Beached
by anza (29.10.06)
"Let's go," I said. Allen drove, hands trembling a little. I watched their shaking on the wheel with a vague note of concern, but it wasn't enough to budge me from my seat. No Lavi here, calling the shotgun seat - just me and Allen, both facing forward, not looking at each other.
Night. The drive was a little more than an hour. An almost-full moon hung, suspended in the sky. Allen's hands trembled. Sweet boy, he hadn't gotten his license yet. But I'd called and he'd snuck out; his father was asleep in his study, and probably would be until morning. The car smelled like cats, but Allen - Allen smelled warm, like new bread without the yeastyness. I slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed. Allen drove faster.
And then, through the air conditioning vent, I smelled it. The ocean. It drowned all thoughts of the boy next to me for a moment, and blew me in with the sucking force of it. The waves crashed in my mind, a pounding surge in my head. Allen drove faster still, the speedometer hitting ninety. I uncrossed my arms and leaned back into the seat, and felt his gaze on me, taking in moon-drenched shirt and skin.
I felt my lips curl up. I know what you want. But I didn't say that out loud.
He sat hard onto the sand, and together we watched the waves roll up, roll down. Creepingly they got closer. He was closer, but not closer enough to impose. Though it was chilly, I unbuttoned my shirt, and felt his eyes follow the line of skin disappearing into my pants. The bait.
The scent of the sea hung heavily, its salty perfume washing across my nose and even my tastebuds. The sand was getting in my hair; there was a little breeze up. Arms behind my head I lay down, and felt the eyes flicker from my collarbone, then to my lips, then all the way down that line of skin. Felt hunger, and restraint. I was a senior now, and next week was I'd be packing up to go to college. This spark between us, flaring and flickering - would he take it? Now, because I was desperate, because despite everything I'd tried he was there, a thorn under my skin? The more I touched it, the more it drove deeper, but the pain - oh, the pleasure sent me to a Heaven far away.
And he knew that, didn't he? Knew his good-boy act, knew I was the one black blot of ink on his shining record. But like tonight, he was loving it. The thrill of sneaking out, the thrill of just me beside him, dark hair and shirt spread - I knew what was going on in his mind. I loved it, he loved it.
His hands were still shaking.
A little breeze whipped up and he inched closer. He was cold; no blankets in the car. I took off my jacket and threw it in his lap, and he huddled under it. Still, he was getting closer, from the cold or from need I didn't know. I didn't want to know.
"Allen, you know that moon actually gets light from the sun? It reflects the sun's light, but we can't see the sun because it's on the other side of the planet."
He gave me a look, like I'd grown three heads. "What do you think I am, a third-grader?" The voice was shaking a little too. It didn't matter from what anymore.
The moment hung suspended in the sky, pearl-drop white like the moon.
Jacket throw off. Lips on lips, clashing together, and then when I steadied him with my hands he threw one leg over my hip and leaned in closer, so that I now smelled him and nothing else. Breathing heavy, hands feeling - my hands leisurely over his back, his bunching my shirt here and there, and then - yes, he was tracing my ribs with his hands, fingers feather-light. I squirmed, tickled. We smiled in our kiss.
We. Not 'him', or 'me' anymore. We were one unit, one unit of four clawing hands, two grinding hips, two pairs of hungry lips. What a monstrous description.
It was enough. Snagging my jacket we went back to the car. On the way a sign read, "DO NOT TOUCH THE BEACHED WHALES." in big red letters, barely visible over the brush in front of it.
Allen chuckled, curious. "What stupid whale would get beached here?"
I rapped my knuckles sharply against the crown of his head, twice. He dodged the third time. "One like you, beansprout."
He drove again. There was a smile in his face, even after his lips returned to the pleasant-mild look on his face. His honesty, an open book readable to everyone, that's what drew me in. I thought he was a fool, offering himself as a sacrifice, as a scapegoat to the world. But he had good friends, and now I did. Our high school bravado knew no bounds. We were free, unfettered, crazy as hell. So this little thing I had for Allen was a little call to reality, because I'd be leaving soon and he'd be alone.
The thought of it raised something warm and hurtful in my throat. Kanda Yuu didn't get hurt. He avoided it, narrowly, and let others get hurt instead. Allen deserved better, though. Allen had to know, and they'd have to agree together if tonight was something that never happened.
"Allen." The boy tilted his head halfway towards me. "I'm leaving next week for university."
Head back towards the highway. His expression was a little more closed, a little more cautious now. "Yeah," he said softly. I'd wanted to hear his voice, when it was saying all kinds of truths. There was a special timbre to it, when he was being perfectly honest, that ring like a bell when the words tumbled from his lips. I'd wanted to hear it too, in the midst of passion, when he cried out my name, sobbing. I wanted to know if it still had that ring of truth in it.
"I know," he continued, faltering. "I'll - I'll come and visit you. Once I have my license." The insistence was there, and I smiled.
"It's five hours. We can meet halfway or something."
"No!" Vehemence. "I want to see where you live. Or I want you to come up and...come home, Kanda."
I wished I were an actor now, because then I'd definitely have a cigarette in my hand, casually blowing it out the window. I'd look cool, my hair caught against my shoulder, rippling, my shirt still opened to where the ends was tucked into my pants. I'd be saying cool lines, too, like "Yeah, it won't be that bad" and "We'll figure it out". Promises like "I'll come up every weekend" and "I'll bring stuff up, we'll crash at Lavi's place". Maybe for someone else, I'd say it. But not Allen.
I settled for: "What're you, my mother?"
