Figuring You Out

Chapter Forty-Three

I push my lips to his, the film discarded long ago. I feel his hands drift across my broad shoulders as mine cart through his feathered blond hair, our mouths working together both us of bringing our bodies impossibly closer together. I take my hands from his hair and move one to cup his face and the other to the small of his back, feeling him smirk I pull us so I am hovering above him as he lays on his back. He tugs at the hem of my t-shirt innocently, I slip it over my head as his hands trace my chest and abs, my breath hitching at the raw feeling of his bare hands against my skin. I move away from our kiss for a moment, my eyes meeting his for the first time in the steamy make-out session, I slip my hands under his shirt and massage his sides before tugging it up to expose his stomach, "May I?" I say, huskily, he moans softly and sits up allowing the material to go over and off his head. I dip my head and plant gentle kisses across his chest which was dotted with fair hairs.

The sound of the door clicking open draws us quickly apart, "Hey, darling, I'm home," Mum's voice chirps, as me and Red exchange frantic glances. I throw on my t-shirt.

"Err, hey Mum," I reply, pressing a hand to Red's chest to keep him hidden, I hobble to the doorway and meet Mum there, "I was just going upstairs to grab my phone charger,"

"No, no, I'll go," she says, as I let out a low exhale, already turning, "By your desk, yeah?"

"Yeah, thanks," I say, watching as she patters upstairs, I turn and giggle quietly to Red who is pushing his shoes onto his feet in haste, now dressed in a creased t-shirt. I hand him his coat and adjust his hair ushering him silently out of the room to the door, which opens with a low creak. I give him a quick kiss, "Text me," I whisper, he nods and lets out another laugh before I close the door with a soft click. I turn and lean back on it, breathing out a breath of relief, Mum begins taping down the stairs and hands me my charger.

"Was someone at the door?" she asks, brushing past me with a peck to my forehead.

"No, I thought I heard someone but there wasn't anyone at the door," I say, quickly. Moving out of eyeshot into the living room, as fast as possible considering I'm on crutches, "How was work?" I ask, keen to change the subject.

"Busy," she responds, popping her head to the living room from the kitchen over the sound of the boiling kettle, "They sent through the photos of the apartment in Paris, I'll show you,"

And I instantly feel guilty. All this time I've been sneaking around with Red and I hadn't given a second thought to my Mum who was moving to another country in a matter of weeks.

"Here," she says, entering the room with a full mug in one hand and the other occupied by her scrolling thumb on her phone, "So," she says, sitting beside me, "This is the lounge and kitchenette," swiping to professional photos of a swanky contemporary lounge with a white tiled kitchen and floor to ceiling windows, "And then the two bedrooms," showing two bedrooms with grey four poster beds and black gated balconies. I glance sideways to Mum who's glowing with happiness.

"It looks beautiful, Mum," I say, genuinely, giving her a gentle nudge.

"I'm glad you like it," she replies, "Now, why on earth is Grease on the TV, you hate musicals,"

Shit.

"The maths got that bad," I reply, faking a chuckle, as I fumble with my phone charger, "When are you going to Paris?"

"Like I promised you- after your exams," she replies, pointedly, I nod and smile at her, "How is revision going anyway?"

"Good," I say, "The revision partner seems to be working out," just as the door opens and Dad appears at the doorway shaking a dampened umbrella.

"Hello," he says, leaning to kiss Mum on the cheek and ruffling my hair as he shrugs the scarf off his neck, "You ok?"

"Yeah, just talking about his exams," Mum smiles, getting up again to the kitchen. As my phone pings with a text from Red- That was close but kinda liked it, R

"They might be coming sooner than you think," Dad says, seriously. I look up to him, confused, "Mr Fryday just emailed me- he wants to put you forward for the first round of resits starting in two weeks,"

"What?" I practically shout, "I'm not ready,"

"He thinks you are," Dad replies, unfazed by my outburst.

"He can think what he wants, I am not ready to take those exams now," I exclaim, Mum shifts in her seat and edges closer to me.

"Oliver, look at me," she says so quietly I can barely hear her for the blood drowning my ears, "Look at me," she repeats, louder but softer, I bring my eyes to hers, "Why don't you think you're not ready?"

"Because I'm not," I state, defiantly.

"Because you're scared," she corrects, gently.

"I'm not scared," I reply, meekly, shaking my head and allowing my gaze to drop to the floor.

"Yes, you are," Dad inputs, his voice dropping fifty tones in a matter of moments, he sits on the edge of the coffee table, "What are you afraid of?" he asks in a tone dripping with earnest and the yearn for an honest answer.

"Nothing," I insist, making a swipe for the crutches at the side of the sofa but Mum grips onto my wrist with a motherly touch, "Let me go," I plea, quietly, dropping my gaze to my hands, I can practically feel their eyes meet each other and share a disapproving glance just as the shackling grip is removed and I grab the crutches moving towards the door.

"We will have to talk about this at some point," Mum says, just as I get to the doorway, I hesitate letting breath sink into my lungs for a few moments before clicking my way out and upstairs, shutting myself in my room again. I phone Red as soon as the door shuts.

"Hey," he says, as the dial tone cuts through to his breathing.

"Hey," I say, "I've been put forward for the December exams instead of April,"

"Oliver, that's great," he exclaims, I can practically see him beaming and it breaks my heart a little, "Isn't it?" he adds, uneasily in the silence.

"What if I'm not ready?" I say, quietly.

"What if you are?" he replies, "Oliver, if you fail these exams you do them again in April anyway,"

"And there is so much going on, right now, there is no doubt I will fail," I say, leaning back defeated on my chair.

"Do you honestly believe that?" he asks, "Because if you do, then you aren't the same person I fell for," he says, "I fell for the cocky, confident guy who can handle anything,"

"Well, I can't handle this," I sigh, spinning away from the corkboard filled with pinned equations and formulas.

"Let me prove to you, that you can," he says, after a few moments pause, "Meet me tomorrow first thing in the library,"