Snails are misunderstood.
Snails
The newspaper lies abandoned in front of me. I'm distracted, too far in to realise anything happening around me. Not that anything is. My fingers tap restlessly against my jeans, and I watch the ligaments in my hand flicker and rest with each movement of my fingers. The movement fascinates me, and I almost forget that Edward is somewhere in the garden, alone. After tonight, I'm not sure I want to ask for his company, but I miss his presence more than my fear of him, so I decide to go.
The moon sits inconspicuously against the royal blue sky, casting everything in an eerie glow. The wind grips my body, making my arms come out in goose bumps. My hair blows in front of my face, tickling my eyes. The shadows look peculiar under the dim light.
He sits on a plain white garden chair. He's too noble to sit on a plastic chair.
The planes of his face shine, as does his hair. The moon makes him look almost ghostly, pale white in appearance. He's pouting, as he normally does when he's concentrating and I notice he's unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing his neck fully and enabling his collar bones to peek out. The muted light brings out his lips, and makes the curves of his face more prominent. He clasps the beer bottle next to him and drinks.
I stand foolishly just outside of the door, almost so I can be ready to make a run back to the sanctuary that is my bedroom.
"It's a beautiful night," his voice rolls towards my ears, velvety and articulate. I feel comfortable- his voice is safety. I don't reply. I don't want to spoil this.
"Pity that people want to spend it in clubs." He's angry at me for dragging him to this club, I knew it. Guilt is an emotion I've met all too well during the past few days.
"I'm sorry Edward, I shouldn't have made you come, I honestly didn't know that-" He turns and beams at me- even in this light, I can see he's beautiful. I stop talking, because I want to keep this moment.
"It's fine Jasper, honestly. And no, I should be apologising, that comment wasn't directed to you. I meant it generally. Besides, we're here now," he turns to the front again, and I find myself missing his face. I'm not sure how to approach this, so I just settle for fidgeting with my hands and taking the occasional peak at Edward to see if he'd notice.
Snail tracks on the floor catch my eye. They go over each other, each one a different path than the next. The light manages to catch their hues brilliantly, and they sparkle magnificently. I had never spotted them before. Their phosphorescence is beautiful.
Here I am, talking about snail tracks to avoid talking to Edward. I speculate on what has made me stoop this low, before I catch Edward looking at me amusedly. I smile.
"What?"
"Your facial expressions are very interesting. Penny for your thoughts?"
"I'm afraid it's more than a penny, Edward," I regret not telling him, but I decide to retain a slight part of mystery.
He completely changes the subject. "Snails are cute."
The sound that emanates from me is the most embarrassing one I have heard. I manage to control my hysteria and laugh loudly for he is truly unpredictable. Of all the things Edward is inclined to say, that has probably the least chance of the all. Snails are cute?! Oh, I can't stop laughing, and I realise that this is the funniest moment I have had in a long time. With Edward, talking about snails. I feel the sure warmth of a tear, running down my cheek; I don't know what it is, but I immediately know it isn't from the laughter. I make myself stop, although Edward seems oblivious. I wasn't going to cry in front of him in any state. He sits quietly with a smirk on his face, observing me the whole time.
"Are you quite finished, Jasper Whitlock?" I expect it to be scornful, but he's still smiling that playful smile where one corner of his mouth is higher than the other and you see the slight sparkle of his white teeth.
"Yes," I manage to choke out between sniggers.
"That wasn't meant to be funny, you know," he tries to keep a stoic expression, but the beginnings of a laugh are escaping, and he can't stop himself so he laughs right along with me. And I don't know why we find it so funny- it may be the drink, or the air. But here we are, laughing with each other, all the tension dissolving. My stomach is starting to hurt and my eyes are watering, but I don't care because I'm here with Edward. My vision blurs because of the tears, their soft plinks drowned out by our chuckles.
I love these moments with him the most.
"Come on, lets go find some," Edward speaks up when we regain control of ourselves.
"Find what?"
"Snails."
"No, they're slimy and wet," I whinge, pulling a face. "And it's past midnight, Edward, where the hell do you think you're going to find one at this time of night?"
