post 16 : enemies

It’s happened again, of course. I’ve come to expect the average life span of a friendship is one year precisely. I’ve come to accept it.

It is my intention to break free of the social norms people place on themselves and each other in order to restrict, to keep in line and to suffocate. I refuse; there are no rules, except those which I make for myself. Evidently this makes me unashamedly ruthless, it makes me independent, fierce and strong, intolerant of sheep and of optimists. It makes me eternally realistic. It makes me disagreeable. And it’s acceptable to be this way, as long as you are this way silently. People don’t like to hear your opinion if it is not the same as theirs; they don’t like you doing things they’d consider to be morally incorrect, as if it will tip the perfectly mediocre balance of their mundane lives.

It’s too much effort for people to attempt to alter their views in order to see yours. It’s too much effort for me to passively smile and agree. Oh I could stop, halt my opinions and to consequently cease living and rather, merely exist. They’d certainly like it better that way; pacify the opposing, be rid of conflict and challenge. Be ordinary, as if that is some sort of a life. I love my friends don’t get me wrong but shit, at times it’s barely tolerable.
 

It’s up to me: Do I stay silent and “morally correct” in order to extend said friendship life expectancy? It’s easy for them to disregard me if I don’t. The answer: Fuck no.

So I go. I will be fine, it matters little to me. I will leave and they will think I’m hurt but I am not hurt, only disappointed. But disappointment fades too. Expectations and assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups. How could I have expected more from them; how dare I?

Of one thing I am certain: People love me intensely and then detest me as equally and passionately as the former. Sure, I’ve made some enemies, and good. At least I’ve stood up for something.

But oh no, what about my reputation? Oh that’s right. I don’t care.

post 15 : so this is what it's like to feel

I sit in the hallway on the floor, waiting Chris to arrive. He’d missed this morning’s class but had called to say he would be here this afternoon. I rock myself back and forwards, knees against my chest and arms around them tight; not talking, not diverting my eyes from a stain on the carpet. After a long time I feel a hand touch my face and see his shoes step onto the stain. Relief. He leans down in front of me, smiling; kind. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He offers. I nod.

We wander to the couches in front of the library and sit on the same one, turning in slightly to face each other and he takes my hand, squeezes a little. “What happened?” He is worried. “Lachlan called earlier to say you were sad, but he didn’t know what to do.” Sweet Lachie.

“It was awful, Chris. The whole thing was an uncomfortable mess. He avoided being left alone with me and when we did get a moment together Tom was close by so we couldn’t even act how we would if we were alone. Our conversation was distorted and edgy and eventually, I think he just tried to stay as far away from me as he could. And then, I cried one night. What an idiot. I cried. I didn’t mean to, and I especially didn’t mean for him to see, but Lola saw and she told him and he seemed concerned but he didn’t try to help and he definitely thinks I’m annoying which, you know, I am and New Jake told me a fairy tale to try and make it better…” He is staring at me, obviously missing half of the information I am throwing at him in my emotional wreck of a rant.

“Keep going.” He prompts gently, waiting for me to get to the point.

“He still tells me that nothing can happen ‘now’ or ‘here’. It’s so frustrating. Can’t he just tell me that he doesn’t like me and get it over with?”

“But he does like you.” He told me.

“Oh, really?” I am half sarcastic, half snappy. How would he know? I sigh and wait for an answer that won’t come and even if it did, would be hollow in validity. “I don’t know anymore. I thought he did. I thought he just needed time but now...” my voice trails off. This wasn’t a situation that I could be flippant about; I couldn’t just assume he liked me, when quite possibly his feelings had deteriorated with time and distance. I couldn’t just assume that he didn’t though, either.

“Maybe it’s not enough for him to like you, Alice. He’s obviously going through some things. This certainly shouldn’t be enough for you. You deserve more.” If I am so deserving why can’t I have what I want?

I want to make Chris understand that Owen isn’t just some crush you can push to the side and forget about when the feeling isn’t obviously reciprocated, that I have to hold on to any hope, however fragile, however fleeting. It is getting increasingly hard; balancing between hope and actuality, and it seems the longer I continue to hold onto hope, the more ignorant I appear.

“Do you know that I’ve had 30 boyfriends, Chris?” A good place to start.

“You’ve had 30 boyfriends?” He repeats, a little shocked at the figure, perhaps, but not all that surprised.

“Yes. Approximately. Ebony made me count them one day. Regardless, that’s the equivalent of 3 per year, for 10 years” I say, doing the simple maths for him. “More, even, because there’s been a couple of long term relationships in there too. And I’ve only been dating for about 8 years. That’s not the point. The point is; I ended it with all except one. I am the one that breaks hearts, not the other way around. Hell, it’s what I’m known for; it’s what’s talked about at family barbeques. I am the daughter and the cousin and the sister and the niece that damages the hearts of unsuspecting and naive boys. They’re all “Whose heart have you broken this week?” and “Well, there goes another one!” and “Aw the poor thing, he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, does he?” as if I should agree with them. And the thing is; they’re right. I’ve done it so often it’s become a certainty, like my auntie not showering and my cousin’s increasing weight gain. I’ve broken up with boyfriends for the most trivial of reasons and each time I do; I feel nothing. I’ve even started to warn guys before they get involved with me. How self-loathing, arrogant and assured is that?”

