The living daylights

I still feel them, those fingertips dancing on my skin when it's been hours since they last touched me.

I remember the paths they drew on my skin but I'm not sure if I believe them. If the path I feel etched into my skin is the same that she made or if I'm imagining new ones. I'm feeling future journeys that I'm merely hoping will be made, I'm dreaming of fingerprints stamped upon my lips, illusions of other parts touching me, the back of a hand as it slides down a cheek, forehead pressing awkwardly into a crook of a neck, feet entwining with estranged twins. And I'm afraid that hope and dreams will erase what actually happened, will taint the memory of what touched me, who touched me.

I'm stepping in her late footsteps as I let the rug surround my toes and heel but they're not aligned, they're not treading the same way. I can almost feel her toes under my heels, no trace of her footprints anywhere but in my mind. But it's there they matter the most.

It feels awkward and gross when the battered hair on my scalp dangles down onto my shoulders as I stand up from the bed several hours after she left me here, and I'd rather it was just gone. Just gone and not a reminder of this sweaty and fever-ridden night that has left me weakened and pale. But I know my physical state is lying because I don't think I've ever been more brave than when I uttered the words of truth in the company of Spencer or when I silenced those words of denial when in the company of Glen. And I don't think I shone more brightly than when I saw something else than contempt inside the eyes of my obsession.

But these are not the thoughts and actions that have surrounded me throughout my life and it scares me, because how can I reflect on the good things when all I've ever felt have been the bad ones.

And this is what makes me want to chop my hair off, this is what makes me ache for that shower that will cleanse me of a night and morning that I should treasure and not fear, that I should store and remember, not resent and forget. I know it's wrong, still I choose to maintain it. This layer of pessimism and destruction that soaks every good thing that comes my way. And it shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't be this way.

The perfect example of a good thing gone wrong is him, the guy in the blue towel that stands half naked before me when I open the door to the bathroom. I'd rather laugh than stand shocked before him, I'd rather join him in his chuckle than rip my blood-red face away from his body while uttering a sad apology. He's dressed in more than I've seen him in before, early mornings in boxer shorts a common site in the Carlin hallway, still I feel embarrassed on his behalf, being seen in next to nothing while the girl he likes is watching him.

I know I would be. If the girl I liked saw me exposed in such a way.

But he doesn't seem phased, his wet hair being shaken side to side, sputtering and splashing onto the tiles of the room; some droplets hitting my face in the process. His good nature has always rubbed off on me and his smile has always brought one out of me as well, and this is no exception. Because under that layer of embarrassment that first appeared on my face, a smile suddenly forms and it calms me, stills me. Sooths me.

And maybe things aren't so bad after all.

"Sorry, I didn't meant to walk in on-... Hey, you're getting me wet!"

He's deliberately shaking his head in my direction, water hitting the towel I've got clutched inside my palms and I couldn't care less, he could soak anything I own and I'd be happy because this moment makes me happy. Seeing him happy again.

"Like you weren't going to get water on you in the shower anyway..!" he banters back, a grin spreading like wildfire onto his face, up his cheeks and reaching his eyes in no time. And the happy expression is soon mirrored on my own face. I didn't think it would be this easy. Getting him back, getting the comfortableness back in motion, the banter, the teasing, the genuine smiles.

I guess sometimes it just is.

Easy.

"But you're soaking my towel..!" I half-shriek, not too comfortable with making loud noises when I've never really made them before.

"You're the one standing in the bathroom, I'm not forcing you to...!" he grins at me again before reaching out and pulling at me, lifting me up in his cold and moist embrace just to tease me and I kick and shout like I'm supposed to, like I want to. And when he complies to let me loose, I'm regretful, instantly missing the close contact to a guy I've missed more than anything these last few weeks, and before I have time to fret over actions and choices, I embrace him again, I willingly move into those cold arms because they warm my soul.

"You know I love you, right?"

