Thus Far

I've felt this way about her for... two days. Two. 48 hours, and only about six of those hours have been spent in each other's presence. I guess I'm lucky; it should only be about two hours. Two class periods. But I've managed to see her after school every day, and she WANTED to be with me. Or at least that's what I thought. She actually called people to cancel things so she could have an extra hour with me today. Maybe I should explain.

I met her in Drama class last week. She just came here from another state. It's mid-January and apparently her school was far, far more advanced than ours academically. She had three elective classes out of four periods. Her one curriculum class is the senior English class, which is amazing considering this girl is only a sophomore. I'm a junior, but still. We have names, I promise. I'm Bryson. They all called me Bryson; I've never had a nickname in my life until she started to call me 'Bry' for short. I like it. Rumor has it her name is "Ellen", but she asks us to call her "Ellery", like the old mystery magazine "Ellery Queen". So we're Bry and Ellery. I like that both our names end in 'Y'. It's just cute. Bry and Ellery. Ellery and Bry. It fits. It clicks. I know I obsess like a girl, but it's... it's not my fault I tell you. She makes me feel... different. And again, I have to digress in order to explain.

The first thing I noticed about her was her hair. It's hard to miss because it shines about seventy different colors and I swear the shades change every day. She has brown, which gives off everything from chestnut to chocolate, black which will shine blues and purples, and violent red which gives off every shade the color has. I was fascinated by it for a good three minutes, just staring at it as she sat on the bench outside the classroom with the sun bouncing off it. The sun actually came out to play that day, which shocked the hell out of me. Usually the sun hides from November to mid-April, like it goes on vacation on Halloween Night and doesn't come back until Easter. That's one hell of a vacation, and even that rule got bent for Ellery. I remember just how she was, too, that first day. Her hair was loose and brushing her shoulders, something of a rarity, and she had on red lipstick. Her shirt was almost a wife beater style thing, except it was black. She would have been cold if not for the black arm warmers. Her pants were black, not much else could have been said about THOSE at that point other than that they had more pockets than most respectable Army jackets. Her nails were black. She had on checkered slip-on sneakers. Her backpack had matching checkers, and the black sweater she was holding in her lap was being topped by a checkered notebook. She seemed coordinated. My brain screamed "SCENESTER" and I was very pleased. But when she got up and went into class I realized I had been gaping there for at least ten minutes, about seven of those spent with my mouth halfway open. "NICE MOVE BRYSON!!!" I remember screaming at myself.

Twenty minutes into class, and she'd already prompted about three tantrums because the teacher was so dead-set on putting her into the role of the leading lady. We were going to do a spring play that year, a Shakespeare for sure, and we didn't even know which one yet. All we knew was that you were either a lead, or a support. We knew immediately to hate the lead if we were a support. And we knew that Ellery was currently one to hate. That kind of changed when I got bumped into the 'leading man' spot. Our eyes met for two seconds and the only coherent thought I remember for the next ten minutes of that was "Wow. She has brown eyes." I'm glad that suddenly nobody was speaking to me; I would have just spewed something in gibberish and gone back to staring vacantly at the wall. I suddenly pondered whether or not a friend of mine had put something in my soda during lunch. I then remembered that we hadn't had lunch yet. A few more minutes of this and then the teacher called us to attention. We were going to perform... (Collective intake of breath) Romeo & Juliet. Cue whoops from class, groans from costume and lighting, and awed silence as Bryson the Romeo and Ellery the Juliet looked at each other again and flooded poor Bryson's mind with wonderful images that nearly gave him a stroke.

The weekend. A usually silent Bryson gibberish-ing his way through a weekend with skeptical parents who wonder about whether or not a bunch of high school kids will be able to pull off old Will's great romantic tragedy. My sister, a junior-high school kid, immediately made fun of me for having to kiss a girl. I pointed out that I got to swordfight and kill a guy named Tybalt. She retorted that I also kill myself. I hate it when my sister is smarter than me. In any event, I spent most of that 48-hour period lying on my bed listening to music and staring at the ceiling, quickly shutting my eyes when the spider webs of cracks began to form her name as she had requested it in class:

“Sir, I'd like to be called Ellery. Yes Ellery.”

Ellery. Ellery. Ellery. I then would go upstairs to the kitchen and fend off my parents whilst I attempted to get something to eat; not an easy task. Sunday night, I dreaded and anticipated the second class of the next day. I fussed over what to wear; it was first rehearsal. I didn’t know why I was nervous. I just WAS.

