In Memory (47 page)

I looked down at him, and caught his eye, staring deep, reading between the lines of his iris to find what his soul meant to say.

I love you, I love you,
I
trust you
.

His absolute trust for me always staggers me; I hesitated a few seconds before leaning in to kiss his lips lightly.

He responded nervously as he sat up, as if he still wasn’t sure what he was doing. His hand trailed up my arm, resting on my shoulder before moving across my chest and fiddling with the buttons of my shirt.

Gently, I laid him back on the bed, holding his head in my hands as I deepened the kiss. The blankets rustled as he shuffled in his bed, making more space to accommodate me. I trailed tiny kisses down his sharp
jawline
, moving down his neck, my lips marking the path with tiny butterflies.

He leaned into my touches, pulling me closer. I could feel his excitement in his neck, pounding out his heartbeat.

“Aerie,” he whispered, between soft breaths, “I love you, I trust you.”

I smiled as I placed another kiss on his collarbone, my hand twitching on the buttons of his shirt. He mimicked me, circling a button of my shirt with his index finger.

Slowly I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing equally white skin underneath. He was almost sickly pale, contrasting vividly with the flushed rose of his cheeks and lips. He bit his bottom lip as I examined his pale thin torso, as if waiting for a sign of approval.

I smiled at him again, and began unbuttoning my own shirt, letting my tie fall to the floor.

Tentatively, he reached out and touched my bare skin, running his fingers over the smooth undamaged surface almost longingly.

I did the same with him, tracing over every scar, every lingering bruise, hoping my touch could do something to alleviate the pain. My hand ventured lower, feeling the smooth indent of his navel, down to the supple soft skin of his lower stomach, and was abruptly stopped by the waistband of his pants.

I looked to him for permission, my hand hot with anticipation. He nodded, pulling me in for a deeper kiss; I let my hand slip under the waistband of his pants, feeling the jutting outline of his bony hip under may hand. Leaning more heavily into his, and pushing his further into the pillows, I changed position, grinding my hips into his. He licked my lips, running his hands over my skin, up my collarbone, and into my hair.

The emotions of us both exploded in my mind, each touch lighting a burst of sparks that jolted through my entire body. Happiness, I can feel it, he’s happy.

I grinned, looking in his eyes, for what seemed like the first time. The pale icy blue had brightened, turning into a more clear sky blue, sparkling with inherent happiness.

“Noah… Noah, I love you.” I whispered, clearing a few flyway strands from his face with my available hand.

“I love you too, Aerie, always and forever.”

I slid my hand further down his pants-

There was knock at the door, followed by a terrifying rotating of the doorknob. We froze, our eyes turned towards the door.

The door swung open a little, and May stepped in.

“Big brother?” she paused, studying the way we were positioned, “Father is going to be home soon.” She turned to me, “So you should probably get you
r
hand out of my brother’s pants.”

She looked at Noah once again, inclined her head, and stepped back out, closing the door with and audible click.

I was so embarrassed.
Even if that was just a dream.

Also, the idea of his father coming back home… It’s weird. Makes me think that maybe this dream was supposed to take place a while ago. Of course, I’ve never been in his bedroom either. Maybe that’s why he had such an issue with entering my room.

School today was largely
normal,
we had fun in French, exploded something in Chemistry, dissected something in Biology, and drew what we dissected in Art. I’m kidding about Art, but it seemed like such a good way to end that sentence.

We spent a lot of time with Zack today, as he moved his seat to be directly next to me. I have a feeling Noah is still a little uncomfortable, so I asked him about it in Art.

“Did Zack ever do anything to you?”

“No, he hasn’t. He was present when they attacked me though.”

“What? What did he do?”

“He behaved honourably, and requested they stop. He was rather vehement about the issue, I remember hearing him yelling at them until he gave up and left. I wish he
would have
been able to stop them. I believe that attack was the reason he decided to abandon them as suitable friends.”

“That makes sense I guess. He never struck me as a mean guy.”

“He is not a cruel person.”

I then proceeded to sing a song about erasers, as I happily obliterated my entire drawing.

Overall, it was a pretty good day.

9 Days, 18 February, Wednesday

I wondered today if I should be using this valuable time left to spend time with him instead of wasting it by recording what happened. I mean, right now, I could be with him, whispering nonsensical romance into his ear. But instead, I’m sitting here in Terra’s chair writing down the inane events of the day as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

I suppose I’ve wondered about this same sort of thing before, but now I’m in the single digits. It was all well and good to pointlessly record my day when I had more days to spare.

So, is it worth more to experience more, or to record the events for
posterity.

If I neglect this writing, I will experience more, yes, but the experience will be mine alone. If I write it all down, then the experience is shared amongst anyone who reads it.

So which is more valuable?
Quantity over a quantity of another kind?
A concentration of experiences for me alone, or a lesser quantity but shared with others?

There’s quality in both, so it’s an irrelevant factor.

Even if that’s the phrase from the ages.

Damn the ages, I’ll make my own phrases and codes to live by.

But I’m done writing for today, I’m going to wake him up, ever so slightly, and make sure he gets to his bed.

I swear, that guy can just fall asleep anywhere.

