Living With Boys

fourteen // a little bittersweet

It was strange, being back in Will's childhood bedroom. It was mostly unchanged since I'd last been here, a half decade ago.

Will stood behind me, silent as I absorbed the room that had once felt as if it half belonged to me.
When Kai got older and started picking up odd jobs, he asked Will to look after me instead, even though I was old enough to take care of myself. Neither of them had liked the idea of me returning to my mother's house, picking over discarded bottles and hiding away in my bedroom until Kai returned home.

Some of my happiest memories were formed in this room. It was a little bittersweet.

"I'm sorry, for all that, back there," said Will. "Mum... she just worries, you know?"

"You know that I don't mind."

Did he? Will used to completely understand that gaping, bleeding wound that sat, invisible, at the centre of my chest, crying out for connection of any kind that could form some kind of stopgap. But he'd pulled all of those hasty stitches when he left, and hadn't given any indication that he understood the injury he left behind.

Instead of asking him, I surveyed the bedroom.

"It looks the same," I told Will.

"I haven't really been back since the last time you were here," said Will. "I was away, and then we moved straight into Emo Road."

"So now it's basically just a shrine to your youth?"

"Something like that."

And it really was. Everything about the room reminded me of a teenage Will.

Textbooks and notepads neatly stacked on the desk, printout maps of all the places in the world he wanted to visit, shot glasses emblazoned with all his favourite sports teams lined up on the shelf. Trophies that commemorated his football accomplishments, and medals hanging from a hook near the wardrobe to commemorate every other sport he tried his hand at and couldn't help but succeed in. There were framed photos of a younger Will with his parents, with family friends. I could even see the little box kicked under the bed where he used to hide the bottle of vodka we convinced Seb's older brother to procure for us.

And then there were all the signs of Kai and me.
The navy wall above his bed head; Kai, Will and I had spent a full day of our summer holidays when I was twelve carefully painting it, flicking paint at each other and trying to pick up our milkshakes with our wrists to avoid getting the paint on anything else. In the top corner was the little white flower I'd painted, because I'd decided the wall was my art piece and deserved my signature. He still had the chair I made for him as a Christmas present when I was fourteen and new to building things, rickety and only just able to support his weight.

Books were stacked in teetering piles on the shelves, so full to bursting that we had spent hours trying to find the precarious balance that allowed them all to find a home without threat of collapse. Tucked amongst the classic literature and crime volumes were a few stray pops of bright pink or yellow; old, battered copies of sexy romance novels I shamelessly poured over in high school. They stood out like beacons amongst a sea of blue and black.

Will tracked my gaze. "Do you still love to read?"

What a complicated question.

I mean, of course I loved to read, but the ritual behind it was gone. It didn't slot naturally into my day in the same way it used to. Will used to sit with me after school if Kai had work; keeping me company, even when I was old enough to look after myself. We used to sit on his bed, side by side, both of us immersed in our books but offering a steady stream of commentary about our experiences within them.