Early July.

 

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Prologue

Early July; warm leaves caress my skin as I lay promiscuously across from you, eyes lingering on your lips too long; hands wandering where hands shouldn't wander in the open and you stare back, and you smile, and I laugh and we lay, then the sky turns dull and the world slows down and noises of cars become sparse. Then you pull me in and lightly kiss my lips, what I've been waiting for silently as I was lost in just the feeling of being here next to you; the start of my July.

 

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Early July.

She may contain the urge to run away but hold her down with soggy clothes and breeze-blocks.

I walk slowly towards the Tambien pub, dragging my feet in converse, sweating; it's casually getting hotter and I'm starting to get agitated; there's something about warm weather that makes one long for the taste of an ice cold beer. I switch off my music, letting the sounds of summer caress my ears instead, birds, car horns, the smell of grass, flowers, beauty; trying not to focus on the constant irritation of my perspiring skin. 

 It's Friday the first of July, and it's been a long week; my mouth feels dry and cracked, water doesn't quench my thirst, my thoughts aren't clear, my skins too burnt, my head is too light and the sun is too hot and I know, there's only one thing that can make me feel better the company of my so called friends.

Everything about this pub makes me feel like getting drunk. The musty smell of the interior, the over-aged alcoholics who look at me like I aren't allowed to be here because I haven't lived enough. What is it with old people and age? you're young so you've never been younger, you've never lived long enough to have hard times, you don't need to be here; but I do. So I take a pew, and the seats too hot, and the windows can't open so the fans blaze on, and they hit their nonchalant faces and they only breeze my hair, so the sweat lines my brow, and my heart starts to pound, so my knees raise my legs and my feet start to step...

 but he walks in.

and I find myself sitting back down in my seat, eyes not leaving the view slowly walking towards me and what a magnificent view he is, he strides with such confidence, his hands balled into fists, his eyes meeting mine as he takes the seat beside me.

"Hey."

His voice is like melting chocolate on a warm day, his lips curl into a half smile as he turns to look forward and slouches in his seat; I haven't replied. Is it too late now? I decide yes so I just stare forwards, feeling my cheeks burn a bright crimson, trying to ignore his presence but feeling suffocated by his existence.

Art, the guy who owns the Tambien is a tall, languid man whose face appears to sink into his chin. When he speaks, spit lines his lower lip and his teeth catch his tongue; he slurs his words with a crooked smile as he greets me.

"Ah," he starts "Marie it's great to see you again, whats your poison?"

I ask him for a cold beer as I try not to panic at the realisation that I'm being watched; I dare not meet the eyes that are looking, so I shuffle my thumbs restlessly and my breathing gets heavy, my eyes dart towards the door and I linger plotting an escape for what seems like an eternity until the guy speaks his name;

Fabien I've now learnt, is his name. Rum and coke is his drink, I take advantage of him ordering and use the time to take him in. His skin is pale and temperate, his eyes a watery blue; his nose is perfectly symmetrical to his lips, pursed as he concentrates with brows embraced; but his foot taps on his chair like he's aware I'm looking, so I stop briefly then glance back just as he, too, glances and we're locked in a gaze, I feel my heart beating, hurried, my mouth has gone dry, my throat catches a swallow, my cheeks blossom, scarlet; and he smiles the ultimate wide eyed smile and I'm adrift in a daze of lust.

Fabien is the first to break the gaze after what felt like an hour but was a mere minute as he grabs his drink. He turns back to me

"You don't look like a beer drinker."

His voice I've decided is not like chocolate, but is more like sugar, sweet to the ear, sweeter on the lips; I'd image... but I shouldn't imagine now, I should respond.

"I only drink it when it's warm out."

He glances at me, that smile again, something new lurking in those translucent eyes, as he clears his throat (something I find irresistible) and continues

"I didn't think drinking preference was dependant on the weather" 

I'm staring at him now, alongside the elders and Art; all of whom are intrigued by this man.He laughs, and it's heart warming and tickles, so I smile with him and he notices it, so he takes my hand and his is clammy, and mine is moist, and sweat lines my brow and he stands in front of me tugging my arm until I stand, and the fan hit's my head and it's such a welcome breeze, then his face is in mine, his breath blowing the wisps of my hair that have escaped my bobble looking for adventure, and here it is; adventure, adventure in his next three words.

"come with me." 

I hesitate at first and his blue eyes pour into mine, an intruding, suffocating feeling comes over me, so I nod abruptly and we leave, feet taking vast steps out into the open; his sweaty palms clenched tight against mine as he walks an arm length forward, pulling me along towards a motorbike.

