Violet - Book Two

twelve

Enoch and I kept to our own beds for a while, out of anxiety that it would not just be Olive who heard one of us creeping around next time. To make up for it, we often spent our evenings in the living room, sprawled out on the couches with a mug of hot milk each. Sometimes the younger ones would attempt to stay up later until eventually giving into fatigue around nine or ten o'clock. And then we would be alone.

"You don't talk about the army much." I had said one evening. My head was resting on his shoulder as we watched the crackling fire dance around the fireplace.

"Wouldn't wish it on anybody." He replied bluntly, his grip on my thigh tightening a little bit. "It would frighten them." He refered to the others, and he was probably right.

Today is the sixteenth of September, and Enoch was not at supper. He had ventured down to the village and he went straight to his bedroom upon his return; everyone assumed he was asleep. As did I, for I didn't hear a sound from his room whilst I passed after another showing of Horace's dreams.

Now, I lie in bed in periwinkle pyjamas with a book in hand - another Enid Blyton which Olive was thoughtful enough to pick up for me from the bookshop. I am so immersed in the novel that I am almost oblivious to a loud thud which vibrates through the wall, followed by a series of curse words.

"What on Earth?" I mumble to myself, folding over the page corner and placing the book on my pillow. The muffled chaos proves to be prequel to what sounds like glass chinking together operatically. Something is most definitely the matter.

Gathering my hair over my left shoulder, I skulk from my room out to Enoch's bedroom. From what I can hear, he is talking to himself, and I am hoping that only I can hear him.

"Bloody hell, you bastard twat."

Oh dear.

Cautiously, I push down the handle and slide myself inside. A single lamp on the desk lights the room, and my vision is obstructed by a translucent haze. The room reeks of smoke.

The scot is slumped between the two shelving units on the back wall - where the noises came from. In one hand he holds a large bottle of what appears to be some sort of liquor, and in the other a smouldering cigarette. The poor boy is drunk out of his mind.

"Ah! There she is!" He loudly exclaims, attempting to push himself from the ground. My finger rushes to my lips in an effort to hush him, but it does not do a lot. Knocking the units, Enoch eventually stands and woozily stumbles towards me, taking a swig from the bottle as he goes. "'Ello sweetheart!"

He sounds more northern than ever. With too much force he slams the bottle down on his desk next to an opened packet of cigarettes - miraculously not breaking the glass.

"Enoch." I sigh,  placing my palm on my forehead in despair. "What's the matter with you?"

"More like what's the matter with you!" He slides both his hands onto my waist, and I feel the butt of the cigarette brush against the fabric of my nightwear. Suddenly I feel uneasy.

"Enoch, please. You will wake everyone." I place my hand on his neck, pleading.

"Oh well." He replies - beyond caring. Instead, he pushes my body towards him and messily collides our faces in an attempt to kiss me. Reluctantly, I comply. His breath absolutely stinks of smoke and I can almost taste the alcohol on his lips.

This is wrong - he is too intoxicated to control himself. This is not the boy I know. Pressing my hands against his chest, I force myself away from him, and he stands still whilst his arms drop to his sides. I watch as his eyes continue to squint and twitch under the alcohol's force.

"Let's get you to bed." I hear my voice shaking.

"Why? Come on." He begins to advance towards me again, and I take a large step away.

"No. You're drunk." I say sternly - beginning to sound astonishingly like my mother. I look on in disbelief as he holds his cigarette in the flame of the candle which sits on the desk, waits for the tip to begin glowing and slides it between his teeth. The scot inhales and holds the butt between his index and middle fingers whilst he blows out a cloud of grey mass which dissolved into the existing haze. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Since I wanted to." He doesn't even glance at me, instead staring at the small roll he holds and suddenly crushing it against the surface of the desk. A small, dark ring is left behind. "Why are you getting all worked up, anyway?"

"Because I care, Enoch." I fold my arms over my chest with sobriety. "Please get some rest."

"Vioolet!" His voice lingers on the vowels of my name - it sounds foreign, distorted. "I don't need to. Come on." He starts to come towards me again, but I don't retreat. His arms snake their way around my body and I feel his chin digging into the top of my head as he pulls me closer. "I love you, remember?"

He doesn't mean it... or he might. Either way, he won't remember in the morning. I grab hold of his elbows and pull him towards his bed. He stumbles, almost falls, but I eventually spin him around and sit him down on the end of his mattress.

"Wha're you doin'?" He slurs whilst I pull back the duvet.

"Lie down." I order and, surprisingly, he obeys - swinging his bare feet beneath the sheets and mechanically lowering his head onto the pillow. I quickly replace the covers over his body and kneel beside the bed.

Silence - except for Enoch's breathing getting heavier. I watch him; even though his eyes are closing he continues to look at me with those enormous brown orbs. A hand escapes the sheets and finds its way to mine which rests on the surface of the bed. The runaway latches itself onto my palm, and I receive a feeling of warmth racing around my body.

"Goodnight, Enoch." I whisper. My neck cranes forward and I gently brush my lips against his, not allowing him the full treatment for his misbehaving ways.

His eyes are closed now. I rise from my position and make for the desk. I blow out the candle and switch off the lamp which suddenly shrouds the place in darkness. I fumble around in the blackness for the liquor bottle and pack of cigarettes. Upon feeling their shapes I swipe them into my hands before exiting swiftly.

Thankfully, there is not a sound from anybody else's room, which leads me to believe that somehow nobody awoke at the commotion. I quickly pace across the floorboards and re-enter my own room with such stealth, it is as if nothing had occurred.

I cross over the room to my window; the ocean glistens on the horizon. Holding both the bottle and the box in my hands, I lean out over my windowsill and look at the garden wall below. Some bushes line the outside - nobody would find anything in that tangle of vegetation. I launch the bottle down first, and it makes a slight 'clang' after passing through the leaves and brambles and hits the dirt. The box is silent, and doesn't leave a trace.