Monday came. I didn’t take a single note in first period; I was too nervous to lift a pencil. I shook in my new sweater and jeans, “new” being a relative term. Both garments were about three months young, but compared to the shirt I had on they were positively juvenile. I had on my lucky shirt, my black-and-red homemade AFI shirt, the first one I had ever made as a member of the Despair Faction. My sneakers still had flecks of red paint on them, reflecting the red-blooded Valentine’s Day when the shirt had been born. It gave me peace and confidence. I was ready for anything but what happened.

I strolled into class, early. Usually I would be the only on in the auditorium, and I would sit dead center on the stage until someone else arrived. Drama is my life, right after music and caffeine. But when I got up to the stage, that little routine got blown to bits, kind of like my mind. Because she was there. Ellery. Lying in my spot. Not sitting, lying there. She had on a short black skirt with torn fishnet stockings and Army boots, a black long-sleeved shirt that was low-cut for sure but I couldn’t see the front of it because she was on her side facing the seats, her arms in front of her. Her hair was tucked into a ponytail that was curled at the base of her neck, and she had her head resting on her backpack. Ear buds were blasting faint strains of music into her ears. She had on almost no makeup, which for some odd reason made her mouth fuller and more beautiful. Furthermore… she was asleep. Ellery was sound asleep in my normal spot on the stage, and there was still fifteen more minutes left before the break was over. I nearly passed out. I kneeled down next to her form and put my hand on her shoulder. Her shirt was silky and warm from her body, and barely clung to her collarbone as it went in. The heel of my hand brushed her actual, porcelain-pale skin and I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand it, so I shook her gently. She came out of sleep slowly, first grimacing a bit and then gaining basic consciousness with a soft moan that sent a shiver down my numbing legs into my toes. I spoke to her softly, asked if she was all right, and bent closer to her. She then regained her full wits, sat bolt upright and knocked our foreheads together with admirable force. After the exclamations of pain had run their course, I apologized profusely, she apologized profusely, and we both took on a slightly sheepish look as we began to talk. I had found her asleep, she had been sleeping. We had knocked our heads together. And furthermore, I was to be Romeo and she was to be Juliet, and this would require nothing less than kissing. An awkward situation it was indeed. I was so grateful when she finally uncrossed her arms and allowed me to see the front of her shirt, because it was the single biggest help I had in that conversation.

In hand-painted red letters were the initials “AFI”, and beneath that in smaller silver letters were the painstakingly written cursive words “Despair Faction, Black Sails Generation, 1999 and Forever” My shirt read different, her shirt was older, but both were undeniably equipment of a common obsession. I thought she was going to faint when I pointed out the similarity. In the fashion of most of these ridiculous things called ‘romances’, our faces were close in the heat of conversation when the bell chose to ring and our classmates poured into the room. That entire class was devoted to the reading of the play, lines only, no movement or action. The places in the script where I was supposed to kiss that mouth were so obvious they burned my eyes. Her voice choked with tears in all the right places. I could tell she would be great. I watched her face the entire time when I was not reading my lines, and she was beautiful. Oh, so blindingly beautiful with many-hued hair, dark eyes, and the lips of a demigoddess. The last line of the play ended as that accursed bell rang. I am beginning to hate that thing. The last two classes of my day were a blur of adrenaline leftovers. I don’t even remember what happened at lunch. After school, that was a different story.

I walk home. Every day, rain, shine, fog or premature darkness, I walk to my home. Apparently, so does Ellery. In fact, we live two houses down from each other. It seems that I was a blind fool not to see her moving in. We walked together, and I dropped her off at her house. She asked me if I wanted to come back in an hour to practice our lines. I was, of course, all too eager to accept. She dashed into her house. I ran full-tilt to mine.

I spent the next hour staring at myself in the mirror in my room. I have shaggy obsidian hair that needs cutting. It covers my ears, clings to the back of my neck and my forehead and is beginning to develop wisps of curl. My eyes are an odd shade of earthen color that attempts to mimic hazel but fails miserably; instead they are a hue of brown that is possibly the most lackluster color in the universe. My nose is sharp, my face too pale, and my eyelashes make me seem effeminate. I am tall, by sometimes it seems like my limbs are too long for my body. My jeans weren’t quite tight enough to be fashionable because I can never find them long enough yet tight. My high-tops were beat up. I wasn’t the prettiest picture. But, I mused then, perhaps beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I recalled someone in Drama class earlier, a jealous girl, calling Ellery ‘fat’. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now it made me furious. I hadn’t noticed anything about her but beauty, intelligence, and talent. The emotion was enough to bring animation to my features and for a moment made me seem almost threatening, but certainly interesting. I began to wonder if she would be scared if I wore my maroon contacts to her house, and thankfully I decided against it. Her older brother answered the door when I knocked on it.