"I'm not getting on that."

he's let go of my hand now and stands before me, black jeans stuck to his legs, shirt  adorning his upper body, top three buttons open, chest hair on show. He moves his hand through his warm brown hair to shake any heat from it and breaks a smile. He gestures to a small black car parked next to the motorbike, and chuckles.

"Meet Susie ... my ride." I laugh now and stare at his grinning face, squinting in the light, gesturing for me to get in as he presses unlock on his car keys, now lingering in his hand; I hesitate again but then think, ah to hell with it, I was just going to sit in the pub and be bored anyway, why not start the adventure that awaits me. My stomach sinks as I sit on the warm car seat, the sauna that is Susie, hits the back of my throat with scorching cooked air; I feel it sink into my chest.

"Best to keep the windows open I think." He starts the car and I'm lost in his hands and the way they move around the car as he drives, his concentrating face is out again, the eyebrows close together, stern expression, full of thought and beauty; he's too busy thinking to notice me looking so I take this inestimable moment to enjoy him and the fact I'm here now, with him.

The drive takes quite a while, time avails me as I watch him drive so I can't be sure how long, just a matter of hours, two at the most; and then we're stopped the ending of one journey, the start of a new one.

"My humble abode." we stepped out of the car, now under the trees of his garden, a welcome refreshing breeze brushes past. "You live alone?"

he shakes his head, no; and walks towards the garage.

"In here is where I keep everything we need for the night ahead."

His garage is crammed with memoirs, posters of Florence and the machine, shoes with broken soles and boxes with thick black marker scrawled words, and he walks to the end, climbing over heaps of crap, frustrated, quietly swearing beneath his breath; I watch him from the entrance, not braving the walk in; it feels too personal a space for me to invade. He stumbles back with a box in his hand marked "Photographs" but instead when I look I'm met with beers and spirits, most half empty, one or two untouched.

"Take them in to the house for me please" he smiles an audacious smile as he throws me a house key "There's just something I've got to grab."

I stumble towards the house with the surprisingly, heavy box, and place it on the ground as I unlock the door. Once inside I sit on the edge of his sofa, lingering at him through the window, unable to see what he's getting from the distance; I hear things clang, and drop and see a few things shuffle. I feel awkward just waiting so I sit back in the sofa, cooler in the shade of the night, the only light pouring in through the double doors in his living room, I look at myself in the reflection. My eyes are ovaloid, yet small and almost cyan; I squint looking at my nose, distinctive in size, adorning the middle of my face. My lips are overly pouty, my face shape sharp, my hair a tinted auburn; and overall I appear messy, especially with my flushed burnt cheeks from the heat; I suddenly feel embarrassed to be here with him like this, and I start to think of excuses to go. Reaching into the pocket of my denim jeans, I grab my phone, 2 new messages, 18% battery, dark screen for conservation; not that it ever works. Unlocking it, I notice that both messages are my mother one an hour ago, the other two, wondering if I'm home soon and if she needs to leave me money for takeaway as she's going out. I reply a swift yes please and re lock my phone. Hoping I'll be back before she arrives, in the early hours of the morning.

The door slams and I quickly regain an upright posture, placing my phone snug in my warm jeans; he's back beside me.

"Ready for the adventure to begin then?"

I nod, yes. But I'm suddenly regretting this decision; thinking about how I could of been home right now, safe, sober; rather than in the midst of this boy, who is offering me what I want but shouldn't except; the dangerous delights of the unknown I accept a drink with sweating palms and await the unknown, with his eyes lingering on me, and his smile a permanent fixture in my mind.

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The Effortless Enchantment.

We talk until the sky turns dark, stopping only to fill up our glasses or  grab snacks; he puts a playlist on his phone and we sing to the Kasabian track that's playing, raucous to the ear. The clock on his phone reads 10.30pm and I can't believe I'm not home, I go to check my phone but it's powered off so I push the thought of my mothers angry face to the back of my mind and stare at Fabien's content one instead; then he pulls me to the chair in the corner of the room.

"This, is the cuddle chair"

A chilling sensation navigates down my spine, as I cuddle closer to him nervous, and a little bit scared.

"Lets watch a film shall we?"

He puts on the hobbit and I see barely any of it, we continue talking well into early hours of the morning, only stopping once when his mother returned home, briefly greeted me and disappeared upstairs. Eventually I fall asleep in his arms an involuntary slumber caused by a mixture of lethargy and intoxication into the most peaceful slumber of my life so far. His arms are the safest place I've ever been, his scent the most soothing, his voice the most sweet and heady, his company the most welcome.

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Fluttering lips.

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~

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