Even he is shocked at my words, his grip loosening then tightening more on me than it ever has before. I know we've been sharing the same loss, we've been sharing the same pain. And now we're sharing the same happiness over finally being together again. Finally being home.

"I love you too, sis'."

He's been looking at me strangely for an hour and it bugs the hell out of me. Just seriously makes me want to smack him and I'm afraid I will if he comes up to me. I'm afraid I will if I let my eyes meet his sizzling ones from across the gym.

I think what saves me from being overpowered by anger is that I'm already punching something, I'm already seeing his face etched into the punching bag I'm targeting as we speak. I still don't want his apologies, I still don't want any words of excuse uttered from his lips because I know he didn't do anything wrong. I was never interested and he knew it from the second we met that it would never come to that. He obviously thought I used him as a ploy in my own little game and he instead chose to make one of his own.

Still, I can't forgive him for hurting me the way he did.

Still, I can't forgive myself for subconsciously thanking him for giving me a moment with Spencer that I never would've had otherwise.

"You can go talk to him, you know. I won't mind."

Glen doesn't look at me as he mutters the words, and neither do I. We only focus more thoroughly on the task at hand and it takes me awhile to understand the reason behind his words.
My first impression is that he's jealous, that he only tells me because he feels obliged to, but the tone in his voice isn't tainted with jealousy, instead it has an aura of hope inside it. Or urge, of willingness to let go. And at first it calms be but not for long. Because I heard him five days ago, I heard him voice what I was almost too scared to admit myself, that he knows.
And when he urges me to pursuit a guy who weeks ago crushed him like nothing else, I know his reason.

There's someone more painful for him to see me with.

"I don't want to."

And that easiness that came upon us days ago slowly slips out of our grasp when he shifts his gaze toward me with a conflicted expression painted on his features.

"I don't mind, you know."

It's the first hint of his own admission of ever having feelings for me and I'm not sure how to react, how he wants me to react. So I take the same route as I did four days ago, when I embraced what I felt and in turn embraced a brother.

"But I do."

"I thought you liked him?"

I know he's holding on to the hope of his discovery not being true, just being a horrid illusion without any ties to reality and however much I want to grant it to him, I can't. I just...can't.

"I don't, Glen. I never did."

Eyes are cast upon me and even if I know it'll hurt, I meet them, I meet them in a stare that I try to hold as long as possible before I waver and lose my resolve. Because it pains him, those symptoms of unorthodoxy that I try to convey through my eyes instead of having to spit them out bloodied and sharp. I know it stings him enough just knowing, there's no need in heightening the pain by ripping it all open.

"Alright, I won't force you."

I'm not sure what is being hidden inside those words but I try not to think about it as I feel the eyes of Aiden upon me again. It's not affection or guilt he watches me with, it's a mixture of emotions I'm not familiar with and therefore can't locate.

It tickles me the wrong way.

His eyes finally leave me though, when I hear the door slam behind me and I'm suddenly outside of the building, leaning my right shoulder blade on the wall before the back of my head soon follows suit.
I squint as I watch the outlines of the buildings before me, the shadows lengthening with each minute that passes. The wind is making more noise than usual and it's drowning out the cries of warning that should have reached my ears when footsteps find their way toward me. But I already knew they would come.

"Long time, no see."

Although I recognize the voice – devoid of the seductive tone he used on Spencer – I still have to cast a glance toward him to make sure it really is him. Just to make sure my replies are thrown to the right person.

"Yeah."

Although they're not much of any replies.

"You've been missing."

"No, I've been around. Just not here."

I don't know what else to say to him, if he expects me to spew out some excuse for not mingling in his presence or if he's content with what I'm saying as long as I'm saying anything at all.

"Any particular reason for that?"

I know what he's fishing for, I know what he wants me to say, how he wants me to react, because his smug face and composure – much like a snake in grass – tells me that he's asking me deliberately, he's asking me for a cause; to rile me up. It is all he's ever done.

"Not any I feel like telling you about."