He laughed. We'd stopped at the exit. A roar of engines, and Linali's car whizzed past. They were racing again - I counted, there were seven this time. The blue one, Lavi was probably riding that one tonight. Allen got ready to turn.
And over the hill, one last car sped towards us. That one's Lavi, I noted absently, and watched as he changed lanes towards us. Didn't he see us? I checked headlights, and then Allen was turning, but Lavi was there and I could see the whites of his eyes and the red scream of his mouth -
- silence.
First smell. Something was burning, and it didn't smell good. Lavi's orange was across the way, a wreckage of more flickering red and yellow than the dented flames drawn on the nose now. The overpass was silent. There were no cars after us. The man at the gas station had seen and he was at the pay phone now, I could see him. A cut ran over my eye; the windshield had spider-cracked. I blinked the blood out of my eye to no avail, reached over to where Allen was sitting and found my hand hit nothing.
"Allen?" Was that my voice, cracked and nervous? Where was Allen?
The car had tilted on Allen's side, windows down. I sent my fist through the windshield and felt the blood trickle down from a dozen more cuts. Again I hit it, glass raining down on the dashboard. Again, again, again. This pain was Allen, the pain and the pleasure of the hunt mixed together, I loved Allen, and Allen loved me. Us, dancing around the subject like moths for almost two years. And then tonight, he was finally mine. He was the only one who could take my need for silence and for words, for companionship and distance, and translate it into human language. He was the one who'd gotten under my skin and made me feel, made me yearn, made me want to kiss him and fuck him and hold him so close I swear, I swear I'd never let go.
I felt the blood stream down my face and my fist as I climbed out of the car on shaky legs, and thought, Yes. This is what you've made me, Allen. A hedonist, a masochist. This is why I love you.
And then I saw him.
He looked kinda lonely. Top leg crossed over the other, back a little hunched. I noted absently that his silver hair had red streaks, and his blue polo was dark in some places. It wasn't blood - my mind firmly told me that. Just shadows. Just the shadows of the wreck across the way, and the buzzing streetlamp above the exit.
I moved forward. My legs shook, and I thought of his hands on the wheel. I thought of his smile, I thought of his kiss. The sweetness of it all, the need I couldn't deny. The words I had yet to say.
"Allen?," I ventured, cautious.
Movement. He wanted to turn, but I rushed over, bloody hands on his shoulder, stopping him. As soon as his face came into view I knew I couldn't leave him. The left side of his face - what had happened? It was bloody all over, and his eye was shut. Do eyeballs burst if the pressure is strong enough? I couldn't think of physics, of high school, of sunny days in the quad with a orange juice carton in my hand and Lavi's arm slung around me. Not in this dark place, not when Allen was grasping my hand weakly, tentatively, as if he would break any instant and fade away, and there'd be nothing left of him for me to hold close.
His form, spread out on the pavement. Little black drops here and there - gasoline, I told himself. Just gasoline. The buzzing of the streetlamp. My thoughts grew disjointed, I could feel them shattering into a thousand pieces in the face of his one good eye, looking at me from under his reddened bangs. He smiled, and licked the blood off his lips with his tongue. Winced at the taste. "I'm alright, Kanda," he said finally.
"Yuu," I managed finally.
"Me?," came the inquiry back, faintly borne on the wind.
But I couldn't speak, couldn't clarify, I could only hold his hand. Curse it, the burning in my eyes! I couldn't hold them back, couldn't wrap my brain around such a beautiful evening, such a glittering ocean, and the simple feeling in Allen's eyes. Such a horrible ending to it all. Around my head, thoughts swirled, and I couldn't understand all of them either, just like I couldn't understand the things coming out of my mouth now. Pale reassurances. Promises to visit. Frightened, angry, cursing words.
This is all like a really good movie, my mind noted absently. Such a tragic fate. You should have known better, Kanda, than to open your heart.
I couldn't help it. The words spitting out of my brain, out of my mouth. Allen looked a little alarmed. Carefully I cradled his head close, in my lap. He smiled.
Wetness seeped between my legs, warm and gooey and traitorous. Say the words, my mind urged me. But, now that they were done with their rant, my lips had sealed themselves shut. Instead, my fingers wiped the blood away, parted his bangs neatly to both sides, traced the sides of his face as gently as I could. The dimples of his face, still stretched in a warm smile. A smile meant for me.
Red, red coughing. "You know," he croaked out, "right before you came, I was thinking to myself about that beached whale. You know, that one at the beach." He giggled a little at the double wording. My eyes filled, and he blinked in surprise when a drop felt right on his forehead, a pale streak of unbroken skin now as the drop slid to the side. Horrendous. It looked like a bloodless cut. Two, three, four rained down on him. His eyes were wide with understanding now, still strong, still my Allen.
A beached whale. He did kind of look like that, his legs like fins and his body laid out. His arms, useless on his sides, made up the body. Waiting for death, because of some little thing. Abandoned by its pack, calling helplessly on the shore. Breathing slowly, slower, stopping. I kissed Allen desperately then, my lips finding his, scrabbling for comfort that This isn't happening and Don't you die on me now! He met mine calmly, lips and tongues and the taste of him, metallic with blood. He'd bitten his cheek when he was thrown out of the window.
When we broke apart his eyes gleamed softly in the moonlight. "You know?," he added, and it took me a moment to realize he was still talking about the stupid whale. But oh, oh the irony of it all, I thought to myself as I hunched over him, protective, my hair sliding sluggishly over his face and shoulders. You don't understand, Allen. I'm the one. I'm the stupid beached whale. You're the one who's leaving me.
He was still smiling up at me, curious. Sweet, sweet Allen.
Fucking beached.
