A/N: I feel like it's been forever since I updated this, no? Life's been crazy. May was absolute hell, but here's to hoping that June will be better. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story and continued to leave me such great feedback. You guys are seriously the best!
"We started losing light.
I'll never make it right
If you don't want me around,
I'm so excited for the night,
All we need's my bike and your enormous house
You said some day we might
When I'm closer to your height
'Til then we'll knock around, endlessly
You're all I need
Don't you see me now?
I think I'm falling, I'm falling for you
Don't you need me?"
fallingforyou - The 1975
"Where will you go?"
"What?"
"After we get to New York? Where will you stay?" Sybil asked calmly. In her hands she threw an apple she had grabbed from a nearby fruit basket back and forth. Her eyes watched the fruit soar from palm to palm, careful not to remain cast upon his for too long out of fear that this entire thing would somehow seem less casual. "It's not fair that we take the money and spend it on getting me to my grandmother's. This has to help you too."
But her eyes did linger, specifically as Tom had his back to her, his sleeves rolled up and the soft hair covering his arms coated over with suds from the dishes he washed. She had never really watched anyone do dishes before and the idea that a man, especially one like Tom, would do them without command from a woman had her smirking. Like her true feelings, that which constantly worried if he was using her and wished to actually partake in his friend's immature game, she hid her smile, giving her emotions only to the skin of the apple and the stem she haphazardly pulled at.
Just before, in the time it took for the kitchen to be wiped clean, the two had decided that they'd go along with Aiden's game. Sybil would play the part of the dumb, English girl they all already assumed her to be and Tom would assume his role taking advantage of such an easily matched stereotype. He assured her none of his friends would even come close to winning, if they even participated at all, and with the prize money the two could quietly leave the city, and their former lives, behind. What was once a scary feat suddenly turned to adventure at the mere prospect of not having to face the goodbye alone.
"It does help me," Tom insisted as he turned to her, resting his back on the edge of the countertop in front of the sink. "I don't want to leave by myself and now I don't have to…" He wiped his hands on a dishrag before stepping into Sybil, laying his now dry palms on the same island where she rested her elbows. Nearby the apple was back in its basket, a place where Sybil imagined it would rot as the house was left to sit until his mother and sister arrived back home in a week or two.
With doe eyes, she looked up to him. "Is that why you kissed me then? Because you don't want to do this alone?"
Sometimes her lips barely moved and her words sounded all the more raspy because of it. It was an intoxicating sound and Tom tilted his head to the side as if to make sense of all of it. That, or he was trying to pull his eyes from her mouth and the way her bottom lip always pushed at the top one, causing her pout to purse.
"I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you."
Tom's words motivated Sybil to her feet. She too used the countertop to rest upon as she leaned back, and in response, Tom opened out more. The kitchen, without any guests and only the natural light filtering in through the window, seemed quite large, yet the two occupied a small corner of it, constantly displacing one another with their words.
"So that's it then? We get to New York and we never see one another again?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. This was also part of the dance they performed, adding to the way their breathing, made ragged by nerves, provided the syncopated orchestration underneath their shuffling feet. "That's up to you, isn't it?"
"Why is it up to me?" she shot out, her face becoming pinched as her eyes narrowed.
"Sybil, have you ever been to New York?"
"Yes, several times when I was younger."
"Well I don't know anything else than this house and this street and this city. And it would be very nice to see you again. I mean, I'm with you now, aren't I?" There was a pause, one that allowed for Sybil's mind to catch up with the way her heart was pounding so enthusiastically. "But if we get there...what is your grandmother going to say? You leave your sheltered life for god knows what reason and she loves you enough to stay in contact with you and then suddenly you show up at her door with a man? A man you've never even told her about? What will she think? It won't bode well for you, I'm sure—"
"She's on my side!"
"Is she? Great! Then you should want her to remain on your side—"
"She is and she will! She has so far!" Sybil gave for proof. "Do you think I can honestly afford my schooling and groceries and books on my wages from Mr. O'Connor? He's generous, but not that generous…"
"So you're wealthy then?" A beat. "How much are they paying cabinet members nowadays anyway?"
Sybil's face softened. Even if she had a solid, fact-based answer, she wasn't going to provide an answer to that question but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt. She was used to this by now; she had been doing that very thing from the moment they met and each time she was happy to find it was becoming easier.
