Hello, Goodbye

22: Grace

 { unedited }

“Where have you been all afternoon, Grace?” he asks, just as she had known he would. He has shadows beneath his eyes and a cup of tea in his hands.

“If you’re meaning to look all parental and whatnot with your tea, it isn’t working. It’s not even that late, anyway,” she replies, despite Saxon’s wishes for her to straight away tell him where she was, which was with Saxon. And, crazily enough, in his bed. Though not in the way Anthony would think, he would still be incredibly disgusted and disappointed.

“You’re avoiding my question,” he says, voice stiff and annoyed.

“I was with Saxon, is all.” She watches his jaw clench and his eyes flash with anger. She manages a sweet, innocent smile as she adds, “In his bed, of course, but just with Saxon.” He lets out a low growl and her smile fades.

“In his bed? Doing what? Ruining your innocence, your dignity?” he yells, standing and slamming his open palms against the table. Porcelain rattles against porcelain as the teacup and small plate are shocked with the force of his anger.

“Just cuddling. We fell asleep for a while – school can be exhausting.” Her voice is quieter now but she doesn’t shy away from him or sheepishly give into his anger.

“Just cuddling? I see.” He appears in thought. “No…undressing involved?”

“Oh, of course not! Would you really think..? Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you? That’s exactly why you hate Saxon so much. Because you think all he wants from me is sex – well, guess what? You’re wrong. He cuddled with me and we kissed a little but that’s it because he isn’t a bad person, Anthony.” She spins on her heel, infuriated, and stalks to their bedroom.

“It’s not just that,” he calls after her, his voice getting quieter as she gets further, “It’s also that he’s a player. Can’t you see it?”

“No,” she says as perfect silence settles. Enough space is between them for her to seem more hostile than she is being. “No, he is not a player because he is not like that.”

“Where’s your actual proof, Grace? That he isn’t screwing other girls while he’s claiming to love you? Where’s your proof?” He sounds so American, which stands out the most to Grace.

“Well where’s yours?” she replies in a steady, quiet voice. “Where’s your proof that’s he’s a player and he’s basically destined to hurt me?” She turns and slams the bedroom door behind her. My stupid brother, she sighs inwardly.

Tuesday was normal. Wednesday was normal. Thursday was spectacular and beautiful. Everything was grand. Friday, Grace went to Saxon’s place. And she’d realised with a sinking heart that they were taking the bus, and that all day he’d been awfully quiet. “What’s wrong?” she said, having grabbed his hand. He had looked at her and forced a smile onto his face.

Now, they sit on his bed and he looks deathly pale. And there’s pain in his eyes and a sort of sorrow that makes Grace want to lunge at him and kiss him and hug him until he feels better. He holds her hand now, in his lap. They’re both sitting cross-legged, their knees touching.  “I don’t want to lose this,” he says quietly.

“I don’t either,” she replies, her voice just as quiet as his. Oh no, what’s happening?

“What would we do if I were to move?” he asks, after clearing his throat. She a whimper from escaping his throat. She knows what’s coming. She can feel it. But she responds casually nonetheless.