And we both turn silent. Head and eyes hanging low on my shoulders ever since I recognized him has left me gazing at the ground, watching his bruised and battered shoes with a passion I didn't know I owned. His left shoelace loose from it's knot annoys me like no other and the urge to stomp on his foot overflows me, scares me a little. How agitated someone I barely know has made me become. And I don't know if it's for the better or for the worse.

When I watch his hands folding in front of his chest, thumb grazing the palm of his hand with affection, I can't help but be reminded of a show not too long ago where I was nothing but a spectator, nothing but a fly on the wall in the presence of two with similar minds. And when he raises his voice again, it's not to me, it's not for me. I don't think it ever was.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you here."

And that loathsome tone is back, that soft, devoted one that I've only ever heard him speak within the vicinity of a certain girl, and I'm afraid to look up, I'm scared shitless of who could be standing just feet away from me.

"Yeah, watching my brother salivate all over the girls isn't my favorite thing to do..."

And when I hear her, when my eyes look up to memorize those features that are already stored inside my mind I'm surprised to see her looking at me back, that she's not meeting the eyes of a traitor but instead the eyes of a coward. When her body is shifted in the fly's direction instead of the lion's.

"You never called me back", is heard from a distance and her lips aren't moving so I know it wasn't her words. I recognize them as Aiden's, and although I'm closer to him than to her, I can still barely hear his words because all I'm able to hear is the slow breathing of air inside her lungs. And I'm not sure if I'm hearing it with my ears or not, because I'm listening to her with my entire being. All I can do in her vicinity is listen.

Because I'm so afraid of missing something I should've heard.

"Nice observation", is all she throws at him, her eyes leaving my pleading ones for just a second before they find mine again, mine being glued to hers the whole time.

"Hey Ashley, I was looking for you."

"What?"

And when I hear it, I wonder who said it although I know the voice is mine, I could hear the words vibrating in the back of my throat but I can't remember uttering them, I can't remember thinking them. And I always think before I say anything.

"Uhm, for me?" I try to cover up, not sure what exactly I'm trying to hide. Other than what my whole body is screaming, what my whole mind is focused on.

"Yeah, mom told me to come pick you up, something about an appointment or something..."

"Appointment?"

And I know that reply wasn't from my throat because I do not own such a masculine voice, and I do not loathe my own voice with such a fiery passion as I do the voice that just uttered a word I myself was about to ask.

"Yeah, so I'll just wait here for you, or something..."

She wavers. She actually wavers, and I'm not sure what she's trying to tell me with her eyes but it distinctly looks like pleading, like the look I've wanted to throw in her direction over and over again but have never had the courage to do.

And although I'm not entirely sure what the look means, and although I'm scared of her and her reactions, I'm still more scared of her being out here, with him, alone. Because I'm no longer the spectator and I do not wish to become one again.

"Uhm, you could come inside and wait, tell Glen that I'm leaving for me?"

And she visibly looks relieved, she tips her foot onto her toes and the hands that has been stuck inside the pockets of her jeans almost slips out when her shoulders reach up around her neck and she somehow seems reluctant. Not to follow me but when and how.

It's the first time I can visibly see myself in her.

"Okey."

Girls don't frequent the gym as much as guys do. Not this gym, anyway, and it give me space and room to be self-conscious on my own without the prying eyes of others upon my body. Sometimes I linger longer than I should inside the locker rooms, enjoying the peace but not fully being calm enough to revel in it. Because I know it won't last, I know that at any time someone can come cruising in those doors and it could be at any time of my clothes changing. Therefore, I always make the changing go by fast, not wanting anyone to catch me barely clothed by the benches or naked in the shower.

Sometimes I'm lucky, sometimes I'm not.

Sometimes I shower at home, sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I don't care about how I look when I leave the gym and sometimes I do.

Especially when a girl I'm rather fascinated by is waiting for me outside and I don't know what she's going to bring me to.

And I'm scared.