He was tall, taller than me. I put him at over six foot three. He looked about twenty, and he had Ellery’s brown eyes and pale skin, but the shadows of dark stubble on his face suggested considerable more years. He looked at me quizzically, squinting one eye shut and scratching at his dark hair for a moment. His rumpled t-shirt, wrinkled shorts, lack of shoes and bag-eyed look told me that he had been sleeping. He finally asked me my business and I was glad when Ellery came up behind him and grinned at me, addressing him as Joey and telling him to go back to sleep. He smiled good-naturedly at me and made a crack on the subject of girlfriends, and I could only laugh weakly as Ellery squawked in mock protest and shoved him out of the way of the door.

She had changed; her hair was no longer swept back but curled on her shoulders, damp at the ends. Possibly wet from a shower, I remember musing, and the resulting images were almost sufficient to make me want to sit down until I recovered control of my brain. Snapshots of wet skin, steaming water, eyes blissfully closed as I slid my… I stopped myself; forced myself to think of other things. I focused instead on her clothes, another mistake as my eyes began at her feet and roamed up as she walked in front of me.

Her toenails were painted black with some type of sparkles. She wore black shorts so most of her long, pale legs were bare, smooth-skinned and glowed like the rest of her as she led me up some stairs. I inquired as to where we were going, and she answered that we would practice in her room. The smallest hint of a smile was apparent and my head spun again with possibilities. I took stock of her from waist to neck, a mistake all its own. She had a black velour hooded sweater on, zipped halfway up, and underneath that a gray tank top that stretched taut over her generous chest. By that time, I had given up trying to stop the images that welled up in my mind as soon as I noticed anything about her. I gave into the flood of heated sparks that coursed into my fingertips and spine when I looked at her bare, pale collarbone and her long neck. I wanted to taste her skin. I imagined she would taste like sugar, maybe cream or cherries. Her hands, small and delicate and black-nailed, moved as she talked to me about some-or-other hardship of moving, and finally one hand closed on a gray doorknob

Come inside, come inside. I’m sorry I’m not totally unpacked yet…

The whole place was black, red, and silver. The main themes were music, AFI, theatre and the Scene. It was beautiful, except for a box or two still hanging around.

You can sit on my bed. Go on. My covers aren’t going to bite you, Bry.

Nobody had ever called me ‘Bry’ before. It surprised me so much I sat down. Then, out of pure randomness, I lied down on my side and stared at her as she sat in her computer chair. We had our scripts, tried to read, tripped up on words occasionally and laughed at each other. Somehow, we began to talk. We rambled on about the merits and downfalls of the AFI album “The Art Of Drowning”, we debated whether or not Offspring ripped AFI off with their cover song. We talked about the Scene, stopping to laugh when one or the other said something totally random. We talked about Davey Havok, we talked about makeup, and we talked about her hair.

I said she had very pretty hair. She blushed and thanked me. In a fit of weirdness I asked if I could touch it.

Yeah, ok.

She came and kneeled by me on the bed, and I sat up, inquiring as to whether or not she was serious.

Sure, Bry. Go on.

It was the single most sensual thing I have ever done. I slid my fingers back through her silken, slightly damp hair and felt the thickness, the heaviness, the warmth. She shut her eyes and what sounded like a moan escaped her, and poor Bry again nearly had a stroke. Ellery wrapped her hands gently around my wrists and tugged down, enough that I played with the ends of her hair and forewent the sensitive closeness. It about killed me. I once again told her she has beautiful hair, and she responded, in a suggestively joking tone, that I had beautiful lips. I bit my lip, a nervous habit that served to make her laugh a little, her own sensual mouth curling into a gentle smile. At that moment I wanted so badly to claim her mouth, to feel her tremble with pleasurable sighs, to hear her gasp and say my new name breathlessly, and we stared in each other’s eyes for a long moment; I was staring at the dark hues of brown and black in her eyes and below that the subdued pink of her mouth.

