Oblivion

Chapter 2

“Banana?” he asks, holding out a yellow fruit. I nod slightly, making no move to take it. He pinches the end, opening it for me, and places it on the counter. I grab it and take a bite, wincing as I chew.

I feel like shit. 

My head is throbbing and my limbs feel like lead. Everything is muddled. I barely remember getting dressed and coming downstairs this morning, much less what happened last night. I’ve even forgotten his name, if I ever knew it in the first place. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” I rasp, fighting past my dry throat. 

He frowns for a moment, confusion passing over his face. Crap. He probably already told me. 

“Harry.” He yawns and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “What’s yours?” 

“Grace,” I say taking another bite of the banana. My stomach rolls, the flavour making me nauseous.

“Lovely name,” he mutters, turning to grab two slices of toast sticking out from the toaster; he selects two small plates from the cupboard and places one on each. “Here.” He passes one to me, taking the other for himself. It’s a bit burnt, but my taste buds welcome the blandness of the bread.

The large kitchen is quiet but for the sound of our chewing. It’s an awkward silence, but I’m too hung-over to be bothered. Munching on my toast, I lazily survey the room. It’s too clean, nearly untouched. The dark granite countertops sparkle, the white cabinets are pristine and the sink is free of dishes. It’s almost as though they aren’t used. 

I peek at my companion from the corner of my eye. His eyes are glassy, just staring off into space, unaware that crumbs have begun to collect on his upper lip.

He can’t be much older than me; how can he afford such a posh home? And why does it seem so . . . unlived in?

Harry catches me staring and winks: his lips quirked in a half-smile. 

I take a large bite of toast, and look away sheepishly.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “I have a rehear-” He pauses, glancing at me, almost as though he’s waiting for something. “I mean, an appointment in a bit. Can you get home alright on your own?” 

“Uh, yeah. What time is it?” I stammer, gradually picking up on social cues; I’ve overstayed my welcome. 

“Almost noon.” 

“I, uh, actually have some things to do, too.” Leaving only the crusts and leftover banana, I push the plate away.

“Oh? What are you up to?” He grabs my plate and brushes it off in the bin before coupling it with his and setting it in the sink.

“Um, shopping. Term starts tomorrow.” 

“Right, school. I definitely don’t miss that.” 

“You’re not at Uni?” 

“Er, no.” He chuckles. “I’m not.” Before I can say anything else, Harry’s hand flies to his trousers, slipping his mobile from his pocket. “Hullo?” He nods, biting his lip as he listens to the person on the other end. “Right, yeah.” Pointing to the phone he mouths ‘Sorry’.

I shrug and nod towards the door, ‘I’m gonna go.’ 

His brow furrows. ‘What?’ He gestures to his ear and splays his fingers. ‘I can’t hear you’. Hopping down from the chair, I roll my eyes. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to join in the game.

I point to myself. ‘I.’ 

He smirks, mimicking my movement. ‘I.’ Miming a walking person with my fingers, I incline my head toward the entryway. ‘Oh!’ he exaggerates. ‘You’re leaving?’

 I sigh and nod.

He grins and waves goodbye before speaking into the receiver, “Sorry, could you repeat all that?” 

---

 Carrying plastic shopping bags, I slip into the house, pressing the door closed behind me. I lean against it for a moment, waiting to see if my return has been noticed. The house remains quiet. I’ve timed my homecoming perfectly.

I quickly hide my beer in the fridge, and deposit my school supplies in my book bag before climbing the stairs.

It’ll be harder to avoid them after tonight. Sooner or later, mum will notice my prolonged absences, and I’ll have to come up with some sort of explanation. Something tells me that extended shopping trip won’t cut it.

Truth is, I can’t bear it, seeing her face, Gabby’s face, this house. It’s like salt on an open wound; it eats me alive.

Early mornings, late nights, I do whatever I have to in order to keep my sanity. 

I tiptoe past their-mum’s room. Though I really don’t need to; I can hear her snoring. She’s so ‘tired’ after work that she goes to bed early almost every night. 

The floorboards creak with the pressure of my step.

 “Grace?” 

I freeze, and slowly turn around. Standing in a halo of light from her doorway is my little sister, Gabrielle.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” I ask, looking down on her crown of ash blonde curls. She beseeches me with large, watery eyes. A lump forms in my throat; I press my nails into my palms, resisting the instinct to comfort her.

“I’m cold, and I miss Daddy.”

 After adjusting the thermostat on the wall, I mutter, “Go to bed now, okay?”

She gives me a long look before bobbing her head, and dragging her blanket back into her room. The door shuts behind her, plunging the hallway back into darkness. 

My gaze lingers on the patch of black she disappeared into. 

I’m so sorry, Gabs.

Blinking back tears, I feel my way to the bathroom. After stepping into the shower, I turn the handle and let the water rush over me. My body relaxes as the pounding spray massages the tension from my muscles. Drawn out by the heat, the memories of last night begin to surface; in flashes, they collide with reality. 

Lathering soap against my shoulders, I can almost feel his hands carefully slipping my bra-straps down my arms, his thumb rubbing circles on my skin as we kiss, our warm, drunken breath mingling. He growls softly, when my teeth drag across his bottom lip, reluctant to release him. 

As suds collect near the drain, his tongue blazes trails across my collarbones, my hips, and my stomach. A thoughtful lover, he leaves nothing unattended.

Pulling shampoo through my scalp, I fist his silken curls, moaning as his long fingers play me like a piano. He strikes a chord and my body stiffens, driven to a crescendo by his touch. 

I grip the slick, tile wall, trying to keep my trembling body upright. The steam is too much; I’m getting light-headed.

The spigot squeaks as I cut the water off, ending my shower prematurely. I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy, white towel. Taking a seat on the toilet, I hold my head in my hands, and try to regain control of myself. 

Damn.  

I’m still shaking.  

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Next Update: Tomorrow!