102 – Causcott AU
i'll leave you words
underneath your door
underneath the singing moon
near the place where your feet pass by
hidden in the holes of wintertime
and when you're alone for a moment
kiss me, whenever you want
-Patrick Wilson, je te laisserai des mots
Nathan Prescott wasn't half as bad as what she had been told.
A rewrite and continuation of the 2015 fic.
-0-
The air in Courtney's room felt foreign, and I guess it matched my mood. When I looked in her mirror I saw an alien. An imposter. She clipped my hair away from my face and filled in my sparse eyebrows with a dark pencil. They stuck out like a sore thumb, or more appropriately, like two bushy moustaches that an old-school detective might sport. She had also insisted on buying two new dresses for me, one quite provocative and one more conservative. Feeling a bit riskier, or maybe coerced, I chose the former. Even though I didn't look like me, I looked good.
Thinking about my first Vortex Club party was exhilarating and terrifying. Both Chloe and Warren opted out of coming because "Rachel wants to ditch and go driving," and "there is a Lord of the Rings marathon on tv," but Courtney and Dana swore they had my back.
Courtney took a few steps back to admire her work and squealed in delight. "You're going to need to bring pepper spray to keep all the boys away tonight," she says, aiming a bottle of setting spray at me.
I didn't know how to reply so I just did what came naturally – I took a selfie. After about fifteen minutes of Instagram-gold, my mood spiked and a strange sensation invaded my brain. It had always been a problem of mine trying to live in the moment. Instead of trying to enjoy what I was doing right now, I couldn't help but think that I could've been having this much fun every day. I felt guilty for feeling happy today, when I could've been happy yesterday. I mean, who does that? What is wrong with me?
"Babe, are you okay?" Courtney questioned. When I didn't reply she searched my eyes for answers, grabbed me by the wrist, and declared, "We are going to get drunk tonight!"
Vortex Club parties were an enigma; what reputable school would knowingly let underage drinking happen under their roofs? One could bargain it was for group morale, but it was more likely that Sean Prescott would let anything happen if that's what his son wanted. Going to one of the parties, I was in no position to complain. Hypocrite.
Generic dance music transformed the student halls into a bustling club and I decided that, for at least one night, I wouldn't try to keep up my too-cool-for-you hipster persona. You could still like trap and hip-hop at the same time as folk-rock. Nobody published a rule book.
Courtney checked in with Stella at the front. She placed a hand on my lower back and lead me through the crowd, ushering me straight to the VIP section, right past the curious faces of Luke and Alyssa. Back cramped, elbow to elbow with sweating bodies doing, what I assume was, dancing. It stunk of cologne and desperation, yet, I felt special being there. Empowered. Most people were too caught up in their own business to register my presence. A special kind of invisibility that showed me that I fit in. That was until I caught the gaze of Victoria, her lips parted and her eyebrows scrunched. She gave me a small smile and shouted over the music, "Courtney did a good job on you!" I decided to take it as a compliment.
I made a mental checklist of who was in the section with me: Victoria, Courtney, Logan, Dana, Trevor, Juliet, Zachary, and a couple of people that I hadn't become acquainted with. Then I realised who was missing, Nathan. Out of all people you think that he would be at the centre of all the commotion. His presence made just as much of an impact when he wasn't here compared to when he was. Maybe even more.
"What's the good stuff?" I directed at Courtney and she became serious.
"I'm guessing you're a super lightweight, no offence," she leaned in to make sure that I heard her. "Ask the bartender for a Strawberry Prescott. It tastes good and won't get you too drunk, yet." If the drink was anything like the name, I would expect it to taste sweet and fucking crazy.
When I received the cocktail, I examined it closely. It was a shade darker than rose and smelled like a fond memory. Courtney was off chatting up one of her more stylish friends and left me to drink alone. It was not like I needed a babysitter anyways.
As the liquid went down my throat I noted that it wasn't as sweet as I expected it to be, and that it also wasn't that strong. Couldn't say much for the after taste, though. I felt like I had to keep drinking to get the taste out of my mouth. It was addictive while it lasted but sickening when it was over, and the only way to feel better was to keep having more.
And that's exactly what I did.
I have a faint recollection of sitting on a couch next to Hayden. I was wedged between his arm and a few empty bottles. He was smoking something out a of bong. Thinking of the smell now makes me want to gag. I don't remember exactly what happened next, but it felt like I was surfing through time with a warm feeling in my chest. Like I was in the middle of a heatwave. Maybe five minutes had passed, maybe fifty, but either way I knew it was passing and I had to do something.