“What kind of reasons?” He inquires, missing the point.

“Once, I broke up with a boyfriend because he gave me too many compliments. Another time it was because I didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day in a relationship. Stupid Valentine’s Day.”

“Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He laughs at me and smiles because he knows I am telling the truth.

“I was with Hayden for a year before went to England. I didn’t cry when he left. I didn’t even think about him anymore, I didn’t miss him. He didn’t have a girlfriend for two years after we broke up. What we had together had meant something I’m sure of it, but I wasn’t in it. I hardly even remember it. I was with Tom for a year, too. No tears, no longing; nothing. I thought I was emotionally void. I wished that I could have a broken heart so I would know what it was like to feel. I wanted something that was real, and so clear that it was impossible to ignore, something so strong that I would remember every single moment of it, something that I could replay over and over in my head because it was too good to forget about. I wanted this.”

I turn serious. “He broke me, Chris. I used to feel nothing and now I can’t stop. I crave him so fucking much. Everyone thinks he’s a jerk for treating me like this, but he’s not. He’s broken, too. I know it’s not his intention but he keeps doing it. Every time I see him it happens and I leave him filled with dread because I know I won’t see him again for another few months. What if he doesn’t feel it like I do? What if it never happens again? I hate this, it’s all consuming.”

“I know he did.” He says pulling me close to lean against his chest and holding on, giving me everything he can to try and make it better. To my surprise, my eyes have dried up; I blur them over and stare into the distance. I think perhaps I’ve used up all the tears I had in me. 

post 14 : resentment and reciprocation

I wonder if he resents me for loving him the way I resent others for loving me. I wonder at what point you are allowed to claim love, not infatuation if only as a sign of respect; that you don’t actually know the person well enough to love them and you shouldn’t claim to. I wonder if this will make us an impossibility; the more I grow to love him, the more he will push me away. Hell, it’s what I do. I wonder if it actually is possible to stop. It has been possible in the past, sure, but was that love? I wonder if all of those cliché sayings that I hate so much are true: is love forever? Surely not.

The more lingering question is, though: can one really exist without the other, can you love without being loved in return?

In Law School we are taught that everything ‘depends’. Things depend on the facts, of the motive, of the definitions of the words in the legislation. There is a definition for everything. We express things precisely, categorise them into boxes so that they are easily cut and copied to fit into life where we deem necessary. Love, though. How does one define love? A dictionary meaning would suggest that it is a “profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person”; a “sexual passion or desire” but surely passion and desire mean different things to different people, surely love means different things to different people, and therefore is a feeling which escapes all definition.  
         

I know for certain that exclusively to love the way someone makes you feel is not love at all. I wonder also, if to love unrequitedly is not to love at all. I would hope not, but I am not sure.

Some are of the opinion that love creates love; that it is circular. I tend to disagree, though believe that some prefer it to be so, if only to satisfy their vanity. Do we slip somewhere along the way, and fall into love because someone loves us? Do we push ourselves into something reciprocated? Do we enjoy being loved more than we enjoy love itself? Sure, this creates comfort, a feeling of being wanted, a mere satisfactory white picket fence life together. But is it love? If it is, I want no part in it.

Was it Jane Austin that said: “There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement”? Now this, I believe. I don’t believe reciprocation will always unfold, but I believe that it feels fucking good to love, to really love and I would choose that, every time. 

post 13 : the topic of love

Let us indulge a little on the topic of love.

I guess I have always felt more comfortable loving than being loved. Whether this is my fiercely private nature unable to let someone in; or unwilling to, or whether I am simply more interested in knowing someone thoroughly and choosing to occupy an, albeit momentary, unwavering love for them despite their flaws, however naive, then having them know mine without the reassurance they won't judge me also. I'm not sure. Perhaps it's both. Perhaps they are the same thing. Either way, I have a tendency to dive well into knowing someone; delicious and refreshing. And for the most, they will let me.

"If not for the comfort of love” is a statement that makes no sense to me. Love is not comforting. Love is demanding and cruel; a self-sacrificing precious thing but for the purposes of merely being precious, a thing people cling to and as such it is also an ever lingering risk of loss. And then there is loss. If not reciprocated; each side equally torturous as the other.