He just smiles. "Come on," and suddenly, he has taken hold of my wrist. His warm hand is firm and strong, nearly encircling my whole wrist. I tense at the contact, and find myself watching our hands the whole time he is leading me to the bushes. His lithe fingers, his soft palm, the light brown hairs that are hardly visible. There is something, something there. I want to feel his skin against mine. I stop.
"Everything alright, Jasper?" His hand leaves mine, and I miss the warmth. I don't know what to say, how to react.
"Er, yeah, I'm fine. A bit dizzy, you know, probably from laughing," I attempt to smile. "I'm just going to get some more drinks, you want anything?" A confused look washes over his face before he replies with a tentative yes.
In the kitchen, I don't think, I just do. I refuse to speculate on what happened now, for I would probably get into a lengthy discussion with myself, and I didn't want Edward suspecting anything. That would make things worse.
I walk back out into the harsh night with two bottles. Edward sits on the plastic chair, admiring a snail walking on his hand, exploring. I'm actually interested as to where he manages to find these things. He looks like a small boy, so intrigued, so I take my time to watch him until he looks up and smiles when he sees me.
"How can you have that thing on your hand? It's slimy."
"Snails are very misunderstood, Jasper. Now give me your hand."
"What? No!" I retreat slightly, repulsed at the though of having a piece of jelly crawling on my hand. His smirk only intensifies, and now I'm scared.
"Contrary to popular belief, they don't bite, Jasper," he says sarcastically, and then holds out his hand. I don't want to touch him again for fear of another reaction. I can't face that today, I can't face that any day. Genuine fear grips me at the thought of what this could be, what this is. I'm not ready, and I don't think I ever will be.
However, Edward makes that decision for himself, and like earlier, his fingers curl around mine. Before I can wallow in his touch, he plonks the snail, and I can feel now is the slimy creature on the back of my hand, but Edward's hold is so much more prominent. I try to move away, but his grip is strong, so I don't succeed.
"Now, now, Jasper, we can't have little Alfie hurting himself, can we?" I turn, perplexed.
"What?" I say slowly, and I'm sure the disbelief is clear on my face.
"He's called Alfie. Don't you think that suits him?" My eyes find the creature on my hand, lightly tickling me. His eyes fully stretch out, and for a brief moment, I actually sympathise with the little mite.
"Please get him off, Edward." Edward smiles before peeling the snail from my skin, leaving a cold patch. I can't think of where to wipe the slimy stuff; certainly not on my clothes. My eyes look around, but there aren't any napkins or any material whatsoever that I can use. I find Edward, gently putting the snail back on a tree. Instinct takes over. Before I realise my impulsive actions, I stride towards him and wipe my hand on his shirt. His crisp, white shirt.
He turns and smiles at me, before working out that he indeed has snail slime on his shirt. His smile falters, and his face turns into a glare, eyes narrowing and mouth tensing. He turns his body so that he is fully facing me. His imposing posture and angry expression confirm that I've overstepped the line here, and guilt rises to my mouth. I line up my apologies so that, one by one, I can plead for Edward's forgiveness.
However, he smirks and folds his arms. I step back; he steps forward.
"You are so dead," he whispers, and while I'm at awe at his proximity, his smell, there is something telling me that I should run. Flight over fight. I certainly was not going to confront Edward, especially as I had no chance of winning.
As quick as lightning, I pivot and shoot off down the garden, thinking that I'll figure out my escape when I get to it. I was a fair runner in my school days, always near the top of the list, especially in short distances. The garden really was a short distance.
I was nearing the edge fast- I had little or no chance getting past Edward, unless I jumped over the fence, but I really didn't want to take it that far. I can't stop smiling while I push my muscles.
Suddenly, I can't move my legs. Something catches them, presumably Edward, and I topple to the wet grass, the dew soaking through my shirt. The wind is knocked out of me with the impact of the ground, but I'm not hurt like I was in my room. The weight is still on my legs and I turn just in time to see Edward roll of them and onto the grass. His chest quickly pulsates with his laughing, and he scoots along the grass up to my head. I cringe at the thought of how dirty his shirt would be. He, however, seems to not care as he continues to laugh. I can't help smiling myself- it appears that the whole snail debacle has been forgotten.