My eyes were bouncing around the room, but my mind was focused on the drink. I wanted to find out what was in that mix, and it never occurred to me to ask the bartender. I had to ask the man behind the name.
"Where's Nathan?" I asked everyone I bumped into. I was usually greeted with something along the lines of, "Who cares? Party me with instead!" or "Why, trying to get hooked up?"
My head started to spin and it felt like bodies were caving in on me, so I darted towards the bathroom. Just as I was going to open the door, the man of the hour came trudging out, not looking as happy as everyone would expect him to be at, what was basically, his party.
He stood frozen in the doorway and squinted in apprehension. His eyes travelled down my body and lingered a little too long where my dress met my thigh. Shaking his head in apparent disgust, he said, "No. Fucking. Way. Never in a million years did I expect to see Max 'nosy bitch' Caulfield having fun."
I was too relieved and tipsy to see him to retort. Instead, my voice came out honeyed, "I was looking for you, strawberry boy."
He checks the time on his phone and says, "Well, I'm here."
With a stupid smile I whispered, "What makes a Prescott taste so addictive?"
His angry face softened and he let out an endearing laugh. After a few seconds, he transitioned into hysterics. It took him a while to calm down and his smile made me feel warm. "How drunk are you, man?"
"Kind of."
Nathan let out a sigh and draped his arm over my shoulder. "I think you need some fresh air."
People were cheering on the two of us as we made our way through the crowd. We walked for a number of quiet minutes until we passed Tobanga and found ourselves at this lovely tree. I slid down its bark and plonked my drunk ass on a pile of leaves. I pat the spot next to me but he stayed, towering over my form.
"Do you want to talk?" My demeanour turned from curious to confused when he didn't reply. "Why did you get me alone, then?"
"We aren't friends, Caulfield."
His reply left me feeling self-conscious and my mind felt less foggy in the sobering silence. "I know."
Nathan's nose scrunched up and he looked at me through his peripheral vision. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
"No, no, no," I sounded like a mother scolding her naughty toddler, "you don't get to ask me a question before you answer all of mine."
"What, about getting you alone?" He pretends to be flabbergasted. "Why, isn't it obvious? I was going to murder you and send each of your fingers to a different friend." He throws his head back as if he was the funniest man alive. "Do you even have ten friends?"
"Of cours-" I begin before he cuts me off.
"Seriously though," he says, his face anything but serious. "I got you out of there before you made a fool of yourself.
I drew imaginary pictures on my skin, trying to think of how to reply. He surveyed the treetops like he was looking for something in particular. I broke the silence with the first thing to enter my train of thoughts. "Why are you such an asshole?"
He scoffed and crossed his arms. "Seriously? Have you ever thought that I'm only an 'asshole' to twee bitches like you?"
"How am I the bitch? Every time I see you you're conjuring up another insult about my face, or my photographs, or just, anything!"
"Not like you're any better," Nathan says. He started speaking to himself, mumbling under his breath. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists rhythmically. He takes a flask out of his pocket, sips it, and places it back in the jacket. "What can I do to make myself… less of an ass?" He rolls his eyes, visibly regretting his question as soon as it escaped his mouth.
I stood up to make myself seem bigger. He was still a good couple of centimetres taller than me. Trying to sound gentle, I replied, "Don't try and find the worst in people."
He didn't take this very well and spoke deep and slow, "Don't tell me what to do."
My back straightened in defence, instinct convincing me to be insulted. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the expression on his face, but I decided to relax again. "How about we say something we like about the other? Let me go first. You're talented at photography. Frankly, I get envious at times."
He took a few seconds to digest my compliment. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak two times. Nothing. It was almost insulting how hard this was for him. "Shoes," he manages to say. "Your shoes look nice. Makes your feet look... pretty?"
I tried to stifle the giggles forming in my throat and gave him a ghost of a smile. "My feet look pretty?"
"Honestly, all of you does. Well, unless you're being stupid or something. Oh and, don't get me started on those eyebrows. No wonder why you hide them. Looks like two b-"
"-ushy moustaches?" We said in unison. I could no longer supress my delight, instead giggling so hard I started to dry heave. He leaned back onto a tree, foot up and arms crossed like he was posing for a photograph.