"I'm not...not anymore. I gave all of that up when I left. But yes, my grandmother supports me financially. And you know, she's much more liberal than the rest of my family. Her and my father do not get along. At all. She's incredibly politically active. She's absolutely gutted right now that both Reagan and Thatcher are in office."
Tom chuckled, rubbing at his elbow with his hand as if to coax the laughter out of him. "She sounds like my kind of lady…"
"You'd like her and she'd like you. I'm sure of it!"
It registered - all of it, from the way Sybil kinked her forehead to the way the freckles drew constellations on her crossed arms, making the lines and angles of her form far harsher than she and her tone could ever be. She was asking him to come to America with her. In all honesty, it was an idea he liked and without much thought, he agreed to her plan. Aside from his own wants and needs to get out of Dublin, Tom feared that to neglect Sybil's plan or to even give it more time to rest on his mind without a definite response was as good as an order for her to leave his home. If the two were not going to travel together, it was unlikely that they'd do much else, and aside from not wanting to go to Belfast, Tom was finding he also was not ready to lose her: Sybil, the same English girl who had only walked into his life that morning.
Before she knew him she was uptight and guarded, her tone biting and everything about her so sharp he was sure the two would never get along. So far today he had shared more with her than he had any of his friends in several years. Only Katie Grace knew more, but that was a responsibility he'd never ask of Sybil, or any other person for that matter. It was one he even regretted giving to Katie, and would take from her if he could. Tom found though, that all too quickly, Sybil was changing. The girl he met in the bookshop evaporated into someone who was so unsure of herself; a girl who apologized for her existence because nobody had come along to tell her how brilliant and beautiful she really was. He suspected her parents had never listened to her much and perhaps that was what caused her to feel so inadequate. Even so, this city had hardened her just as it had him, but the warmth of his home had that all crashing down. Maybe an hour ago he didn't know Sybil and maybe she'd say she still didn't know him but he wanted to learn more about her and he wanted her to continue to challenge him and his views. He was different around her too: less cocky almost to the point of fumbling, and far more gentle than he'd let anyone else see. This house, his mother's house still in his father's name, held no expectations for them. It existed in the city but sheltered them from the world's reality for a few hours. Their current reality, while made less authentic due to its exclusion of the streets below, was that all of this was extremely logical. In fact, though both would never say the words, this was probably their only via option.
"Sybil, I will not come to America with the assumption that your grandmother will take us both in." It wasn't the full truth but it certainly wasn't a lie either. It was remarkable what a boy could learn from his father in such a short time and one of the things Mr. Branson always told his son was that he was to accept no handouts.
"I can call her! I can explain the situation and just see what she has to say about it. My grandmother does trust me, and she may not understand, but she'll be happy I've finally been brave enough to come and once you two meet, she'll trust you too," Sybil insisted. The way in which her compassion caused her to sometimes become angry reminded Tom that Sybil, with her flawless complexion and bright eyes, was human. Her frustration at not being able to get the opposition to see her side of things caused rosy cheeks and clenched fists. She was like whiskey in that way, fiery going down but eventually bringing warmth to the belly.
"Sybil, I don't even have a job set up yet…"
"Exactly! Where will you go then? You can't do this without a plan!"
Tom sighed. He even fought the urge to reach out and grab her, to allow her arms to cup her shoulders, the pads of his thumbs brushing at the cashmere of her cardigan. "Sybil, listen, alright? I've done a lot of life without a plan. And so far, I'm doing alright so—"
She stepped back and threw her hands down."If you were doing alright, you wouldn't be leaving! Now stop being a stubborn arse and let me help you!"
"Stop yelling at me!" Tom fired back. "Besides, this is about us helping each other, no? This isn't all one sided! You're worried about helping me and I'm worried about helping you and I just think if we both stopped worrying so much it would all work out."
Sybil bit her lip, suppressing the bubble of laughter in her throat as she took him in. Finally, it released, causing her to sputter out a laugh. It was amusement and it was dismissal. "That is a shoddy way to go through life," she stated with a bit of arrogance. "I'll call tomorrow morning," she said plainly.
"As soon as I get a job, I'll find my own place," he gave back, his tone childish as he turned away, hiding his own smile.
Sybil smirked before moving onto a more amenable topic, one she hoped she could accomplish without having to bruise another piece of fruit from his mother's basket. "What did you major in at uni?"
