfortable talking on the phone in front of people. I’ve always felt like it was rude. I wonder if he takes offense to it though, thinking that I don’t want him to hear anything. Not wanting to convey the wrong message, I stop just outside the room and answer the phone.

“Hey Em. Has the movie already ended?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Callum move into the kitchen, obviously wanting to give me my privacy. I smile and focus on what Emma is saying.

“No, twenty minutes in to it and something went wrong with the sound. They’re fixing it now. It’ll end really late now though. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, all better. I just needed some air I think. Where’s Felix?” I lean my back against the wall and wonder why the hell Felix hasn’t called to tell me this. Doesn’t he think I may want to know that he’ll be home much later than I would have expected?

“He’s sitting in the theater eating popcorn. Everything’s been kind of boring actually. I think he misses you.”

I smile, loving Emma but knowing that she’s full of shit. If he missed me, he’d call me. Nothing more to it.

“Oh, I think it’s ready. I should go.”

“Alright, thanks for calling. I’ll call you tomorrow.” We hang up and I put my phone back where it belongs, walking into the kitchen. Callum’s standing in front of the open refrigerator, and turns to look at me when I walk up to him.

“Is there a problem?”

“Why would you ask that?” I ask, shaking my head.

“You look like you just witnessed a kitty bloodbath.”

“Oh, no…everything’s fine. That was just Emma. The movie’s running late.”

He sighs and looks back at the refrigerator, scratching the back of his head. Reaching in, he pulls out a bottle of beer and offers it to me, “Thirsty?”

Smiling, I nod, having the feeling that I’m no longer on my way home. He grabs another for himself and finds a bottle opener in a drawer. Opening one, he hands it to me before opening the other. We return to the couch and I have no idea what we’re going to do now.

Callum

Two and a half episodes of X-Files later and Marina is dead asleep. I had no idea that damn show was on all night long most of the time. Apparently she has a thing for Mulder. I understand it. I’d fuck him. Clearly it would purely be sex. Clearly I should stop drinking the beer. I think it’s getting to me. The TV is the only light source, leaving us in a soft glow, the only reason for leaving it on now.

She needs to go home. She can’t sleep here. Every minute that slides by, I expect Felix to call, looking for her. He hasn’t. What in the bloody fuck is wrong with him? I would never let her leave my sight, let alone leave her with my depressed surly British mate. We Brits can’t be trusted. What a laugh. Being trustworthy is a sodding waste. I should have touched her a long time ago. I never should have let him take over to begin with.

She sits, leaning back against the couch, her head tilted towards me and I’m amazed she was able to fall asleep that way. One of my blankets is wrapped around her, up to her neck, and I don’t know if I’ll have the heart to wash away her scent after tonight. Her breathing is slow and deep, the most inviting sound. Nothing sexier than a woman breathing. I want to know how her breathing will change if I touch her. Fuck I want to touch her.

She’s not happy. I wonder if she knows that. When she first came around, she was so damn alive. Now, she’s just begging for someone to make her feel. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I really doubt they even have sex. What a waste. She’s made for sex. Her mouth is always open, lips parted slightly, even when sleeping. Far too god damn inviting.

She always seems to want something from me. Damn if I know what it is, but I’ll give it to her. I’ll give her anything she asks for. I’ve always made a point to live in the moment and having no fucking regrets. I do not want her to be my only one.

Why the fuck haven’t I seduced her yet? Some cocked-up friendly loyalty? Would Felix really do the same in my position? He’s probably fucking cheating on her. I really wouldn’t be shocked. I’m done with this. I can’t stay away from her any longer. I crossed the line and I can’t watch her sleep without giving in.

Marina

I open my eyes slowly, not expecting the light. Blinking a few times, I have to remember where I am and sit up, immediately looking for Callum. When I don’t find him, I drop back to the couch and close my eyes, sighing. His couch is very comfortable. I don’t even know when I fell asleep. Last thing I remember is watching X-Files. Opening my eyes, I see that the TV is off. Obviously. Why would it still be on?

What time is it? Oh shit, I never went home. Felix must be wondering what the hell happened to me. I roll to my side and find my cell phone on the floor, seeing that it’s bordering on ten in the morning. It also shows that I have missed zero calls. None. Felix didn’t call. Why the hell didn’t he call? Didn’t he wonder where I was when he got home? Didn’t he worry?

I sit up, leaving the blanket that was tucked around me on the couch and stand for a minute before calling out Callum’s name. I get no reply. Great. So I’m all alone in Callum’s flat. Do I just leave? Would that be rude? Especially after he was so nice in letting me stay, which I still haven’t even processed yet. Suddenly I remember that he does have a book store to run, he must be downstairs doing just that. It’s almost ten. He had to have opened by now.