Her brother opened the door with no warning, and before I knew what had happened a half-formed line flew out of her mouth:

It was the nightinga- Joey, what are you doing here?

I took my hands back into my personal space, and Joey rolled his eyes, proclaiming that my mother was here and I’d better get out before both our mums started to ‘make friends’. Ellery walked me to the door, and I went home still regretting that I had not taken the chance and tasted her lips.

My dreams that night were fluid and pleasurable, filled with only one thing: Ellery. There were no real images, only disjointed snapshots and constant sensations; my palms smoothing over warm, bare, silken skin, her hands tangled in my hair, my mouth exuding soft, firm pressure as it moved over hers, her soft breasts a comforting weight pressed to my chest with our hearts beating in rhythm to each other. After a while of this I awoke feeling so disappointed I nearly burst. I fitfully slept and the next morning my headache was so substantial it might have walked next to me all the way to school.

I made a valiant effort to pay attention in my first class, but it was in vain. Every time I paused in thought, my mind brought back the pleasurable dreams of the night before. I was glad when we were dismissed and I could once again go to the stage early. She was not there this time, to my slight disappointment and immense relief. I sat down with my back to the door, staring at the far wall and allowing the dreams to take back the forefront of my thoughts. I was remembering my mouth on her neck, small struggling moans reaching my ears and making me grin against the soft flesh as the new, sexy Bry, the master of sensation, seduced the woman of his dreams. She took me by surprise when she came in. I never heard the door. She knelt behind me and pressed herself to my back, covering my eyes with her hands.

Guess who?

Her whispered breath was hot on my ear, seductive and sweet. Her breasts were pressed into by back, her whole body was hot, and I was enveloped in her heat with the thoughts of the dreamed tryst in my mind. I blinked several times against her hands, finally choking out her name in a low whisper. She removed her hands, and grinned widely as I spun around. She had on another low-cut shirt, this one red, and long dark jeans with rips in the knees. Her arms had on arm warmers of black netting, red and black jelly bracelets over, and she smiled at me.

Do these stupid things mean anything here?

I was confused and asked her what she meant, and she tugged gently on a jelly bracelet, explaining that at her old school, if you broke someone else’s bracelet, the color of the bracelet broken meant something. I was of course familiar with the practice as it happened here.

Damn, and here I’d hoped I’d be able to wear these things this year and not have to worry.

I grinned, explaining that the red she wore meant a kiss and the black meant sex here. She smiled.

Thank god. At my old school, red was sex and black was a threesome. It kind of sucked.

I conceded her judgment, a soft smile forming on my visage at the thought of what would happen if I broke one of her red bracelets. I thought of biting her lips, caressing her tongue with my own, wrapping my arms around her waist and bringing her closer to me… I shook my head to clear it.

Is anything wrong? You look really tired, Bry.

I arched an eyebrow. If only she knew. I assured her I was fine, and the bell rang. All that class period, I could hardly take my eyes off her. The good thing was that I didn’t have to; we were practicing making eye contact with the person our lines addressed. She made me believe that she was Juliet, and I was an intruder in her courtyard, a lovesick boy, a suitor, and a man all at the same time for a brief moment. When we were dismissed and our eyes tore away from one another’s, I felt an acute, sharp sense of loss. The rest of the day sped by, and for the second time, I walked home with Ellery.

We laughed more than we spoke, giggling at nothing in particular and having fun. She asked me if I wanted to come in; a light snow was beginning to fall and I thought I was going to freeze to death. I of course said yes, and she brought me into the warm kitchen and ordered me to take off by boots and get warm. I was only too happy to let her fuss over me, feeling my ears and fingers to see how cold they were. Her extremities were never cold to the touch; she was like a living flame. She was a flame that I wanted in my arms so that she could warm my whole body up.

You want hot chocolate? I think Joey left—yup, two packets. What good is he?

I laughed, and said yes to the warm drink. It was such fun to see her fussing around in the kitchen, like a housewife. It was surprisingly comforting. I leaned over her kitchen with my head on my arms, looking at her. I must have had the expression of an admiring puppy, and she looked at me and grinned.

Is anything bothering you, Bry, or are you just staring at me for the hell of it?

