Mellifluous

There are certain moments in life where you never feel safer than you do right then and there.

It can be when your mom is reading a book to you while you are tucked under cotton sheets that smell of fresh lavender. Or it can be when you're with your best friends in a pillow fort at two a.m. and you're trying to be quiet but can't stop snickering at each other. Other times can be in a small nook in the school library; in the middle of a lake; the back of your dad's car as he sings R&B while driving into the oblivion.

Truth be told, none of those have ever felt safer than in this moment right here – with Oliver. We are in the back of Noah's truck, wrapped in a thick, plush blanket, cramped in the back seat.

Oliver holds me close to him, my cheek against his calm heartbeat, his hand running through my hair, and nothing but a fuzzy silence surrounding us. We don't move, we don't talk; we just hold each other close, too scared to break the walls we have caged ourselves in; soaking in the pool of lost feelings that have drowned out over the last five years.

Oliver begins to hum softly, his eyes still closed, breathing still even. It's a sad song that matches the atmosphere around us. I shiver.

"Cold?" he asks as he tugs the blanket over my body and pulls me closer to him. I smile, kissing him on the chest, feeling the warm skin beneath the thin layer of his t-shirt.

"Can I ask you a question?" I say and Oliver shifts so we are lying beside each other, face to face. He smiles at me and nods.

"Anything, Tessa. You know that."

"Why didn't you come to me or Noah when you got back?" The smile falls from his face as he takes a deep breath, his body visibly tensing up.

"The truth? I figured you two hated me," he says, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Why would you ever think that?"

"I don't know. Because I left without saying anything. Because, as Noah said, I 'broke your heart.' I hurt you two; I know that much. I was a coward, Tessa, and I'm sorry."

"You think you broke my heart?" I whisper, feeling my heartbeat in my eardrums.

"Did I?" He asks. I don't know how to answer, so I just look at him, willing him to understand my unspoken words. He nods slowly, looking away from me. "Tessa, you are the last person I'd want to hurt. God, even at thirteen, even now, it's always been you. To think that I hurt you all those years ago kills me and I don't know how to make it up to you, if I even can make it up to you, because, Tessa," he pauses for a beat, "I lo–" I stop him, placing my finger on his lips.

"Don't say it. Please," I beg, my voice shaky. Oliver doesn't respond; he just looks at me, studying every detail of my face. He leans in, hesitantly brushing his lips against mine. His lips are colder than they were a few hours ago – and sadder. He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him until we our chest against chest and I can feel his heartbeat against mine.

"Tessa." My name slips from his lips and onto mine in a feather of a whisper. He shifts, again, so he is now hovering over me, leaning on his forearms as he presses his lips back to mine.

My hands slip to the rather warm skin on his back, and he groans, as if pained by my touch. His tongue slides into my mouth as I run my fingers through his hair. "I missed you so much," Oliver whispers as his lips move to my neck.

I stare up at the ceiling of Noah's car as I bite my lip to keep any sound that is threatening to escape. "You have no idea how much I thought of you while I was gone. No idea," Oliver continues while moving to the other side of my neck, his hand coming down from where it rest above my head to grip my hip tightly. "Did you ever think about me?"

When I don't answer right away, Oliver stops and gazes at me, willing me to answer. All words get caught in my throat as I take in his state: hair wild from my hands, lips puffy, eyes swollen and tired.

He is one sight to see.

"Yes," I breathe as I grasp his face, pulling him back to me, "you know that."

And as we continue to do what we do in the back of Noah's truck, the sun slowly starts to creep above the horizon, watching us carefully, as if it had the eyes of God.

→

Oliver kisses me one last time as we sit outside of his house.

"I'll text you, okay?" he says, and I nod before he pecks me on the forehead and slips out of the car. He turns back to me when he arrives at the front door and gives me one of his shy smiles before going inside.

I wait a second, staring at the place Oliver was just standing before pulling off into the slippery street of Fairbanks.

I gaze straight ahead, only half-aware of the quiet world outside the somewhat claustrophobic comfort of Noah's car: my hands stroking the wheel, the almost soundless changing of the gears, the pattern of traffic lights. The trees full of snow pass in a blurry until it looks like nothing but a white blanket draped over the sky.

The Perkins do not live far from my house, maybe a few miles at most – it'd take about fifteen minutes to walk there and eight minutes to drive – however, it feels like hours to get home.

I look outside and see a small, pale boy running through the snow, a sad look blanketing his features. I slow down and watch as he stops and turns around, as if he's leaving something behind.

I recognize the look in his eyes – it is the same look Noah had in his eyes the first time we saw Jo in the woods. It is hope. It's as if whatever the boy is looking at is a bright star in a hopelessly dark universe; his own version of hope.

He turns to me, and in his face, I see thirteen-year-old Oliver leaving my house on that night five years ago. I blink, and he is gone, replaced by the strong winds flowing in between the tree branches.

It isn't long before I am pulling into the driveway of my too-modern-for-Fairbanks home. It sits on top of a little hill like a cupcake on a sugared plate, so proud on the snow-covered landscape. It blends in well, strong stone walls of the land and a door of aged oak.

The windows look out onto the rolling countryside, casting a gentle gaze over dead trees and rustling winds. It is as modern as any city dwelling, more so perhaps. I may need this house in small, little Fairbanks for my soul, but I have no intention of living here forever like most people do.

In my home is the scent of lavender, as if it is springtime outside. The strong scent brings out the delicate purple hue of the walls, the very same shade that is the colour of spring forget-me-nots in the morning light.

