No One Knows (Sequel to 16) (Completed)

Chapter 7: Comrade Sonya

Annabel's POV

Summer was inching tantalisingly closer. That was the main focus of my existence, that and Mona and Private Ale and the Trio of Misfits, the Three Musketeers of Pot. The strange packages left by my window continued to accumulate, scraps of lyrics and lilacs but more commonly cut-outs of weird zines and maybe a record he couldn't stop listening to, because oh fuck Bells, track 5, track 5 fucking kills me, and always, always, dog biscuits. I decided to copy this idea when the usual insomnia overtook me, although my gifts by his window did not express a lot at first. A record, some Star Wars themed cookies I had tried to make, a couple cool guitar picks I had found in Berkeley. It was very strange, when I really thought about it. Sending each other little trinkets and such like we were pen-palled old ladies. The rush of exhilaration of hoisting myself up on some trash cans to reach his window. The knowing smile the next day in the hallways. The reception, always a giddy stream of excitement from both of us, when we had time to regroup on the week's exchanges. The fact we were both seeing each other while we slept...freaky shit. 

It was probably the tenth or eleventh time that I started to reciprocate the emotional weight that came with the lyrics he gave me. I don't know, I mean, that was private shit that he was sharing with me, and I felt like my records and cookies and guitar picks weren't quite living up to those few, memorable times, when I saw the package came with lilacs and so I knew a glimpse into Billie's head was coupled with them, and the pure adrenaline that pulsed through me while I read them, and the long silences in the dark, holding the crumpled paper tight, trying to dissect  every word and line. I knew I couldn't match that, but I had to try.

I had never been one to have a good grasp of words, my whole life being anecdotal proof, but I knew I had to give it a red hot go. About four hours of pain and frustration later, at 1am, I was ready to deliver it. I grabbed Private Ale's leash and my bike and headed down the familiar goat-track to Billie's house, pausing as I assessed all the lights were out, then leaving Ale and tip-toeing around the side. Trying not to breathe or make any disturbances as I heaved myself onto the trash can, I left it, as I always did, on the outside window sill. 

I rode home before I could remember to breathe again.

The next day at the usual smoke behind the dumpsters he was grinning.

"Comrade Sonya." He nodded curtly, doing his best impersonation of a Soviet general. I turned red immediately.

"It was terrible, I know I don't know why I thought..."

"Annabel..." He chuckled in that way that always made me have to bite back a smile, putting his hands on my shoulders and peering down at me. His malachite eyes were glinting and sincere, that lopsided smirk not as infuriating as I usually found it.

"I loved it. I didn't expect that fucking twist though, that Agent Levin was actually the true traitor! Comrade Sonya was totally justified in blowing a rocket canon though his head."

"I never write stories..." I muttered as if trying to explain myself. He simply raised a brow.

"Should make it a habit."

We both smiled.

He then released his hold on me, shuffling out of my space before scratching his head. I noticed he had turned a bit pink and had decided to focus on rummaging through his pockets. He reproduced a box of cigarettes not a second after and we spent the rest of the period discussing Comrade Sonya and her escapades in spying for the USA, including an extensive history of her background and where exactly she had learnt how to do a double back-flip and land with a perfect roundhouse kick. 

Billie had more bruises on his arms. He told me that Brad had been asking if he knew a girl with blue eyes and long brown hair, if she went to his school maybe. Billie had said no, of course, but Brad was drunk and mad anyway so it hadn't mattered. 

"I'm sorry." I whispered, tugging at my own hands.

"It's not your fault." His voice sounded too hollow for me not to grimace.

I hugged him then. I didn't know why I did, slouched by the dumpsters, but I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck, burrowing my face into his chest, closing my eyes tight. I felt his hand go to my hair, stroking it slowly, his other wrapping around my back and keeping me to him. We didn't move until the bell rang.

After that he left his window open at night. 

..........

A/N helllloooo! hope everyone are having some good holidays! darker things coming dun dun duhhhh!!! thanks for reading!!