Anger begins to build when I start to notice a person's affection. Be it a defence mechanism or otherwise, I will change my vibe of slight seduction to frank rudeness, verging on insult in order to have them change their mind, as if it is a decision for them to change their mind. It is a contradiction, really, because it was my vibe that placed the thought in their head in the first place. They see this as playful, hard to get even, but they mistake my change in attitude for this almost as an excuse so that they don't have to take the advice that I lay out straight for them; if you continue, you'll ruin this. You can't have everything. If you try, you'll end up with nothing. Though I am sure it is not possible for most to shut down emotion as easily as I do; they continue. I say "they", because if it is one thing, it is a pattern.

The anger increases gradually until they express their feelings and I am forced to either feign a calm and continue until the inevitable phase of "I can't stand you" begins, or cut it off there, ruining the friendship before it has begun and missing the opportunity of getting to know the ins and outs of someone new; my favourite way to pass the time. Which to choose when I know myself well enough to know three things:

1. The inevitable phase of "I can't stand you" will being. It will begin as soon as the desperation begins; the attempt at manufacturing returned feelings through fake cuteness or fake sulking and a general increased annoyance in attitude. It is a pathetic attempt at forcing one into liking another, and subsequently pushing them further away. It is at this point were respect dulls.

2. I will adore them to a point, though the adoration will quickly drain due to unwanted affection and said annoyances.

3. The fact that I adored them in the first place causes more hurt and confusion than if I didn't at all.

But would I stop it at the start, knowing what I know; prevent the cycle? No. And neither would they.

As I am the one that pre-empts said cycle each time, is it not then my responsibility to provide a little for-warning? If I do, I risk the look of arrogance. If I don't, I risk their dignity; their preservation. As a general rule, I choose to not. So what then, does this make me? 

post 12 : scream

Reluctantly, I get in the car with Jake. After this morning’s antics this could be awkward. We spend the first 15 minutes in silence. I stare out my window to the clear field that just last night was congested with tents and cars. I look in my rear view mirror and see Owen. I look ahead of me and see Tom. To my left is Jake and I want nothing more than to run to the field and scream.

We have moved maybe 10 meters so I put my car into neutral and tuck my leg up onto the seat. It is hot; the wind blows my hair over my face. It makes me think of the night we walked to the beach, instead of to home. We had been out and we were drunk. It was probably close to 3am, autumn and it was hot. We stood ankle deep in the sea laughing loudly, kicking the water up at each other and once we were adequately soaked, started with the mud, collecting handfuls and hurling them but falling short each time. It was so windy that I didn’t see him come towards me through my hair; I only felt him push it away from my face, his hands wet and rough, and say “There, that’s better” sticking my hair to my cheeks with mud and lulling me into a false sense of security before tackling me into the water. We stayed until the sun came up and we built a sandcastle. 

I grab for the hair tie on my wrist and take my hair, throw it up in a bun on the top of my head. I feel the tears hit my cheeks and think fuck this, not again. 

“Alice?” Jake asks, reaching out in an act of comfort and touching my leg.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream at him, and his hand is back in his lap in half an instant. “I’m sorry” I say, hating myself and turn the car off, throw him the keys and run as far away as I can before my legs collapse. I drop to my knees in the middle of the field and scream into my hands to muffle the sound.

*******

The cars have probably moved but I don’t suppose that matters; they won’t leave without me. I sit down. The grass is surprisingly soft for having had so many people trample it. The sun is hot on my back and I’d prefer it on my face so I lie down, palms up, eyes closed and let it burn.

It’s Lola that comes to get me. She leans down, a shadow darkening the black of my eyelids. She touches my hair with the tenderness her brother used to. “Hey” she says, soothing “it’s time to go.” I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to move but she says something that makes me.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.”

I let her take my hand and pull me up. We walk back together in silence.

“Are you alright?” Jake asks me when I get back into the car. We are still close to Tom’s van so I assume he’s moved the car forward and then gone back around to the passenger’s seat.

“No.” I tell him. “I’m not alright.” But then again, neither is he.

post 11 : jealousy

I find myself oddly jealous; an emotion I feel very sporadically. You are upset because of what she may think, above the reason of being upset because I hurt you. This hurts me; leaves me with a sense of inadequacy; of unimportance; of indifference. It makes me crave the respect you have for her. I have no right to the feelings; it was me who hurt you. But I have them, all the same. 

post 10 : compliments

Complaints have always brushed over me; I pay them no attention. They are words with no meaning, no thought, even. They fail to shock or surprise. They are put in place of something real, instead of showing how you feel.

I am almost appalled at myself when I wake to find a note on the pillow where he last night slept and at reading the carefully penned words, am unable to contain the smile that spreads across my face and the heat that rushes to my cheeks.

“You are frightfully attractive, staggeringly intriguing, and delightfully quirky (as if you didn’t know).”

