We Are Tidal

Chapter Six - Midnight Truths

Chapter Six 

Midnight Truths 

Outside, the night air is cool, calming the sweat on the back of my neck. Sweat from the party, the last moments of tension with Damien, when his hands were around me like a vice, snaking over my skin. Despite my clearing head, I stumble as I descend the rickety, rust-lined stairs of the apartment block.

I make it all the way to the bottom before I realize that I left my bag sitting on Damien's bed, with my phone and any hope of calling a taxi inside.

Groaning, I kick the wall at the bottom of the stairs and immediately regret it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck..." I sing.

Suddenly, I feel like crying. Worse still, I don't entirely know why. Nothing was different tonight. Damien was high, we had sex, we drank. The most annoying voice in the world that sounds irritatingly similar to Willow speaks in my mind. Of course, that's not true. Everything in that apartment was different and tinged by the reality of the Heaver's returned presence. By Art's presence.

I lean against the wall and run my hands in my hair, loosening my bun and letting my hair fall down.

"Dylan?" A voice calls from the top of the stairs.

I don't conceal my wince at the sound of Art's voice. Or my eye roll. He scoffs at that as he approaches, skipping down the steps lithely enough to make my stumbling steps hideously ironic for a dancer.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

As much as I hate to admit it, I have to take a breath before I can bring myself to look up at him. He looks the same but different, so different, from over a year ago. His hair is shorter now, cropped but still messy somehow. More stubble lines his jaw, making him look older. His eyes have lost an innocence. Art certainly looks at me as if I too have changed and he's only just beginning to realize how much.

"I'm just dandy," I bite out and push off the wall, resigning myself on the long walk back to my house and the spare key hidden in the garden bushes.

With bravado, I ignore my small, tripping steps and hope the darkness hides my blush.

The sigh that sound behind me is weighted in resignation before footsteps follow.

"You can't walk home, not when you're still sobering up and this late. It's not safe."

I stick up my middle finger, gesturing to him over my shoulder without turning around or slowing my speed. My feet feel clunky, unnecessarily large in my Doc Martens. When a cool hand grips my upper arm, tugging my around, I grind my teeth together, but another eye roll slips by. This is a part of him I loved once. His morals, his generosity.

"Just let me drive you," He begs, quietly.

His tone catches me off-guard and I turn, not immediately looking at him but glance up towards the apartment where noise is now booming out of in palpable strikes. Gabriel watches from the balcony, alone. He turns away when our eyes meet.

Slowly, Art releases his grip on my arm, his fingers flexing with the ghost of the touch. We are silent for a moment.

"You can't tell me you're stubborn enough to walk? You hate walking," He has the nerve to flash me a cheeky grin. His singular dimple stands out in the moonlight and I frown, swaying on the spot.

"If I say yes will you insist on talking to me?"

Art pulls a set of car keys from his pocket and his grin widens.

"Most definitely."

*

Despite his promise, the car ride is quiet and we both know why. The two of us alone in his car, at night, is too reminiscent of our time together. A year of flirting, kissing and touching in these seats. It's a sobering memory and I have to roll down the window and stick my hand outside, cooling my pulse point to halt my racing heart.

I want to ask. I need to ask.

Why did you come back? Why did you all come back?

The questions scream from my every pore, but still, I hold them back. I know the answer I want - and despise myself for wanting. It's too much. I pull my hand in the window and wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold my cleaving chest together, weighed down with so much more than Art. 

Suddenly, I wish I'd stayed at the party and drank myself into oblivion.

Art watches the motion out of the corner of his eye, but mercifully does not comment but tightens his grip on the wheel.

When he pulls up outside my house, I practically run from the car and Art smiles. Annoyingly, he gets out too.

I stop dead.

"You don't have to walk me to the door. I'll manage a couple of yards," My tone is anything but kind to someone who just gave me a lift for my own safety but I don't care. He is no longer entitled to my kindness.

"Can I use your bathroom?" He asks, full of innocence, one eyebrow raised.

"There's plenty of bushes around. You know I don't like my neighbors, use theirs."

"I'm too much of a gentleman for that," He feigns mock hurt, a hand over his heart. Despite the lightness in his voice and his joking smile, I am suspicious. Arthur Heaver is never this light and airy. I narrow my eyes but shrug. Let him pee and leave.

I dig the key out of me of the bushes I just suggested Art piss on and open the front door. Immediately, my two beautiful puppies, Arya and Sansa dash to the door. They yap around my ankles and I smile, bending down to stroke them, promising myself I'd walk them tomorrow.

"Wow. They've grown." Art comments, bending down to pick up Arya, the smaller dog and grinning as she licks his cheek, happy to see him. To remember his scent that used to be all over this house.

I flip on lights and take Arya from Art and nod towards the stairs. He remembers where the bathroom is, I'm sure. He takes the hint and takes off upstairs.

In the kitchen, I down a pint of water and kick off my shoes, hopping up onto the countertop. I rest my head against the cabinet, closing my eyes. Unable to think of anything but the boy upstairs.

"Dyl, where is everyone?"

My eyes snap open and flash towards Art, standing in the doorway. His face is suddenly pale, his face stricken. He's already guessed, looking sadly at the photos of my parents that litter the house. 

I can't bring myself to say it. I was sure he knew, I was sure he had known all along...

"I'm a proud house owner now." I get out. My hands begin to shake and I grip the edge of the countertop, my ankles crossing tightly. 

I force out a joking smile, just like his from moments before. As his eyes scan my silver hair that was once blonde, the tattoos and piercing that adorn my eyes and my thinner body, I realise that he didn't need to use the bathroom at all. He wanted to see what I had become and why for himself. The thought angers me, but not as much as it saddens me.

"Dyl," He begins, his eyes haunted. After all, he has had his own losses this past year. His mother died too.

"Don't." I snap. "I am grateful for the lift, really. But you should leave."

I jump down from the counter and walk towards the door.

"If you are going back to the party to get your brothers, can you ask Damien for my bag and give it to Gabriel to give me at practice?" I say formally. An easy distraction.

I only look at Art once before he walks out the door. He nods, his face still pale and horrified. I feign a small smile before closing the door behind him and sinking to my knees on the floor with only my dogs for comfort.

A/N

Hello lovelies,

I hope you're enjoying the story so far - let me know what you think and what's happening in your life!

Jen xx