I can’t resist the temptation to wander about his place while he’s not here to see me and slowly walk around. I stop at his bookshelf, interested in the type of books he reads in his spare time. Everything is neat and seems to be organized. Authors grouped together with the other books they wrote. There are many books in what looks like Gaelic and a few in French. I had no idea he could read other languages. I begin scouring the shelves for any books not written in English. An overwhelming amount are in Gaelic. Or at least I think it’s Gaelic. I don’t know any of it, but I know what it looks like. Well, actually I do know some Gaelic. One sentence and I learned it from The Pogues. Not very much but it’s something I guess.

Among the books in English, there is everything Oscar Wilde wrote and quite a few books by Kurt Vonnegut. An overwhelming amount of Hunter S. Thompson and a lot of philosophers. Montaigne, Kierkegaard, Descartes, among others. I’m surprised to see Pablo Neruda among his collection, never figuring him for a Neruda reader. But oddly, it makes sense now. I hardly know Callum. Also among the lot, is many authors I have never heard of, but I instantly want to read them all.

Satisfied and feeling sort of invasive all of a sudden, I grab my coat from his desk chair and put it on. Once I’m all set, I leave and almost prance down the stairs, announcing my entrance into the store rather loudly. I’m met with Callum and Felix standing by the front door and my smile drops when I see the expressions on them both. Callum looks ready to vomit, his face flushed and his brows endlessly furrowed. My eyes slide over to Felix, who’s face I can’t read. He doesn’t look happy though. His hair is actually pretty messy, which automatically is cause for concern. Everything else seems right, he’s dressed normally enough. Jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Morning,” I say cautiously, having no idea what I just stepped into.

“Hey babe,” Felix says, a smile crossing his lips. He crosses the room over to me and wraps his arms around my waist in a tight hug. I return it the best I can, noticing that Callum hasn’t said anything yet. The bruise on his jaw seems to have settled in a rich shade of purple and I’m glad that it’s no worse than that. He’s wearing the same thing that he had on yesterday, sans jacket, and he looks tired.

Felix steps away, kissing me lightly before he does. His breath smells strongly of mints and I wonder how many of those he ate at once. I get sick if I eat too many, not being able to take the strong ones at all.

“You ready to go?” he asks, standing in front of me, breaking my view of Callum. I slowly nod even though I’d like to thank Callum. I don’t feel like I should in front of Felix and I don’t want to leave without saying something.

“I just forgot my hair clip upstairs,” I say, trying to remember if I even had one to begin with. Felix doesn’t seem to know either way and nods, telling me that he’ll be outside. Callum makes no move to step away from the door, making Felix brush past him. They don’t say anything to each other and I watch the door close behind Felix.

Callum’s staring at me and I ignore the feelings it arises, “Thank you…for letting me stay.”

He doesn’t say anything and I continue, feeling myself begin to babble from uncertainty, “I really appreciate it. I guess I was more tired than I thought. I hope it wasn’t too big of an imposition.”

He shakes his head and I smile, glad that I got something out of him and pleased with what I got. He coughs, clearing his throat, and points towards the counter, “There’s an apple fritter in there for you.”

I look to the counter and notice for the first time a small pink box. Grabbing it, I open it to find exactly what Callum said I would, smiling at him for his thoughtfulness. I love these things. I reclose the box and hold it to my chest, intending to eat it in the car.

“Thank you,” I say as sincerely as I can. He nods again and I walk towards him, heading for the door. He steps aside, allowing me more room, and mutters, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Stopping beside him, I look up at him, not sure what he means. His eyes are so piercingly green that I actually get the urge to step away from him. I’ve never noticed how tall he is until right now, when he’s looking down at me. And smirking.

“Have a pleasant day,” he says, opening the door for me. I nod, not sure what just went through his head, and walk out with my pastry in hand. Felix is waiting in the car, parked just outside, and I quickly get in.

“What’s that?” he asks, poking at the pink box.

“Apple fritter.”

“You hate those,” he scoffs, so sure of himself that he’s right.

I don’t say anything and stare out the windshield. I can see Callum’s back through the store windows as he walks deeper into the store. My eyes well up and tears threaten to fall. I suddenly feel sick.


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Author's Note: This is terribly short, I know. I've not been having the best month and the next update will probably take just as long. My life has been in constant turmoil lately. I've had Bronchitis for the past two weeks and my grandfather passed on Monday. My Aunt is here now because of his death and my Uncle will be here next weekend. I started school on Tuesday, a very full schedule. And my personal life is confusing right now. I really want to get back to writing this story as I should, I just can't seem to write anything right now. But I wanted to at least get what I had written out. Thank you to everyone for reading. I appreciate it. Please bear with me for a little while. Thank you.