I grab the note and lie back down, hold it above my head and read it again. And again. He’d thought about it; actually thought about it. Intriguing, quirky; these are not words one would be accustomed to using when describing a person of interest. I wonder what I had done to intrigue him; if it was an isolated incident. I like that he likes these things about me, that he didn’t use ‘beautiful’ or ‘smart’ as I’d so often heard yet struggled to believe and wondered why they even mattered.

Just as I am about to close my eyes and attempt to drift back to sleep I notice some writing on the back of the page.

“Perhaps ‘you are delectable’ would have sufficed.”

And just like that, he’s got me captivated. I think of him the entire day. I wonder if he’s thought this all along, and is only now saying it because he has been allowed the opportunity. I wonder if these feelings are new. 

post 9 : fool

“I’m a fool” he tells me, as I look at him from the other end of the couch, at his broken face, and suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to be sick. I’ve done it all over again. How did we get back here?

“You’re not” I tell him, and fight the urge to say the clichéd truth: it’s not you, it’s me. And because I can’t find the words to replace them, I say nothing. He grabs his computer from the floor and sits it on his lap, turns it on. He keeps his head down while it is loading. “Would you prefer I wasn’t here now, Jake because I can go.” To where, at 3am I have no idea, my car perhaps.

“No, I want to show you something.” He tells me, and I feel a rush of anxiety run up my spine and spread through my belly.

“What is…?” I start to ask but he cuts me off.

“Wait.” His face turns from vulnerable to angry as he starts clicking at the screen.

“Jake, what are you showing me?” I turn into panic mode because if there is one thing that makes me anxious, it’s having something that I’ve written, read back to me; it’s people bringing up something that I’ve said, the potential embarrassment, the exposure. It is the most confronting thing for me, and Jake knows this. I shift from my comfortable relaxed position and sit on my feet, ready to pounce should the need call for it.

“To Jake” he starts reading out loud an email that I’d sent him, though I don’t know which of the hundreds. It is from a phase when we’d used brackets immediately after what we said to contain what we really meant. “Jake, stop, please” I beg. He doesn’t.

I block my ears and close my eyes, try to disappear. He continues, and I know he’s doing it because he likes having this power over me. It’s the one thing he’s got. Sure, I’ve had the control all along but not like this. Never flaunting it or taking advantage. He’s suddenly become the villain and it is strange and unexpected. I find myself pulling away from him. I fly off the couch and into his room, slamming the door behind me and pushing against it. I struggle with the lock but manage to wiggle it into place just as he arrives on the other side, calling out my name. I grab for his desk and slide it awkwardly in front of the door, just in case he knows how to pick a lock. I am petrified and my breath is fast.

“Alice!” He calls out, but I ignore him. I am in the middle of his bed, on my knees, my head leaning against the mattress and rocking back and forth. My hands are blocking my ears and my eyes are closed tightly together. I scream into the mattress and grab a fistful of blanket in one fist, squeeze tight and wait for the anxiety to subside.

*******

I open my eyes when I feel his hand on my hair. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes feel sore and swollen. I don’t know how he’s managed to unlock the door or push the desk out of the way, but he is sitting beside me, rubbing my back and telling me that he is sorry. I push him away and turn on my side away from him. “I’m sorry” he repeats. If anyone knows how anxiety feels, it is Jake. I am rocking on my side and I feel my hands creep up to cover my ears again. “Alice” I hear through my fingers; his voice sounds hurt, broken.

“I shouldn’t have done it” he sounds as though he is talking to himself more than to me. “I just wanted to remind you what it used to be like; of a time when I thought that you loved me, too.” I feel his hand on my back again but this time I don’t move away.

“I don’t love you.” I don’t say it to be cruel.

“I couldn’t stand it, seeing you with him.”

“You don’t get to choose who I’m with, Jake. That’s not your right, and you certainly don’t get to take them away and have words about staying away from me. And now, you’re intentionally trying to make me feel out of control. I don’t even recognise you.” I feel his head hit the mattress, I suppose in self-disappointment more so than exhaustion. I get up and walk out.

“I’m going to sleep in my car. Don’t follow me.”

*******

I wake to find that 6 hours have passed and a note on my windscreen:

I didn’t mean to hurt you

I’m sorry that I made you cry

Oh no, I didn’t mean to hurt you

I’m just a jealous guy

Lennon lyrics, because really, how many times can you say the word ‘sorry’? My anger subsides and I find myself desperate to cling to whatever is left of our tattered friendship.

He answers the door mid-knock. “Are you ready to stop being a stupid asshole?”

“I’m sorry I was a stupid asshole.” He opens the door and I come inside. I sit on the couch that last night felt foreign but today feels like home, and shift through the seasons of The Big Bang Theory, trying to figure out where we are up to.

“Season 4” he calls from the kitchen. I put the DVD in and sit back down. He sits next to me, not too close and pushes a perfect latte into my hand.

“You just whip this up?”

