Under the Bridge

chapter sixteen- "i didn't even know you could burn pasta"

WE HAVEN'T SPOKEN in a few minutes. The air has become stale, it tastes like metal and vomit that seemed to want to come up every time I cried. I feel drowsy and weak, as though I'm missing blood in my body or oxygen in my lungs. 

My head is resting on his warm shoulder--I don't quite know how it happened. 

I can hear his breathing, it's slow, but heavy, as though it's dragging him down. Like I'm dragging him down.  

"You should eat something." He says in a soft voice that I can barely register. 

"I'm not hungry." I lie, feeling too weak to move. 

He turns his head and looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "I will kidnap you, put you in my car, and go get food if I have to." He speaks boldly, and before I know it, my impromptu pillow has stood up. 

I sigh. "My kitchen, I'll make something." I suggest, softly. I don't want to leave my house anytime soon. I look like I was just attacked by a Dementor. 

* * *

"Well that was a mistake." Liam grins, staring at our burnt Kraft macaroni and cheese. It was nearly black, and it smelled like charcoal. A dark grey smoke was radiating from the pot and filling the room. 

I didn't even know you could burn pasta. 

I laugh, like a real laugh, for the first time in a long while. He turns his head to me in surprise, and the smile on his lips grows so it takes up his whole face. I feel kind of, maybe sort of, better. 

"Maybe we should just order takeout." He suggests, gazing down at the goop in the pot. 

I nod, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms. I take in the scene. 

Liam is pouring water into the smoking pot. He's rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, and I see a few tattoos peaking out on his tan skin. I've never looked at them up close, so I haven't been able to figure out what any of them are or what they mean. Some day, I think I'll ask him. 

I wonder what it would be like if I got one. 

I can imagine that they're painful, like little knives creeping under your skin. It's alluring, though. If it has a meaning to it, it's as though you've gone through that agony in order to cement the memory permanently in your mind, and on your skin. 

Liam and I order Chinese. 

It won't arrive for at least twenty five minutes, so we walk to the den. Normally, when someone (Hope, the only person I hang out with) is over, we go to my room or just sit in the foyer and watch a movie. 

It's not exactly a secret what happened the last time he was in my foyer. 

I didn't want to think about that night, or Alec, either, so I decided on an equally comfortable living room. 

It has green couches and large art displays. My mother sits people here before dinner parties, so it has photos of our accomplishments and diplomas on all the shelves. Near the corner is a black grand piano that I used to take lessons on. 

"Do you play?" Liam asks, pointing to the large instrument. 

I shrug. "Not well, I stopped a few years ago." I think about the guitar and keyboard in his basement. He certainly knew something about music, or at least someone in his house did. "Do you?" 

"I'm better at the guitar, but I know a couple things." Liam explains. 

Before I know it, he's taken a seat on the bench and his fingers are tracing the wood. "It's a nice piano." He mutters. "I used to want one, when I was a kid."