The Bluest Hour

CHAPTER ONE

"Thanks for doing this for me."

"Yeah, it's no problem."

He takes off his shirt to reveal pale, toned and hard six-pack abs and I look down, then away.

I'm currently focusing on the ceiling tiles and random people milling about, rather than where my thoughts just took me, but I can't even concentrate. I really don't feel like doing this science-turned-sociology project about how people that have health insurance are treated differently than people with. The haves versus the have-nots; how it reminds me of how I'm squarely in with the have-nots.

"I hate blood." I'm rambling - he already knows this about me.

"I know."

The nurse checks Caelum's vitals and takes his blood. "Cal, you've got great health insurance - looks like we're just doing your yearly check-up, but you could even come back twice a year and have a zero co-pay."

"Great, thank you." So polite.

His piercing blue eyes seem to see right through me, and he runs his hand through his short dark brown hair that is somewhat falling into his face. I stare and resist the urge to push it back for him.

The nurse leaves and he shrugs off the table. His six-feet tall frame towers a bit over my five-four (ok, five three and a half) self.

"Do you want to come over?" Like always.

"Sure," I respond. Like always.

We've known each other since middle school and now as high school seniors, it feels like time is running out. I feel like I've known him forever and still not at all.

In his room, I stare at all of the random but beautiful art that forms the perfectly curated centerpiece. I imagine Architect's Digest setting up a photoshoot solely for this room. Golden etched sculptures; sapphire green oval vases and teal glasses; rich purple statues and Moroccan, exotic accents. Worldly. Not like my room with the sole Casablanca poster.
Of all of the gin joints...

I love how we can just be here. Exist. Without having to say anything. I feel content.

Legs crossed, but tangled up in each other - my head is resting on his pillows as he faces opposite me. His long legs are tucked somewhat underneath of mine. I don't know why we do this. I don't with anyone else, but it feels like the most comfortable, relaxing position with him, and I don't really question it. I look over and Cal is staring at me.

Glancing at how his door is ajar, I think I see his mom as shadows walk by.

"Ummm - don't you think you should get off me, your mom might think..."

He leans over, kissing then sucking on my neck and I inhale, gasping deeply with my mouth open and moaning, I pull him harder against me. His soft lips alternate between pressing light kisses and biting, sucking hard on my neck, and I lock my legs against him, encouraging his body to move against me and he looks up to kiss me and I stare into those clear, azure, cerulean, perfectly blue eyes and I can't believe that I once said that he should dye his hair pink. Or that this is happening.

"Should we close the door?" I'm breathless and my head is spinning, as he replies, "Maybe," and his lips barely touch mine, as I lean forward to meet his. He grazes his nose with mine and I run my hands up his black Iron Maiden shirt.

I can't believe that I thought that it was a good idea to wear my black Purple Rain t-shirt and dark blue skinny jeans.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shadows again.

"Ok, get off me - I think your mom is coming in."

He abruptly sits up to mess with his rich people stuff in the center of his room, and I again wonder where he got all of that, or if his mom bought all of it.

My neck feels sore and I sit up, as I move my long dark brown, previously straightened now wild-looking, tousled hair, and cross my arms to ball my fist where the mark is, as if I'm eternally thinking and not hiding my neck. I feel self-conscious and awkward, all of a sudden.

"Why do you have water fountains and all of these sculptures in the middle of your room?"

He turns to stare at me and then his mom walks in.

Her hair appears to be painted gold - metallic and illustrious. Her smile feels nervous or forced as she sits down cross-legged across from me.

"Hi Sol! I'm so glad you'll be joining us for dinner, do you want whole wheat cookies for dessert?"

Cal interjects instead. "Is it soup again?"

I glare at him. "Sure, I would love that - it sounds awesome!" I sound overly cheery.

"Grant never brings anyone over but-" she brushes her hair over to tuck behind her ear, "my wife and I want to get to know more of his friends."

"Yeah, all of this artwork is really cool," and I gesture to the huge display overwhelming the room. The rush of the waterfalls (yes, plural) fill the silence.

"Thanks! Let me know if you want to help with the dessert."

"Sure, I love making cookies... I want to open my own bakery, but I'm terrible at cupcakes."

"Well, then, let's make cupcakes!" She gives me a genuinely warm smile now and sits up. "I'll get your sister and we can start soon. Grant, do you want to help us tonight?" Her tone turns pointed.

"No, I'm on my own." There seems to be a double meaning that I don't understand.

More rushing fills the silence and I wonder if we can turn the waterfalls off, or if they use recycled water.

"Thanks again for having me"- still overly cheerful. I feel like I could be more eloquent, or sound smarter. But, I don't. 

I look over and Cal is messing with a DIY sand mosaic, which I didn't notice was hiding amongst the sculptures. All of the colors create a messy, swirled picture - of what, I don't know. She leaves, closing the door behind her, thankfully.

He leans over me and I brush my hair to the side, waiting, anticipating to feel that high and rush, again. He turns my chin for me to face him instead, and I feel like he sees right through me, again.

"How much did you know of that." It sounds more like an accusation or interrogation, rather than a question.

"I .. I didn't know - I didn't know that your real name was Grant - in school, you've always been called Cal." But, I guess we are usually just hanging out here when no one else is home.

He stares at me, gauging to see my reaction, as if he has had to brace himself for disappointment before.

"If we're going to do this for real, you have to talk to me."

"I prefer my middle name - Cal."