“Mmhmm. It’s got vanilla.” I want to tell him how, when he’s not being a stupid asshole the extent to which I appreciate him. But appreciation is not love and so I say nothing. 

chapter 1 : beer is delicious

We step into the living room and onto a blue floor at party to which I wasn’t invited. The birthday girl had made a temporary dancing area out of tarp where it didn’t matter if you spilled your drink or smeared cake into the ground. Very practical, I think, for this bunch of people.  She greets us by bounding up arms open and thanks us for coming and I am glad that she does because before now, I don’t remember meeting her.  I glance quickly at my sister, Ebony, who had earlier called to ask if I could come too. She smiles, relaxing me a little and I look around the room trying to find someone I recognise.

There are a few: Anabelle, a beautiful English girl that my ex-boyfriend Tom had introduced me to, and her boyfriend Patrick. There are Lily and Chloe; whom I always mix up despite the fact that one was in Ebony’s year at school, and the other is from Africa. There is Flynn, of course, Ebony’s boyfriend, and his housemate Daniel. There are high school sweethearts Noah and Lindsey. And then; there is Owen.

Owen is bent over an esky, searching for something seemingly important. He stands up and spins around, holding two beers in his outstretched arms, a huge smiled planted on his face that instantly reminds me why I am there.  He comes over to us, pushing one of the beers into Flynn’s hand, the other into Daniel’s. He is wearing a plain grey t-shirt and jeans, though he looks anything but. He’s let his hair grow since the last time I’d seen him; it’s now a soft blonde mess though I am sure each piece is placed exactly where he intended it. Ebony had mentioned that he’d acquired some new muscles in the time since I’d last seen him, and she wasn’t wrong. His previously thin arms wrap strongly around me. Oh, my.

Noah comes over to me, arms spread and a huge cheeky grin planted on his face. “Alice!” he announces, and cuddles me. Lindsey follows; they are one and the same. She gives me a shy hug and retreats. She is tiny, about 5 feet short and a persona equally as mild. Noah is not a lot taller, actually. If there was such a thing as a perfect couple, they would be it. They met in school at the tender age of 16 and started dating not long after. Six years later they are happier than ever. Tom introduced me to Noah when we were dating, over a year ago. Actually, Tom introduced me to everyone but on that first night, when a whole lot of names got thrown at me Noah’s was the only one that stuck. I’d remembered him not so much for his face, which was quite common, but for his sincerity and honesty, and also because he had told me that I needed to remember him; he was the most important one.

Lindsey disappears and Noah asks me how I’ve been, patting my back and adding that it is good to see me. “I’ve been good.” I tell him as I scan the room; socially anxious but attempting to cover it “Busy with study, but I like that. What about you?”

“Also busy with study, I’m writing my thesis this semester.”

“What topic are you doing?”

“Oh, you know; radiation effects and soft errors in integrated circuits and electronic devices.” I laugh. “The usual.” He adds.

“Want me to write it for you, I know all about that.”

He joins in my giggling and asks “Have you met Lola yet?” Lola is Owen’s sister, I’d met her just the once at least six months prior. She has chopped her long blonde hair off and it now sits in a cute bob that bounces when she speaks. She is laughing at something Flynn has just said and her face is animated and scrunched up. I look back to Noah.

“I have met her, just the once.”  I reiterate my thoughts. I don’t tell him that I think she is as delightful as her brother.

“Come here” he says, taking my hand. “I’ll introduce you to some more people.” He takes me towards Lily and Chloe, the two girls I get mixed up. They are about the same height and both have blonde hair that is not natural but nor does it look fake. It’s their boobs that must be what confuses me; they are huge on the both of them. I hope this won’t be awkward. “Do you know Lily and Chloe?” Noah asks and I say “yes” and they say “of course” and throw their arms around me, like Noah has just done and I begin to feel welcome; slightly comfortable. I know that one is studying pharmacy, and the other teaching. I should know which is which, I really should.

“I went to school with Ebony, remember.” One of them says to Noah, and I hope that he calls her by name so that I can get this sorted. As though she knows I am struggling, Ebony comes along and grabs the neck of the girl from school, pulls her close and kisses her right on her face. She screams out “Lily! I haven’t seen you in ages!”  Okay; I make a mental note. Lily is from school, which must mean that Chloe is from Africa, though I have no idea where, specifically or when she moved or if she speaks the language. I open my mouth to ask the questions but Ebony’s arm is around my neck before I get the chance. She stretches to reach Chloe with the tips of her fingers. Lily is under her other arm and all of a sudden we are in a scrum-like cluster, our heads down in the middle, whispering like school children. There is a boy at this party that Lily has a crush on, apparently, but I don’t recognise his name, and yes Flynn is as good as he looks like he would be, and “Did you know that my sister likes Owen?”

“Ebony!”

She giggles and mouths “she does” and they laugh and vow to help me, should the need call for it tonight.