Tom smirked too; her attempt, it seemed, was an easy success; the fruit basket went untouched. "How did you know I went to university?"
Sybil shrugged. "Your sister thought we met at UCD, I think. And you did, didn't you? Go to university, I mean..."
Tom nodded. "I did. I went for journalism."
"Is that common?"
"Journalism?"
"No," Sybil said, breathing out a laugh. "Boys like you attending university?"
Tom laughed too. He wondered if she was aware of how amused by her he was. "Boys like me?"
"Boys with guns," she replied simply. She was aware, and it was clear as his eyes caught her glance and she was forced to look away. But if she wasn't so intrigued by him, she wouldn't have looked back, awaiting his answer, but accepting the time he took to give it if it meant she was left to admire his strong facial features.
"We don't all sit around if that's what you're assuming."
"Now Tom," Sybil drawled sarcastically with her hands on her hips, "I'd never assume...that's your job, remember?"
"You're fresh…" Sybil looked up to him and smirked, but at feeling the heat in her cheeks, she looked away causing Tom to continue. "We unfortunately don't have the luxury here that you have to take menial jobs for extra cash. And the kids I know aren't going to go to university if their families can't afford it...because the whole idea of university is to make money. So, like, Aiden did a carpentry apprenticeship. Michael works with his father at a factory outside of town. But Ciaran and John went to UCD with me." Sybil's face went unchanged and Tom paused, thinking of what else he could say to have her understand. "People are poor here, Sybil."
"You're not poor," she pointed out.
"I'm not as poor," Tom corrected. "I'm still poor. I'm just less poor than most people. You know, my dad had a good job and after he died, his life insurance worked to take care of my mum and Katie Grace."
The truth, a large and crushing quantity of it, some of which answered so many of the questions Sybil had, was practically handed to her without even a touch of insistence that she give anything in return. The truth shocked her ears, so much so that she delivered her next statement with little regard to what he had previously said. It seemed she also wasn't ready to lose him.
"And you sought money elsewhere…"
"Yeah, but let's not act like they're innocent in all of this either." Sybil knew who the 'they' was. She was a 'they' — an other. Or at least she used to be. Lately, just like Tom, she was completely and utterly unsure of who she was. "Did you see that car out front? Aidan's mam got one just like it when his dad was taken to jail last Spring. And our utility bills? We don't pay those…"
"Who does?"
Tom smiled at her innocence. Sybil was intelligent, but altogether untouched by the world. "Who do you think?" She said nothing. "You can say it, Sybil. C'mon…" he chided with a wide smile.
"The I…"
"You're so feckin' English," he commented with a laugh and a hand to his belly. "I mean, the I isn't necessary here, no? We're all Irish so of course it's the—"
"I'm not Irish," she said strongly.
He stepped into her and just like he had before, his voice became husky as words that terrified her fell so smoothly off his lips. "The 'RA. They do," he enunciated. "Because sometimes when we loot and when we steal, it's not just to buy ammunition. I mean, that's what the papers say because saying that maybe we're helping our neighbors out doesn't really fit with their portrayal of us." He stepped back and his volume raised to a normal level. "We protect our own here, Sybil. We watch out for one another…"
"I'm sorry your father is dead," she whispered. It was all she could manage and the fact caused her to look down again. It most likely wasn't his intention to shame her, but he did. It was fair, she rationalized; her people had shamed his for centuries now.
Tom wiped at his mouth. "Yeah, well me too. But if he wasn't, you wouldn't be here. I know I definitely wouldn't be."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd go with my mam and Katie Grace to County Clare, I'm sure." A beat of silence was marked by the clock above the sink falling into its next minute. "Because I wouldn't be in the IRA."
For whatever reason, amidst the deafening silence, Sybil's only thought was to go to him. Though the two had never embraced, she craved that, and she hoped he wanted it too. Since her lips had met his it was all she could think about; there was security, a certain solace that existed when the two connected in that way. When things were difficult or awkward, it made sense to Sybil that they would remedy it with a kiss, or with hands that begged to do more. Electricity constantly sparked between them in the form of words and accusations and inquiries but flowed most freely in those few stolen kisses. If either remained silent for long enough they'd find it was one of the only things they would ever agree on.