8 Days, 19 February, Thursday

I’ve been marking the days on my hands as they disappear. Today, it was the little finger on my left hand, as it was the little finger on my right yesterday.

My marking system is much
like
his,
I’m making tiny cuts o
n my fingers as the day passes. The last one will be hidden underneath my ring.

The Bullies get back from their trip tomorrow. I hope nothing happens, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to start something since Zack, for lack of a better word, defected to our group of friends.

I’m quite fond of Zack, actually. In the short time we’ve been friends, he’s proven himself to be a conversationalist, and is quite educated in classical fiction. It really seems odd that he would be in with that particular group of people. No wonder he felt the need to escape them.

Julia and Ariel also mentioned a trip to the mall this weekend, to shop for who knows what. We all decided this was a good idea, and are meeting on Saturday.

As we got home, we discovered Terra in the living room, gushing over a huge pile of shopping bags. Initially, I thought she’d finally gone round the bend and spent her savings on a shopping spree.

As it turns out, she won the monthly raffle for a gift certificate to the mall. And she went out and purchased a bunch of new clothing for Noah and I.

Noah was completely taken aback by this.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said these bags are yours!” Terra thrust an armful of bags at him, flapping her hands. “Now go try it on! Let’s see how well I did! Aerian, you too!” She grabbed
a comparably large armful and p
i
l
ed them on me.

Noah was blushing crimson, holding the many bags tightly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sailor! Now go try them on!” She clapped her hands, and I hurried away, Noah copying me and running off to his bedroom.

In my bags, I found two new pairs of jeans, with odd rips in them, three plain t-shirts, four fancy dress shirts, and two hooded sweatshirts.

There was also a leather bracelet, which I took a shine to immediately. It was the first thing I put on.

Evidently, she was much more adventurous with Noah’s clothes, as his new shirts ranged from completely normal cotton to some weird multi-layer ripped/zippered/buttoned/stitched-up punk-looking shirt.

And a sweater that was really tight on him.

“Oh
!
I really thought that would stretch more.”

I didn’t mind. That sweater really left nothing to the imagination. You could even see the lines of his muscle shirt underneath it.

He must have noticed I was staring with a hungry expression on my face, because he started blushing again.

The last item in his bags was a sky blue t-shirt.

“I know you like to wear white, sailor, but this would look really good on you.”

Noah wore blue for the rest of the day. It took some getting used to, yeah, but it really made me happy.

He’s getting
colour
from another source than bruises and cuts.

That’s truly comforting.

Maybe he’ll become more comfortable with
colours
. I know why he wears white. It’s to indirectly proclaim his innocence. Maybe when he’s free of this curse, he won’t feel the need to express that innocence. I’d like to see him in every
colour
.

Sort of like the
colour
that appears after there’s been rain, and then the sun appears.

Well, now he’s sailed out of the stormy sea, so he should find his
colour
.

Richard of York gave battle in vain.

7 Days, 20 February, Friday

A lot of people think Friday is the best day of the week. I
dunno
. This Friday was terrible, and I don’t think next Friday is shaping up to be much better.

As a quick summary, Noah and I have been suspended for two days.

It started during the break between Bio and Art, while we were walking to our lockers. We always separate when we go to our lockers, because they’re assigned alphabetically by surname.

I heard some shouting from over by his locker, loud jeers and cheers. Instantly, I knew what was happening, dropped everything and ran to his locker.

A crowd was already gathered around it, mostly the Bullies, along with some other students. Noah was sp
rawled vulnerably on the floor
. The largest of the Bullies, the Leader, the one with the powerful glares, was standing over him and kicking him over and over.

I tore through the barrier of people, jumping high in the air and landing heavily on the Leader. He fell to the floor, and I pinned him with my legs, throwing several punches to his face as hard as I could.
The cheering got louder
,
I know it did
.

Someone grabbed me from behind, I swung wildly the moment I saw the red cuffs of the sports team jacket. As I stood up, another couple people slammed me into the locker, the impact hitting exactly where I hit my head before. That knocked me nearly out cold, and I dropped like a stone just in time to see Noah stand up.

He positioned himself in front of me, in an obviously offensive stance. I still remember the way he felt, those angry, but still protective emotions swirling around him like a tornado.

As I looked at the crowd around us, I swear I saw the Prophet again. He was standing completely still amongst the bustle of people. As far as I can tell, he was sad.

Eventually, someone advanced, and Noah threw a strong, hard punch. Whoever he punched went down in one hit.

Impressive, no matter how you look at it.

That’s about when the teachers intervened, and we were all escorted to the office. There was more than one bloody nose and cut lip for the nurse to attend to. I also split my knuckles on the Leader
’
s face.

And you know what? I don’t feel bad about wrecking his face. I feel bad about the incident as a whole, mostly because it took something as serious as this for the teachers to notice the problem. I also feel bad that we had to resort to violence to save ourselves. Terra picked us up at the school, since the principal pretty much banished us until next Wednesday.

The car ride was long, tense, and silent.

When we got home, we had to explain to Terra exactly what happened, which was not a fun conversation at all.

“So you got suspended for
fighting??
What the hell happened?”