“I don’t even know if I do like him” I attempt to defend myself but as we stand up from our scrum and I catch his eye across the room I know that to pretend I don’t would be a ridiculous waste of effort.

“I saw that!” Lily giggles, and then adds, “Don’t worry we won’t tell anyone.”

“I might!” Chloe adds, and I know I am going to like her.

*******

Noah has disappeared, but I am confident enough now to make my way around comfortably with the handful of people I know. “Let’s drink” Ebony more announces than suggests and we wander to the esky where Flynn and Daniel have the same idea.

“Hey, Alice” Daniel yells at me and grabs my face, turns it towards him and slightly down. “Look at this.”

“Like I have a choice” I half mumble, his hand tightly squeezing my cheeks when Owen appears out of nowhere.

“Let the poor girl go” he says, laughing and pushes Daniel away. I shake my face back into shape and ask Daniel what I am supposed to be looking at. Evidently no words are required and he drops his pants to the ground. We stare, a little taken back.

“They’re pink.” I state the obvious, and they are pink.

“They’re amazing!” Owen corrects, louder than necessary and he grabs at him while Daniel puts his hands behind his head and pelvic thrusts; smug.

“Tragic.”  

Owen peels his face away from Daniel long enough to tease me. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“Okay big man maybe it is time you pull your pants up now, you’ll have all the ladies over here in a minute.” And because Daniel doesn’t know when to stop he walks off with his jeans around his ankles instead. We watch him go and we watch people flock to him.

“Classic Daniel” I say after a moment, to break the silence.

“Beer time” and we turn to the esky and see Flynn sitting on it, and Ebony sitting on him.

“Disgusting” Owen jokes and Flynn starts to kiss her while he extends his middle finger. “Okay. No drinks” Owen says in response and he hears a song he likes, drags me to the dance floor.

“Wait. Wait!” I hear someone call out, and we stop just in time to see a body fly in front of us and land on a beanbag to the left of our feet. I look down at someone I don’t recognise. The stranger winks at me, gets up and runs back to the couch from where he’d just catapulted to have another go. I blush and duck my head, hope that Owen didn’t see. He grabs my hand again and we duck as someone else flies over us and we make it safely to the blue dance floor, only now it’s not just a blue dance floor but a game of twister on a blue dance floor and I realise that this party couldn’t possibly get better.

Anabelle and Lola are entwined around each other and Noah is sitting in the middle, defeated. “Alice, Owen!” He calls out. “Come play.”

“You want to?” Owen asks me.

“Hell yes I want to.”

The five of us stand on the sides of the mat and wait for Lindsey to spin. Lola makes angry challenging faces at Owen and a low noise that resembles a growl that makes Anabelle and me giggle.

“Right foot on red” Lindsey calls out, and the game is underway.

*******

I fall to the ground and even though he probably could have stayed up, Owen falls on top, catching himself and lingering over me. He lowers just enough to ever so lightly kiss my neck and then jumps up. “Again!” He announces, as if he hasn’t just stopped my heart.

I see Lily watching and she mouths the words “I saw that” again, and winks. Owen has disappeared.

“I’m out” I tell Noah when he asks if I want to play again. “These guys want a go”. I start to follow Lily, ducking my head in case someone flies at me when Owen re-appears holding two beers.

“Err, no, thank you.” I tell him, when he holds one out to me. “Don’t do beer.”

His jaw drops and he feigns a look of disbelief. “You don’t do beer.” He makes sure he’s heard correctly. “Beer is delicious.”

“Well I would” I clarify, “if, you know, it tasted good.”

“I’m shocked.”

“I can see that.”

“You don’t do beer.”

“Is that so preposterous?”

“It is.”

“I could drink cider, would that make it all better?”

“I’m not sure it would.”

“Fine, give me the beer.”

“You want the beer?”

“I’ll have a taste.”

“You’ll love it.”

“I assure you I won’t.” I take a sip as he makes an “mmm” sound to convince me further.

“Beer is not delicious” I say, handing it back and making a face that backs this up. He laughs at me, takes an exaggerated sip.

“Ahh, delicious!”  I roll my eyes and can’t contain my smile. “So no beer?”

“No beer.”

“Fine.” He turns to the esky where Ebony and Flynn are still sitting. I wonder where he got the other beers from but my thoughts are interrupted when I see him push Flynn so hard that he falls off the esky and onto the floor. Ebony falls with him, or she is pulled; Owen piles on top. Daniel sees and comes running over to join, his pants still undone but at least pulled up now.

There are legs everywhere and fake moans and screams of laughter. I sit on the esky and watch this display unfold as more people jump on. Lola is next; screaming out “weeeeee” and she lands on her brother. I feel my arm jerk and before I realise what is happening I am amongst it too.

“Okay!” I hear from the bottom of the pile. “Can’t breathe.” I manoeuvre so that I am hanging over the top and search through the heads and legs to find my sister.