Beams of moonlight snuck through gaps in the forest, setting the mood perfectly. Nathan was illuminated, his features contoured soft. We looked into each other's eyes until his focus settled on my lips. I thought that your heart sped up when you were scared, but mine seemed to skip a beat.
Our lips met more viciously than I anticipated. I had kissed a couple of people in my life, all of them moved their hands to cup my face, touching my cheek with caution. Not Nathan. His breath reeked of bourbon which countered the fruity scent of my own. His hands were gripping my wrists with so much determination that I thought that they were going to snap in half. His body moved in sync with his tongue. Never had something made me feel so vulnerable and alive at the same time.
It didn't even register that my eyes were wide open until Nathan removed his lips from mine and frowned. "Why so stiff? It's not like you haven't done this before. Unless…"
Wanting to prove something, and needing to be intimate again, I connected our mouths once more. My power didn't last very long and Nathan took control after a few sensual kisses. His hands were calloused, which contrasted with the softness of his lips. He started to spice things up and shifted our position so that he had a good grip on my neck. His steadiness kept my body in place as he made some painful marks beside my jugular. He was a vampire and I was his prey.
"Let's do it against the Tobanga. Show them that the Prescott's really own this land," he smirked against my neck. I didn't put up a fight as he dragged me to the totem pole.
We made out for a few brief moments until he broke contact to take off his shirt and jacket. He stood staring at me pushed up against the Tobanga with a proud grin. I was transfixed; frozen, counting all the freckles on Nathan's chest until I felt ashamed, the magnitude of the situation hitting me over the head with a broom. This boy had been nothing but nasty to me since I came to Blackwell. He had teased me and mocked me in the halls. Says a few sweet, alcohol induced words and all of a sudden, I'm crawling all over him?
His hands sneaked up my dress and I shivered. "Prescott, stop." Straight away his face changed. However, instead of removing his hands, they locked in place on the small curve of my hips. It felt like his hands belonged there but I could not ignore the unease in my heart. The butterflies migrated from my stomach to my chest. One was flapping in my throat.
"What's wrong?" His tone laced with anger.
I couldn't look him in the eyes. "This is wrong. We're wrong. You're wrong. I can't, you're just…"
He didn't let me finish, just removed his hands from my skin and tensed his jaw. "Do you really hate me that much?" He took a couple of steps back, obscuring the left side of his face with the shadow of a tree. It was like he was looking through my skull and into another dimension. "Why do people hate me so much?"
Before Nathan left, he aimed a kick at Tobanga, grunting as his foot made contact. When his shirtless silhouette stomped away, I could've run after him. I could've shouted, "Ugh, you're half naked!" Instead, I crunched his jacket in my fist and pressed it against my nose. I breathed in and sighed. The thought, whilst highly improbable, that he left it behind so that we had a reason to meet up again, made me oddly comforted.
I couldn't really, truly, deeply, in the pits of my hipster heart, want to see this guy again. I was supposed to hate him. But, you're not supposed to feel like this when you hate somebody. My smile spread from ear to ear.
-0-
I was the one who insisted that he stopped, yet after two nights had passed, it seemed like I was the only one who desired to do it again. At first, I thought that the primary source of my reluctance was because I was with Nathan freaking Prescott, but that was only part of it. Common sense prevailed, cutting through my alcoholic jungle brain with a machete. Maxine, you cannot lose your virginity when you're drunk. Maxine, do you think poor Tobanga wanted this?
Nathan didn't seem mad at me. If anything, he seemed disappointed, avoiding me on the way to classes and pretending like I had the presence of dust.
His shirt was placed over my desk chair; his jacket, over his shirt. I grabbed his flask. It was engraved with his initials. I planned on taking a sip, but after I had a whiff of the contents, I closed the lid and put it back in his pocket. A bit of bile travelled up my throat. Instead of marinating in my own boredom, I made a plan – I knew what I was going to do. Like a desperate twelve year-old, I sprayed some of my perfume on its collar and headed for Nathan's dorm. I didn't know what I was expecting to get out of this.
It didn't take too long to sneak to Nathan's dorm. Most people were indoors at six o'clock. Before I knocked on his door I shot a glance at Warren's room across the hall. Sometimes I got really frustrated with myself. My life would be so much simpler if I liked him back. We could go be those best friends who go ape and fell in love and got married and were happy. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn't force feelings. Or deny them, I suppose.
