Reece's Haven

34

"But you promised me forever..."
– Nautica

❀❀❀

~ D O R O T H Y ~

January 1998

Monday evening comes too soon.

At exactly 6 o'clock, Reece arrives. I tutor him in the living room this time, given that mother is busy cooking dinner. While Reece solves a question, I memorise the lines in the booklet that Rachel gave me. Unlike the other times I've tutored him, I feel a mixture of shyness, self-consciousness and nervousness. And the fact that he is freshly showered, wearing a black hoodie and grey jeans, isn't helping the slightest bit. If anything, it's doing the opposite. And what's worse is that he smells heavenly good.

"Mum told me about Friday night," Reece says, breaking the silence.

I glance at him. He is still looking down, working through the trigonometry problem.

"You shouldn't drink. It never solves anything," I say, getting back to my lines.

"I know. But it helps me feel..."

He leans back in his chair, facing me.

"Numb?" I ask, closing the booklet and looking at him.

"Exactly. Nothing helps," he says.

"Have you tried therapy or counselling?" I ask.

"Failed."

"When did you start drinking?"

"About a year ago."

"How frequent?"

"I..."

"Well?" I push.

"A lot," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Geez, I pity your liver," I say. "It's too young to have to deal with the toxicity of all that alcohol you've consumed."

He crosses his arms, the corner of his lips tugging upwards.

"Aw, and here I was, hoping that you'd care about me just as much as you seem to care about my liver."

"Hey, you chose to damage your poor liver. It can't say anything, so I must speak on behalf of it," I joke.

"I can't believe you're defending my liver. Alright, I'll try not to drink," he says, shaking his head and chuckling.

I catch myself staring at him. His deep laughs are comforting to hear, oddly. I never knew that a laugh could have such an effect. Then, he clears his throat.

"So how was your date with Damien?" he asks, catching me off-guard.

"Oh, it was really lovely, actually. I had fun."

"That's nice," he says, though it does not escape my notice that it sounds rather forced.

I then wonder how hard it is for him to suppress his disapproval.

"When's the next one?"

"We're not having another one."

For an ephemeral moment, I notice how his eyes widen. If it weren't for his confession on Friday night, I would've thought it was a figment of my imagination. Alas, he did confess, and I know that he is surprised and relieved.

"How come?" he asks.

"It's just not the right time. We have to work hard for our careers first and then we'll see," I say before I get back to my lines.