“Hey baby! Are you having fun down there?”

She is giggling and can only just manage the words “The most”. One by one we unravel ourselves and once we are standing, high five.  

“Right, we were getting you a drink.” Owen reminds me and reaches into the esky.

*******

One by one, people dwindle off the dance floor exhausted, to get drinks. I look around, deciding my next move. I catch Owen’s eye; he is watching me so I hold his stare and wait. The song has just changed and as he gets closer a smile spreads across my face when I realise he is mouthing the words at me. By the time he grabs hold of my waste he is singing loudly “’Cause I like you, yeah I like you, and I’m feeling so Bohemian like you.”

My initial giggle turns into a relentless state of laughing out loud as he spins me around the dance floor and finishes the lyric “And I feel whoa ho woo!”

A few songs later, we wander off to get a drink and have a break. We slump down on an oversized beanbag and Owen puts his arm around me. I point out a guy who I had met earlier in the night, but whose name I have already forgotten and reiterate the conversation we’d had. “He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and if not, did I want one”. He’d actually been pretty smooth.

“I can set him straight if you want” he told me, coming to my defence. It was hardly necessary but I appreciated the sentiment, and hid the back flip my heart did semi-well.

“I’m sure you could, but I don’t have a boyfriend, Owen” I innocently teased. It is my intention to make this difficult for him.

“I know...” he starts, looking at me as though I should have caught on to what he was insinuating, before being interrupted by a friend who is leaving. We get up to say an extended goodbye and by the time we are alone again the moment has passed.

We put our empty bottles in the bin and head back to the blue floor. The catapult guy who winked at me earlier is dancing as though he has a point to prove. He is wearing skinny black jeans and a white shirt; now see through with sweat and sticking to his slim body. His hair is dark brown and close to shaven; he would look better if it were long. He half makes up for it though, with his face unshaven for what appears to be a week and hipster-like tattoos down one arm. He has striking brown eyes and an animated face. Now he is what I would call delicious.  

I didn’t know him, but that doesn’t stop me from jumping in front of him, challenging the dance-off he already appears to be competing in solo. Owen drops back and watches as the stranger and I move our bodies ridiculously and not, in any way, flatteringly. The point is, I believe, to out-enthuse the other, and to outlast them. Evidently we appear to be having too much fun to miss out on because Owen joins in, displaying a comical routine that I stop to enjoy. Somehow it turns a little sexual in context and the boys rub against each other, simulating attraction and lust. I can’t help but notice, though, in reality it is a genuine rivalry and contest. I wonder how they know each other, and what one has done to piss the other off.

When the music stops Owen grabs me, drawing me close. The stranger takes this as his invitation to leave although I am very aware of him lingering nearby, watching as Owen and I engage in messy dancing and enthusiastic singing, never more than a few inches apart. 

“So”, Owen continues, picking up on our conversation from earlier. “Do you want me to show that guy that you aren’t available?” As his lips move, I can feel his breath against my skin. I close my eyes and inhale, and as I do I feel him pull me closer, unaware this is even possible. He presses his lips against mine then gently pulls back, checking my face for signs that this is okay. It is actually the most okay I had ever been, and in a silent attempt at telling him that I mirror his actions, pressing my lips back against his. He immediately responds, wrapping his arms around me tight and moving one hand to my hair, softly smoothing it, his arm pressed against each trace of my skin it can find on the way up. One of my arms fit perfectly under his, coming to rest on top of his shoulder from behind, clutching and attempting to shut out any remaining space left between us. My other hand lingers on his hip, just above where his jeans sit. My fingers dig into his skin; confirming he is real.  

Overwhelmed, I manage to free myself, resting my forehead against his, and open my mouth for breath. Wow. His fingers come to dance on my face, running over each curve as though committing it to memory. “Do that again”, I tell him.

*******

Blissfully unaware of our surroundings, we open our eyes to see that we were completely alone. Everyone has ventured outside, leaving us to each other. A Foo Fighters song comes on and Owen’s perfect voice flows through me. As if he hasn’t impressed me enough, he takes my hand and lifts our arms slightly as I duck under, and spins me around, just once. “I can’t dance” I hesitantly warn him, nervously realising that he was going to be good at this too, of course.

“You’ve never been danced with?” he asks, seemingly shocked at this revelation.

“It’s unbelievable isn’t it; just like the beer thing.” I am joking but he is looking at me sincere.

“Yes, it is”.

He spins me around to face the glass doors leading outside, where everyone is busy enjoying themselves. They pay us no attention. He shifts to stands behind me; wraps his arms around my belly, his head coming to rest on my shoulder and decides to change the topic. “Alice, you could have anyone here” he tells me, half whispering in my ear. I am inclined to disagree, but remain silent. “Why would you choose me?” 