I pressed my ear up against Nathan's door and heard quaint music being played. It sounded like music boxes and the ocean. My body tensed up and the hairs on my skin straightened. Procrastinating knocking on his door, I looked at the writing on his slate. 'Nathan is the King of Blackwell.' My eyes rolled so hard I saw my brain.
My knuckles rapped on the wood and I could hear his music being switched off. "What the fuck do yo-" Nathan stopped as soon as his gaze met mine.
"I'm returning your clothes," I stated the obvious, shrugging my shoulders.
He stood there thinking, the muscles on his jawline stressed. He focused on some invisible dirt under his nails, before he looked up and gave me a faint smile. "Nice pyjamas." The boy moved his body, signalling that I was welcome inside.
As I was entering the room, Nathan shouted in fear, "Wait, no! Close your eyes!" I sat awkwardly perched on the corner of his bed with my lids shut. I could hear him tearing things off of his wall and arranging things in panic. "There. It's safe now, Max." Blood rushed to my cheeks – he had never said my name like that before.
When my eyes opened, I was amazed at what was in front of me. There was a projection of a black and white movie spread across his wall. Everything looked so high-tech and expensive and I was in too much awe to be jealous.
In my peripheral vision, Nathan leaned in and sniffed his shirt. He grinned and placed it in a neat fold on his couch.
"What kind of music do you like?" He asked me, fiddling his fingers together.
The way he looked at me through his lashes summoned back those familiar butterflies. "Just play what you were playing before."
Nathan made his way to the music player and melodic chimes filled the air. It was strange thinking that a guy with Nathan's temperament enjoyed something so calm. Like a mind reader he said, "Don't look so surprised. Sometimes I like it when things are gentle."
"Nathan, I'm…" I paused. "I'm sorry about how things played out the other day."
He nodded a couple of times and grinned. "Say that again."
"I'm sor-"
He shook his head. "No, my name. Say it again."
"Nathan."
The song finished, leaving a fleeting moment of silence before a symphony of whale noises took over the room. It was otherworldly. "Now, say Nate."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not a dog."
He raised his eyebrows. "Okay," I sigh. "Nate."
Nathan swayed with contentment. "I hope this song will remind you that I'm not half as bad as what you've been told."
"Nathan…" I trailed off.
"Please, call me Nate. I'd like that a lot."
"Nate," I repeated under my breath. It felt nice rolling off my tongue. "Nate, Nate, Nate."
I moved my body so that I was sitting crossed-legged facing him. He reached for something in his drawer then joined me on the bed, sitting so our knees met the other's. He placed a pack of cigarettes and his fancy camera between us. Nate aimed the camera towards me and took a picture, the black and white movie serving as a beautiful backdrop. His arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me into his chest so that we could take a picture together. Nate's eyes were closed and there was a plethora of lines marking the delight on his face.
The beating of his heart was soothing. Nate was here. Nate was alive. I pressed my head into his chest. His pulse made me feel safe. Sometime during a chat about the coolest thing in the world, seriously, I drifted off to sleep.
I was roused by the scent of smoke. We seemed to have shifted positions – I was still pressed against his chest but we moved to a laying position.
"That's just tobacco, right?" I asked, already knowing the answer. It didn't smell like Hayden.
Nate took another drag and spoke, "No, I'm smoking heroin."
Feigning surprise, I lifted my palm against my heart. "Was that a joke, Prescott?"
"Only if it makes you laugh, Caulfield."
The longing in my eyes mirrored his own. He put out his cigarette and closed the gap between our faces. In his usual style, he took over the kiss and ended up straddling my hips. I had always daydreamed myself as the one on top.
"Stay the night, Max," Nate's hot breath was on my ear. My eyes widened. He placed his index finger on my lips to stop me from talking. "Not like that. I mean, y'know, sleep, with me. Cuddle."
"Cuddle?" I covered my smile with my palm.
"If you tell anyone I said that, I'll say that you're a dirty liar."
Every fibre in my body wanted to stay, so I did. Nate retrieved his shirt off of the couch and told me to wear it and I complied. He said that he would close his eyes but I knew he got a peak when I was changing. Once I was done, I slung my arm across his stomach and made myself comfortable.
We watched as the end of the movie played on his wall and the room was left pitch black.
I am a lucid dreamer. I fabricate expansive worlds full of zombies and talking-cats and breaks in the space-time continuum. I dream of worlds bigger than our own.
Usually.
That night, I dreamt that the moon was a disco ball. Colours danced across Nate's forehead, down the bridge of his nose, around the curves of his lips.