So I wrote this for English class; it was supposed to be a christmas memory, but since I have a horribly memory and my life is boring, I decided to write fiction, and of course, I decided to use Adam. Because Adam is lovely. It's kind of vague, so if you can't really understand what happens (even my English teacher had trouble, so it's quite alright xD), I tried to drop pretty heavy hints in the title and summary, but I'll just tell you at the end. I thought this was due the day I wrote it, so I wrote pretty much all of it through 6th to 8th period. Ninth period my teacher was like "Yeah you have the entire Christmas Break to write it." So.. yeah.. I didn't bother editing it much xD
Imagine frost sprinkled across dull grass, a dimly lit window with cat's eyes peeking through the fog. I forget my gloves, and the bitter wind relentlessly snaps at my blue fingers like sharp teeth. My toes feel numb inside my shoe, needles seeming to shoot through them with every step.
I haven't spoken to or seen Sandy in three years, even since that phone call only two weeks after she left, apologizing again for leaving me. It wasn't any problem at all, I would tell her. The only thing I could possibly worry about is you, I would tell her. I'm sorry… that I couldn't help, I would tell her.
She randomly calls me up last week to ask me to spend Christmas with her. Living alone, I had no other plans, and I hesitantly accepted her invitation. I run my discolored finger through my icy hair, wiping off the snow. It shakes down in front of my eyes, dotting my nose and cheeks.
Her door sits in front of me and I shrink in front of it, the bright red wood looming over me like a bloody sky. The rusty handle feels frozen, and I drop it against the wood once. Twice. I hear footsteps on the other side, pounding like the steps of a giant. The door opens, harshly grazing the dark wooden floor.
Sandy smiles at me. I manage to break out into a grimace, and she offers for me to come inside. I take off my shoes to be polite, shoving them against the wall with my heel. My foot feels nonexistent as cold air sweeps through it, my black sock dangling off my toes. I rip it back on hastily, my cheeks turning a pale red. Sandy offers me hot chocolate, and I tell her that hot chocolate would be lovely. My eyes scan the room as she turns away, and I see only blurry objects, the room spinning and my knees feeling as weak as twigs. I can make out a couple of things: the outline of a lone chair leaning against a reddish paneled wall, a smooth, shiny black piano staring at it from across the room, the top opened and the black and white keys reflecting off the muted ceiling light. They're seemed to be hundreds of white ones, black only seeming to sporadically appear, obviously contrasting with the brightness of the other keys, and bringing darkness to the piano. Only enabling the piano to play sad songs.
My hands suddenly feel warm as she gently pushes the mug against my palm. I take it graciously, thanking her. The edges of her lips tug upwards in a small smile, and she introduces me to a dull brown couch. I fall onto it, the pillows pushing against my long, woolen coat. She notices and offers to take my coat, too. I shrug out of it and place it on my lap, ignoring her request.
The fibers of the rug cling to my socks, and I run my heel along it anxiously. The orange hue of the table lamp glows against my white sweater, and I edge away. I feel awkward and alone and unwelcome. Sandy tries to make conversation; she tries to ask me how the trip was, and how sorry she was that she hasn't called all these years. She asks me if I've gone back to school yet like I said I would, and I said I haven't, and she replies "Adam, before you know it you won't have any time at all." I say that I am perfectly content working at the library. I try to smile in a way where my lips won't crack and the corners of my eyes will crinkle and all her irrelevant worries will maybe vanish.
She herself has wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and her hair is duller and her eyelids droop. Her lips are an ashen shade of pink, and her once sparkling eyes are now a jaded mess of brown. "I have to tell you something, Adam," she says abruptly, and I frown and listen. She tells me that she didn't invite me to simply catch up, or simply because she does not want to be lonely for the holidays. She told me she wants me to meet somebody.
When Sandy left, she left because she apparently couldn't handle the trauma of living in an area where she was brutalized. She said to me that she didn't want to spend anymore time living in our quiet neighborhood, and that she didn't want to relive the experience every time she walked through it. She looks up at me, her gaze boring into mine, and I instinctively back away. Her lips rub together as she whispers to me that she will get him, whoever he is.
She grasps the edge of the couch and pushes herself off, dragging her feet into another room. I furrow my eyebrows and watch her quietly click a door closed, and I tap the soles of my feet rhythmically. I listen to the pounding echo across the room, bouncing off the spinning walls and pictures of Sandy's smiling face. I squint.
The images are hazy, so I step up and wander toward them. They become clearer, and another figure appears between the aged, painted frames. His flaxen hair remains dull and ruffled inside the picture, and he's held inside long, white arms. A pair of familiar brown eyes pierces through photo, wide, naïve, and scared. His mouth is curled up in a determined frown, and he stares at me. I stare back. I feel like I'm looking at a picture that sits on my own sill, taken almost a score prior to today.
Suddenly he's in the room, snoring softly next to me. I feel tense when I see him, and Sandy looks at me, her eyes apologetic as those in the photo. He looks heavy in her bony limbs, and I want to take him from her, to hold him in my own arms. I pause. I check. Is he… is he his?
She shakes her head. No, she says. She doesn't need to say anything else. She comes closer and we stand in front of each other, her freckled nose brushing my chin as she lets me hold him. I can't move. My mouth is dry and my neck feels like it's filled with cotton. The fireplace flickers next to my ankles, and his pale cheeks are the same shade as my own colorless skin.
I can only think of questions that I know she's not going to want to answer. I can only think of questions that are going to drive me crazy the more I look at him. I can only think of questions that make my face hot and wet. She doesn't say anything. I don't say anything. We don't glance at one another. My heart drops to the bottom of my chest, welling up and crying just as hard as I am as I stare at him through widened eyes.
Hey, so, did you like it? If you got confused, here's what happens: Sandy invites Adam over, and Adam, indeed, makes his way over. They used to be neighbors and best buddies, and had several romantic interactions. A while back she was raped while she was taking a walk with Adam, and when he was thrown to the side by the perpetrator, he hit his head, got knocked out, and therefore was unable to help her. She moved because she didn't want to stay in that neighborhood anymore, to try and block out the memory, and in case the man wanted to hurt her again. Adam hadn't seen her since. So she invites him over, he sits down, and she's like, "There's somebody I want you to meet." And Adam gets up and looks at a photo of Sandy and this kid that looks like him when he was about two or three years old. Sandy steps out with the kid in her arms, and he asks her if he's the kid of her rapist, and she's like no, it's yours.
So that's what happens. Hope you enjoyed it ;3