I turn to stare at the dark sky rather than Edward. His hand touches mine between us, and I want nothing more than to take it in my again and feel that warmth. His laughter bubbles off until we are silent, lying together on the wet grass.
I catch every movement he makes, from the slight pout of his lips to the shift of his leg. I'm scared, scared for myself. Deciding to plunge into the abyss, I turn my face to look at him. The grass tickles my cheek, filling my nostrils with the smell of autumn.
The moon illuminates his face softly, making it glow in stark contrast to his bronze hair. I want to feel if it is really as soft as it looks. I continue to study the outline of his face starting from his brow, over the curve of his nose, past those lips, around his chin and down to his neck. He senses me, and turns with a smile that makes his whole face light up, right down to the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His hair flops over his brow, and I want nothing more than to push it away, to skim my fingers over his forehead. That sends shocks down to my stomach.
This is confirmation. Confirmation that there is something. I want to laugh and cry at the same time, I want to touch him and push him away. I want him to provoke me.
"You know, this is the most fun I've had in a long time," he whispers, his voice stroking my ears. My heart soars at his words. I want him to have fun with me. I decide not to answer, rather to watch his breathing out of the corner of my eye, and not delve too far into the nature of my fascination. I can feel the wetness of the grass soaking through my shirt like a blooming flower, but I couldn't care less. Edward's hand is dangerously close to mine- I can almost feel the heat coming off it. If I just moved, maybe a centimetre or two, then we would be touching. Touching.
He takes his hand away from mine to brush the lock of hair from his forehead, and I find myself missing it. Moreover, I wanted to brush that hair away myself. However, when he returns his hand, he positions it in such a place that his fingers skim over my skin, and rest there. Oh, Edward. The heat from his hand is unmistakeable, and I smile because he doesn't move it.
I contemplate on how we got here, lying on the grass beneath the stars, our skin touching. A couple of hours ago, I was feeling guilty and in the shadows. Feeling inferior to Edward. Now, we were lying together at some ungodly hour in a scene that seems unreal.
Sadly, it is time to go. We stand up; well, Edward jumps up and offers me his hand. This time I take it. God, yes, I take it just to feel that warmth again. I end up close to him, and he flashes me another smile. We turn to walk back to the house, but Edward surprises me by slinging his arm over my shoulders and pulling me to him slightly. He laughs, a clear, carefree laugh, and strolls back with me under his arm. My mind, my body, is reeling, but I'm careful to keep it beneath the surface. His touch, slightly brushing the back of my neck, sends shivers ghosting down my spine, while the butterflies in my stomach make their presence known. My heart speeds up; I can almost hear it myself. Edward doesn't notice any of this, but drops his arm as the door isn't wide enough for us to pass through together. I miss his skin.
I turn back towards him to see him one last time today. "Oh, Edward? Me too," I leave him to ponder my statement, and head towards my bedroom. He doesn't follow. And this time, I'm not regretting anything.
But as soon as the door is shut, the tears start to fall and I'm on my bed, fully clothed and curled around myself. There is a harsh pain in my stomach, clawing at my skin. My body convulses because I'm not gay, I can't be. This isn't real. At least I don't want it to be. I want the wife, the children and the dog. I promise, God, I promise that I won't use women ever again.
My pillow is soaked from the tears. I can't stop them, and I start sobbing. Cries emanate from my throat. I feel like a child. My mind rushes to Edward, thinking of what he is doing right now. I ponder whether he feels something for me, but quickly brush that off because that is stupid. I clench my fists, but I'm still weeping. My heart feels forlorn and heavy. A part of me wants this, I know it does. The part that watches Edward from a distance, that revels in his touch.
My nails are inviting. I want to drag them down my arm, to shake myself out of this. Something tells me there is no way out.
I'm not sabotaging this friendship with Edward, I don't want to leave this house. Even though abandoning these feelings seems like the easy way out, I want every day to be like tonight. I can't end this friendship. It means too much to me.
He means too much to me.