Blooming Boy

Blooming Boy

By Ana Neu

“Why did you kiss her?”.

My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. Like a child’s. Always like a little child. He was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter. The half-filled red, plastic cups lined the bench on either side of him. Some toppled. Some crushed. His light hair had fallen into his eyes, casting the planes of his face in wisps of shadow. I saw him stiffen. He was silent and still. And for a long moment I thought he had stopped breathing. But he shifted his feet on the floor, sticky with spit and alcohol. His limbs turned fluid again.

“Hm?”, he asked, sinking into his shoulders.

He tilted his head, so his hair fell lower. Low enough to touch the tip of his nose. I couldn’t see his eyes when he took a plastic bowl from beside him, throwing it carelessly to the trash can.

It hit the edge, spilling soggy crisps over the tiles.

“I…I saw you…”, I whispered.

I didn’t know how to deal with it. It was like a splinter between the walls of my heart. I didn’t know if it was going to deflate like a balloon or flare up like a bonfire. I’ve never been angry with him. Never in the twelve years since – I didn’t even know if I knew how to. When I thought of myself asking him at the end of the night, I promised to be bold – to be fierce. But when I look at him now, I knew that was impossible.

“I was drunk”, he said flatly, taking a cup in his callused hands.

He moved to the sink, spilling its contents in a stream that filled the silence. His back was to me now.

“Why does it matter?”, he asked, throwing the cup to the trash behind him. It missed again.

Because I love you. I wanted to say. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I ran a hand through my dark curls hastily, ignoring the urge to rip my roots out. I forced myself to breathe down the flare of heat echoing in my chest. I tried to cast the image out of my mind, but it was as if it were a hot scar, burnt against the insides of my eyelids. Her leaning into him. Her hand around his neck. Her lips pressing to his. And his surprised eyes falling closed. And his forearm hugging her waist. I grabbed a bottle from the bench. I let my fingers curl around its neck, till my knuckles turned white. Why does it matter? The words parroted against the hollow bone of my skull. I uncurled my fingers and exhaled silently. 

“It doesn’t”, I say as I move towards the trash can, placing the glass bottle in with a small clink, “Never-mind”.

“I was drunk”, he said again.

The lowness of his voice made me blink.

“I know”, I whispered, “it doesn’t matter anymore – ”.

He suddenly turned to me. I looked at him, realising that his chest was rising and falling as if he had been running. He raked his hair back with impatient fingers, revealing his eyes. Those eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes he always hated.

“I – ”, he stuttered, “I didn’t –”.

I held my breath. He never stuttered. Out of the two of us, I was the one to trip on my words so much that I was teased for it. He was the one who shut them up, he was the one who protected me and my stupid vulnerabilities. Yet here he was. Beautiful and open. Like a flower finally about to burst.

“I didn’t want to”, he finally said. I could see it in his expression – the statement seemed false and silly to his own ears.

I could imagine the flower recoiling on itself, retracting into its shield of petals. He saw me, as if for the first time. And it felt like to me, I was meeting him for the first time, too. A memory blossomed in my mind, warm and welcome. His striped tee-shirt and too-tight jeans. The lanky arms that would soon grow into strong ones, corded with pumping veins. The rounded face that would too, grow into a sharp jaw and rough cheekbones that I’d stare at for hours, memorising every patch of skin, every dimple made. I see him give me his first smile. The first day our friendship begun.

Now, he took a step forward. His eyes were wide, his chin tilted up slightly, letting the dim kitchen light play on his face. Another memory spread across my vision. Us lying on a green hill, with the sun hung high in the cloudless sky. The sun's heat washed over us like a wave of hot breath, sinking into the pores running along our skin. He turned his golden face to me, bright and warm. “I’ll always be with you, Will”, he had said to me.

He took another step, his breath catching, his mouth slightly open. This time I see him in my mind’s eye again. At our first high school party, on the quiet roof before blanket of stars against the ash of space. When he gazed and pointed at them, his mouth was slightly ajar, as if he could drink up the sky. “Where?”, I asked. He took my hand gently, pointing it up into the sky along with his. “There”, he had whispered in my ear, “Isn’t it beautiful?”.

He was before me now, looking down at me. I felt my lip’s part. I didn’t let myself blink. He was more beautiful than ever. Even with his mused hair. Even with the crumbs resting upon his chin.

“Will”, he rasped, his breath sweet with alcohol.

My heart stopped when he brought his lips to mine. He bloomed into me like summer into spring. His lips crushing against my mouth, soft like pollen a breeze.

“Will”, he said again, pushing his fingers through my hair, slipping his mouth down to my neck.

I couldn’t stop a tear from rolling down my cheek.

He bloomed most when he was drunk. 

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first short story on reedsy! So I hope you enjoyed. It means the absolute world x.