I never loved living in a large home, however, my mom did. While my dad preferred cozy and friendly, my mom wanted it all; she wanted the perfect, white-picket fence American dream.

This house was the perfect space for both of their needs and wants. It was their "cottage" in the sky, furnished with everything rustic, the old being a stage for new creations, new paintings daubed on perfect squares of canvas.

My dad had said when we moved in here that "a space is just space until you bring your own personality to it, make your mark, express what is sacred to you." And I had believed him up until the moment he walked out the door and never returned.

When I enter the kitchen, Noah and my mom are seated at the breakfast table. A plate of untouched breakfast and cold coffee sits in front of them.

Noah's leg bounces up and down, something he only does when he is anxious. They both stare blankly at each other, as if they are having a conversation solely through the unspoken, invisible words that are floating between them.

I clear my throat and both eyes snap to me. Relief courses through the room as the sun peeks through the curtain, bringing life into the house that was dead just a few seconds ago.

My mom stands up quickly, still in her pajamas and messy hair. She rushes toward me, wrapping her small arms around me and laying her head on my chest– something she hardly does.

"Goodness, Theresa. Where have you been all night? You had us worried sick," she mumbles into my chest and I place my hands on her shoulders, prying her off of me. I turn to Noah.

"What the fuck?" I mouth to him and he simply shoots me an angry glare. He stands and saunters over to us, stopping beside my mom.

"Yes, Theresa. Where exactly have you been?" he says, and from his tone, I know he is doing this on purpose.

"I was out. Sorry I didn't call you, I just needed some time alone," I lie.

"Oh, you needed time alone? So, you were alone?" Noah says, crossing his arms over his chest. My mom's eyes flicker between the both of us.

"Seems like you two need to discuss some things. She turns to me and whispers, "Theresa, we will talk later, but as of now, you are grounded for 2 weeks."

"Wha-" she interrupts me with the flick of her hand.

"I don't want to hear it. You knew the rules and you broke them. That's the end of the story." And with that, she saunters out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the comfort of her room.

When Noah and I hear the door clicks shut, he turns to me: "where did you go with Oliver, Tessa? And I want the truth."

"Why is it any of your business?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you had my car. You left me in charge of getting your drunk friend back to your basement in the middle of the night. You're my best friend and you disappear in the middle of the night with some alcoholic, fucked-up kid–," I interrupt him.

"My God, what's your problem with Oliver? He was your best friend, Noah. You're telling me you just forgot?"

Noah takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly getting frustrated with me. He paces around my kitchen for a few minutes before turning to me again.

"Did you fuck him?" he whispers harshly.

"Oh, my god. Are you serious right now?"

"That's not an answer, Tessa. Did you fuck Oliver? Matter of fact, did you fuck him in my car? Because if so, I swear to god I will-"

"You will what?" I say, challenging him. He scoffs and shakes his head before stalking over to me, and for a moment, I think he is going to do something, but he brushes past me, grabs his keys off of the kitchen counter and walks out of my house, slamming the door on the way out, rattling everything he leaves in his wake– including me.

→

Two hours later, after the house has calmed down, I find myself tiptoeing down the cold basement steps. It smells strongly of dust and black-blue coldness that nibbles on my bare skin.

Then I see him.

Jo is asleep on the couch: mouth parted slightly, arm covering his eyes, and legs dangling of the edge, just barely brushing the surface of the concrete. I shake his leg and he shoots up, eyes fluttering open. He visibly relaxes when he makes eye contact with me.

"You're home," he says as he rubs the corners of his eyes. I nod slowly. "Have a good night out with Otis?"

"Um, it's Oliver."

"Really?" Jo questions, "Noah kept mumbling on the way home, "stupid Otis." But then again, he was drunk." Pause. "Ok, so was I." I sit down hesitantly next to Jo, and he scoots over, making room for me.

"Noah pretends he hates him." Jo raises an eyebrow at me. "He doesn't. We were all very close at one point."

"I see. And you," he whispers, "are you in love with this boy?"

"He just got back from California."

"That's not what I asked, Tessa," Jo whispers, looking at me intently. "Do you love him?"

"It's none of your business," I say, standing up. "The only reason I came down here is to tell you I think it's time for you to go home." Jo freezes, his eyes going dark. The more seconds that past, the more it seems like Jo is shrinking into himself. He shakes his head, reaching up to tug on his curls.

"Tessa, I can't," he says, his voice cracking. Suddenly, he begins to sob, a loud, heart-wrenching sob that breaks through the silence surrounding us. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

I sit down again and wrap my arms around him as he buries his face in my hair.

"It's fine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. It's okay, we will figure something else out," I whisper into his ear, but it doesn't seem to calm him, so I just hold him tighter.

Just then, I am once again pulled into the past. The same little boy and girl, both with crazy hair, are sitting alone in a room, hugging each other. The boy wraps an arm around the girl's shoulders and pulls her close, gently rubbing her arm and whispering softly into her ear.

Despite the uneasy heaviness in the girl's stomach, she feels safe there in the boy's arms. She sinks into the warmth of him, forcing herself to forget about the world around them. The boy's touch made the atmosphere warmer somehow and made the girl's future within its wall seem a little less bleak for the short time they were together.

And just like that, it's over. I'm still hugging Jo, except now, I feel what the little girl felt. I feel the uneasiness, and the sorrow, and the emptiness; but I also feel the comfort, the solace, and the warmth.

Being wrapped in Jo's arms did make the future seem brighter, even if it is only for a few seconds before he is pulling away, taking every feeling I had with him until I am an emptied out, angry candy jar, slowly starting to overflow with nothing but silence filling me up now.

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thanks so much for reading!
- JM