"I…" she began turning for the door. Gently, she brushed a tress of hair behind her ear. "I need to get some things from my dormitory…"
Tom reached out for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him. For a moment he contemplated dropping his head down to hers, taking advantage of the way the two were standing so close, their eyes darting from mouth, to nose, to browline, then back down again. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry, I—"
Sybil shook her head slowly. "No. No, you didn't scare me." Her words were so soft that Tom had to blink and keep his eyes lidded for several moments while he gained composure, his mind still reeling from how apparently naive Sybil was and how his need for her was so instant. All of her was so placid and he was the opposite; brash and brutal and with hands and skin that appeared tarnished and felt all the more rough upon hers. "You just say those things so casually…"
"I know, I'm sorry..."
Quickly, her eyes were on his again. "Are you? I mean, I know you can't help it and that this is how you were raised but…" Her lip quivered and for a moment she wanted to cry. Willing that not to happen, she stopped talking, getting the lump in her throat to a point where she could swallow it down. "I'm sorry about your father. I mean that, Tom. I'm sure that was hard."
"Aye," Tom nodded in agreement.
"I don't know what else to say…" Sybil choked out. "I'm just sorry."
Tom stepped forward and cupped Sybil's face. His other hand reached down to rest upon her hip and hold her close. All of this was so familiar but exciting all the same. Hungrily, she reached her arms up to rest on the back of his neck and pull him in. Instantly, the two were connected and Sybil's mouth sighed open, letting him in further than she had last time. All previous insecurities subsided the longer his grip remained tight on her.
"Sometimes I scare myself…" Tom let out.
"Wha...what?"
"Before you, this was normal. My life was normal. And you've come in and very quickly told me how strange all of this is. I mean, I carry a gun in my rucksack for christ sake…"
Sybil reached up again and pushed Tom's hair back, doing her best to mollify these fears. " I didn't mean to—"
"But you did. And it just terrifies me because for every moment I'm with you, this becomes less and less like home. I feel like I don't know Dublin or my friends or even my family. This all feels very foreign and I don't—"
"I can go," she muttered, doing her best to detach from him. It was a failed attempt though, and soon she was back in his arms. "Or not…" she let out, her comical delivery quite clear, and apparently necessary, as she felt Tom shake with laughter.
"Feck, Sybil…"
She stood back. "What?"
"I have never met a girl like you. I've never met anyone like you!" he corrected.
"Alright," she droned. Again, she was without words. Should she thank him? Was that even a compliment?
"I mean that. You're different."
"Yes, Tom," Sybil sassed as she dropped her arms down limply. "I'm English, remember?"
He smirked. "I don't care about that," he dismissed with a bit of bite, if only so she'd believe him. "But you care. You're caring. You give a shit."
She wanted to laugh and she wanted for everything to be light. That was something Sybil was so good at - bringing out the best in others. Though she struggled with some dark thoughts as a teenage girl, she never shared them openly. As Tom said, that was her version of normal, and now, at twenty-one she was better because of it. Though this place was not her home and her life was made up of days spent searching, she did so with a smile and with no former dispositions hanging about. With Tom, everything was serious and for as much as she wanted to make him laugh she couldn't deny the flutter from deep within when she saw that her words somehow had a profound impact on him. She thought that perhaps he was taking advantage of her, doing so only because to neglect those thoughts was to be naive. Really though, she didn't give them more than a moment of her time. Everything about the way he held her and touched her and beg that she trust him was written across his face, painted in the broken fragments of light caught in his eyes every time he turned toward the window then back to her again.
"You're right. I do care."
Far heaving than "I love you," it was something Sybil could not take back or hope to someday find it had faded on its own. To care about someone, Sybil was finding, was to give yourself to them fully. She knew she must have done this already, because she didn't even bother to ask him for his take on the matter. Of course he cared about her — he had to. And Tom felt the same way, almost as if all of this happened without his consent. He was present and these shared moments were so tangible and real but he and Sybil were far too careless for this all to be mere coincidence. It was fate, maybe, she thought as the two connected at the lips once more. Tom's thoughts drifted similarly, knowing that for as important as caring about someone was, he was also attracted to Sybil, and genuinely interested in what she had to say. She was English and her hair was dark and he knew nothing like her before this morning. It was a conscious decision for Tom to trust and then care about Sybil and for her to give him those same things in return. They were both reminded this as they kissed, over and over again in the now dimming kitchen of the same home Tom grew up in, allowing other decisions to be made and lines to be drawn, ones that spoke of love and the future, anywhere but here.
Thanks for reading!
x. Elle