I laughed, but didn’t answer as she gave me the drink, the heat of the liquid seeming cool in contrast to the heat of her hands. I sipped it and it burned my tongue. I cursed, and she laughed at me, teasingly picking a fight. I indulged her with a retort. The insults got more outlandish and ridiculously funny. I threatened to tickle her. She challenged me. With a playful growl, I sprang from my chair and chased her around the corner of the hall into the stairwell, both of us shrieking outrageously dumb insults and egging each other on. She scrambled up the stairs, tripping once, giving me enough time to catch up to her as she darted into her room. I slammed my shoulder against the door that she was trying to close, fighting with her to keep it open. She squealed in protest. I burst through the door and shut it behind me, and she giggled helplessly as I knocked her over backwards onto her bed and tickled her. Her struggles got less and less effective, and my lack of energy slowed my teasing until we were left silent and flushed, me on top of her on her bed, my hands on her body. She gazed up at me as my blush deepened; her own visage was calm and serene. She smiled, bit her lip. My hands were still on her waist, and I had no intention of removing them.

Bry. Do you like this? Cause I do.

I was taken aback. She was so casual, so sweet. But she had said that she liked it. I couldn’t answer for a long moment. I told her I liked it very much. I gave into an urge and leaned down, nuzzled her neck, feathered kisses down to her collarbone. Her heartbeat quickened, she sighed. I grinned against her skin as I had in my dream. She suddenly rolled to the side, flipping us so we were both on our sides, staring at each other. I stroked the side of her beautiful face with the back of my hand. I told her she was very pretty. She answered me with a blush that made her look so like she had in my dream that my blood began to pound in my ears. I had to do it, before I died of wanting her. I carefully leaned in, making strong eye contact, and our eyes slid closed at the exact same instant. Her lips were even better than I could have imagined or ever dreamed. She was soft and hot, tasted slightly of hot chocolate and besides that she was sweet and her tongue gently played with mine, mindful that I had burned my mouth earlier. I took control of our kiss and explored her mouth, enjoying every second of control. We sat up together, our legs tangled, our mouths joined, and we broke off. I wrapped my arms around her, she cuddled against my chest, once kissing the side of my neck and making my shudder in pleasure. Her voice came after, uncertain and shaky.

Bry? What is this? Does it… I mean… will this happen again?

She meant, did I think I had made a mistake. I thought the opposite was true; I had never made a better decision in my life. I kissed her hair and assured her that I hoped so; I hoped it would happen many more times. I added that we didn’t have to end up like Romeo and Juliet; that we could write our own ending. She hugged me tightly, and I smiled at her as she looked up at me. She pecked me on the lips. I enjoyed the odd sound the short kiss made, and it made me laugh. She bit her lip with a smile. We would have sat there, doing that, kissing and experimenting, for eternity if I hadn’t seen her clock. I was supposed to be home in two minutes.

Oh, no… I… I don’t know if I can wait until tomorrow to see you.

She admitted it blushingly. I hugged her again; we were downstairs now, in front of the door. In the embrace, I told her I could come back in an hour. She cursed softly.

I have to go to a party in an hour. Wait, I can cancel it.

I asked if she was sure.

Oh yes. OH yes. You are so much more important than some party.

My stomach flipped over and my heart sang, and we reluctantly let go of each other and I walked down the walk.

Hurry back! I... I’ll be waiting!

I called that I would hurry. Inside, I was a little curious. I think her first ‘I’ was intended to be followed by ‘love you’, but in any case I ran full-clip to my house, and burst into the door with a long string of apologies. My mother said it was fine. I told her I had to go out again in an hour. She said yes, but you’d better stay in for the whole hour. I conceded, ran down to my room, and pulled out an old notebook. The rest, you know, as you have just read it. I don’t know who I’m writing to, or why, but I guess everyone has one extraordinary story in their life, and I think this is mine. I’ve met the woman of my dreams, literally and figuratively, and she’s waiting at her house a two-minute walk away. She’s waiting for me. Ellery is waiting for me. For her Bry. I don’t think I’ll ever know how I got so lucky, I don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful for the beautiful, smart, funny girl I’ve been sent. So this is our story.

Thus far.

The End.

A/N: Well. How was that? I wrote it in fits of hormones. Mostly brought on by Gerard Way; the man is a god. He makes me dizzy. It’s quite fun. I also wrote this while mostly listening to Funeral For A Friend, but some of it was Random Ninjas. I want to know if there should have been more or less slash, was it sufficiently provocative, did it make you sweat, etc. Thanks all!

-MC