So when I shower, I somehow end up spending more time than I've ever done before, and when I shampoo my hair, I somehow end up doing it several times, and when I finally let the water stop on its own accord I'm procrastinating, prolonging the inevitable 'appointment' that Spencer talked about.

Nothing about the word 'appointment' brings forth good thoughts and expectations.

I know it's a coincidence, but when I wrap the blue towel around me I can't help but think back to that bathroom incident, that embarrassing meeting that turned out wonderful, that turned out blissful. And I can't help but feel completely alienated to his reaction of getting caught in a towel when I see two blue orbs boring into me from the doorway of the locker room.

"Oh, sorry, I was just wondering if you'd run out on me or something."

She smiles, much like I did after seeing Glen's cheeks rise in happiness that day in the bathroom, but her smile doesn't infect me like Glen's did. It rather shames me, that I'm being caught by her and feeling embarrassed when she's seen me undressed like this before. She's seen me in tank top and boy shorts – just as undressed as now – but that was before she enthralled me. That was before she became so much more than the hateful mystery she at first was, and somehow it feels more serious now, her seeing my naked limbs moist from the shower.
It's irrational, the embarrassment, but it's there and I can do nothing about it. And she makes no move to help me get rid of it as she sits down on one of the benches, back leaning against the white wall of this poorly cleaned locker room.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure if she's doing this deliberately. Staying inside the locker room when I'm about to change. But the flustered look on her face when I reach out to find underwear inside my bag tells me otherwise.

She turns away.

I look at her, barely seeing the side of her face as I slide my underwear on while still having the towel neatly tucked around my body. I'm too scared to let it fall. Too unsure of Spencer's actions to trust her eyes to stay away.

Even when I have no reason to believe otherwise.

My eyes still linger on her when I'm reaching for my bra, conflicted as to how I'm going to make this work, how I'm going to get dressed without exposing myself.

Because this is exposure, even if she isn't watching, even if she can't see me.

And it is even more so when I see her eyes flinch my way, never on me but around me, giving her peripheral vision a full show of my awkward hands about to unknot the towel that used to emit good vibrations, not terror and nerves like it does right now.

I wish she would turn away.

I wish she would leave this room, this situation and let me dress in peace. Because the tension in my body multiplies with each passing moment and I almost shiver, I almost shake. And I'm afraid 'almost' will become 'visibly' and I'm not daring enough to let that happen.

My eyes leave her frame when her gaze travels dangerously close to mine, 'cause when they almost meet – my terrified eyes and her searching ones – they seem to mix, they seem to melt together in a unified expression that holds both our faces, stills our glance.

And we both flinch.

I cannot look at her anymore, I cannot cast my eyes toward her because I'm scared of what they'll do to me, I'm scared of what they might see. So I dress in silence, hands tugging on fabric the only sound present in this room, bra and knickers the only clothing blocking her from seeing me completely.

When I finally dare to cast my gaze away from the locker and in her direction again, I'm not sure if what I see is imagined or real. If her eyes traveling up my right leg is really doing that or if I'm just having visions. If her eyes really do stop when they reach my torso or if I'm just mistaking their focus. If her face really do blush when it scans over my upper body or if I'm just making it all up.

But when her eyes really do reach mine, I know.

Because I've never seen them more present before, as they bore into me in ways they shouldn't, in ways that tense and excite my body in all the good ways but scares and frightens my head in all the wrong ways.

And the distance seems to dissipate even though none of us stirs, even though none of us moves an inch. The room feels smaller than before and I'm sure I can touch her even though she's lockers away from me, even though she's far from arms reach of me.

She just seems closer to me, so much closer than before and I realize it's not in the physical way, it's not in a materialistic way at all.

Because this closeness that seems to envelope us in this locker room has nothing to do with physics because it isn't bound by that.

It's a closeness shared between us in the most intimate way, because we're sharing the same expression, we're sharing the same emotion.

She's carrying an look of surprise and fright so similar to mine that I almost believe they're the same.

And maybe they are.