Why would I choose you? I think about the absurd question, wondering if he honestly can’t see all the answers as clearly as I do. You’re smart and motivated, I think to myself, and determined with a little arrogance for flavour. You have the body of a God, I continue to myself, and a striking face, while somehow managing to look soft and kind. Your hair feels just as I would imagine clouds to feel and your eyes are sky blue to match. Your skin is pale white and smooth; flawless. I don’t think it can tan either, and I like that.

You can sing, you can dance evidently but you do so with little effort and without trying to impress. You can make me laugh till I hurt, but are seemingly unsatisfied that you’ve succeeded each time. You know things; interesting things. You teach me things. You captivate me with each word that comes out of your perfectly shaped mouth. You have a strong South African accent to match your personality, mashed with a little English and Australian to make up a voice that is uniquely your own. You challenge me because you know I like to be challenged, and you like to be challenged too.

You make my stomach a permanent home for butterflies. I like the freckle on your lip and that the colour blue suites you. I love that every time you see your sister, your face lights up. I like that she looks like you, too. Now that there is you, there is no one else but you. I stop, shaking the thoughts from my head, afraid that he might be able to hear. Waking me from my trance as if he knows I am done recapping, he spins me back around to face him and kisses my forehead, twice.

“You are so beautiful” he tells me, as if trying to convince me that this were true. Well, I think, this is odd. The person you have always thought was too good for you turns out to be the person who thinks you are too good for them. Was that irony? I am not sure; but I like it.

I realise, too late, that I never answered his question.

*******

“Are you glad you came?” Ebony asks as everyone is starting to leave.  

“Kind of, I mean it was alright. Ok fine it was probably the best decision I’ve made. You know, ever.” I smile are her big and think back to our phone call earlier in the day.

“Hmm, I’m not sure Eb; I don’t know many people who are going.” I was at Southbank buying purple orchards to brighten my study, and looking for textbooks on the English legal system at the State Library for my upcoming assignment, and I was distracted. I had already decided that I would be staying at home to work on the assignment. I was becoming increasingly addicted to university and actually enjoyed spending my nights at home typing at Microsoft Word as though it cared what I was saying. 

Her next words had brought me back to the thought of the party. “Owen’s going to be there”.

“What should I wear?” Ebony laughed at me, knowing full well that was all it would take to change my mind. She helped me virtually sort through my wardrobe over the phone, and when we decided there was nothing in it, we hung up and I changed my shopping agenda.

I look at her now, a dishevelled mess as I probably am and thank her. Twice.

*******

“I see you met my good friend Jake.” Noah comes to stand next to me, replacing the catapulting, winking, dancing stranger who left just seconds before.

“Oh he belongs to you?”

“We went to school together, have been friends for years.”

“Him and Owen don’t get along, do they?”

“Not really, though it’s kind of unspoken. I’m not even sure what happened between them, they used to. Jake refuses to talk about it.”  

“It’s a shame, really. They bounce off each other well; a little healthy rivalry.” Evidently not so healthy. Lindsey wraps her arms around Noah from behind.  She looks sleepy.

“You ready to go?”

“Go” I mouth at him and he hugs me and Lindsey hugs me. “It was good to see you both.”

“You too, Alice.” Noah says, and Lindsey agrees. Ebony comes over to tell me we’re leaving too. I scan the room for Jake but I can’t see him.

“Have you seen my belt?” Owen asks, coming to stand next to me on the blue dance floor that is now sticky with alcohol and covered in rubbish. I look at him, eyebrows raised.

“You took off your belt?” I wonder that inspired him to do such a thing. Shirt, yes, if it’s hot; shoes for comfort. Belt, though? In his hands are his shoes, socks and shirt. No belt. He smiles innocently and shrugs. “Let’s look.” I say, and we separate. I see a pile of clothes in the corner and sit down in front of it facing the wall and start shifting through.

“Can I see you again soon?” I look up to see Jake hovering above me, kneeling on a backwards facing chair, arms folded casually in front and rocking back and forth. His smile and intense stare are alluring and I have to look away.

“Sit” I tell him, patting the floor next to me, and he does. “Why do you want to see me?” I ask, not because I want him to tell me that he’s interested, but because I am hoping he will tell me he wants to be my friend.

“We had fun tonight.”

“True” I say slowly, cautious and he continues.

“I was kind of hoping that instead of kissing Owen, you might want to kiss me.” I duck my head and smile again, embarrassed.

“I’m afraid” I tell him, “I quite like kissing Owen.”

“Hmm I thought you might.” I pick up a belt from the pile of clothes.

“Owens?”

“Yep.” I kiss his forehead. “I’ve got to go.” I leave him sitting on the floor and turn to see that Owen has been watching. I wonder for how long, and what he heard. “This belong to you?” I hold up the belt. He smiles, grateful and starts threading it through his jeans.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” I say, and as he wraps his arm around my waste and pulls me close to kiss my cheek I know I’ve make the right decision.

*******