Page 57 of Sicken of the Calm
When his hands pull me up, Isimply flow forward to the inevitable forces that move us. I drape over him,his mouth finding mine, the kiss slow and deep, sated. When we break apart Irest my head on his chest, rubbing my cheek against his t-shirt as I listen tothe rhythm inside him, beating with mine.
I feel a little sticky and inneed of a shower, but am too comfortable to move. I blink my eyes open, lookingat the TV blearily. It takes me a few moments to process what I’m seeing; thedeath screen, asking me if I want to try again.
“What the fuck?” I say.
“What?” Ezra asks, soundingconcerned. I point at the screen, and Ezra lifts a little to follow my finger.
“Did you pause the game?” he asks.
“No, I…” I trail off with dawninghorror.
“You must have – we probablykicked the controller and you fell again, dude,” he says and then falls back,laughing uncontrollably. I gape at the screen.
“Fuck!” I say, burying my face inhis neck, even as I laugh incredulously.
“Well, I guess that means we haveto-”
“No,” I cut him off, and helaughs again.
“Life is such a bitch,” he says,and I lift my head, looking at his smiling face. I lean up, and he opens hismouth to my kiss as I hum noncommittally.
I’m not so sure that’s true.
CHAPTER TEN
November seems to disappear in ablink of an eye, and no amount of warning can make the end-of-term exams seemany less sudden. Cooking with Iva devolves into studying instead of hanging out.Moore often joins us as football practice eases with December’s approach andstart. My time with Ezra, too, gets swept up with revision, making me realizehow much of my week we actually spend together as it gets encroached upon byuniversity work. He looks surprised when I suggest we study together. Or, atleast, study in the same room, as our differing majors barely overlap. Heagrees, however, and I prepare myself to resist getting side-tracked into moreenjoyable activities. That, however, turns out to be the least of mydistraction as I experience what a studying Ezra is actually like. His restlessenergy is barely contained by the activity, resulting in a fidgeting, tapping,muttering ball. Watching him get out of his chair with no other purpose than topace and mumble, it’s amazing to think of how patient he can be when he’sbreaking me apart.
“Ezra,” I sigh as he startsclicking his pen again. He looks at me, completely unaware of what he is doinguntil I look at his hand pointedly. He stops immediately, looking down.
“Sorry,” he says, and I watch asthe edges of his lips pull down sharply. For a moment, I think he’s annoyed atmy constant need for silence, but the tone of his voice when he next speaksmakes me lower my own pen, looking at him carefully.
“I should go,” he says, and hesounds small and resigned.
“You don’t have to. Just-”
“I’m annoying you,” he cuts meoff, shaking his head. I open my mouth to protest, not liking the expression onhis face, blank where it isn’t unhappy. “Dude, it’s fine, I annoy everybody –when I’m studying,” he says, and my frown deepens at the pause between words.
“That’s not – you can’t help the,you know, your energy, so, why do you have to go? I can just-”
“’Cause you can’t help but beannoyed by it and this is your apartment, and it’s not like wehavetostudy together. Like, if we did then yeah maybe we could compromise but I don’twant you to, like, you know…” He trails off.
“But then we’ll hardly see eachother,” I can’t help but say.
“We can…I mean, we can make upthe time after Christmas, and-”
“Wait, aren’t we seeing eachotherduringChristmas?” I say, trying not to feel like I’m clinging tohim. I’m not going to insist if he doesn’t want to see me, but this feels likesomething else.
“Right,” he says after a pause. Iwatch him carefully.
“Ezra, if you don’t want to-”
“No. I mean, yeah, I do, it’sjust…Like, yes, we’ll see each other during Christmas,” he says, but he doesn’tsound convinced. I stifle a sigh. I can understand how he would be sceptical ofcontact back in our hometown, seeing as we’d barely spoken in all the years wewent to school together. It’s something that has to be proven with actionsinstead of words, though, so I let it drop.
“I’m not going to keep you hereagainst your will, obviously, but It’d be cool if you stayed. I’ll put someearphones on, and we can take a walk when you start to feel too restless, ok? Ineed a break too,” I say. Despite the lack of aneedfor compromise, ashe put it, I don’t want to simply give in when faced with this incompatibilitybetween us. He looks at me carefully for a moment, as if struggling withsomething internally, before he shrugs out anOk.
True to his prediction, I simplydon’t concentrate as well with him there, but what he doesn’t seem to realizeis that his company more than makes up for it. To be able to glance up and seethe intense look of concentration on his face. To be able to spend all ourbreaks together, him snapping me out of my strained-eyed irritation with hiseasy humour. To be able to punctuate the days by tangling together with him,pressed into his arms, mind rubbed clean of the day. The way he will loosen mymuscles, drag me deep into exhaustion and leave me cradled there, where I candrift away, safe in the warmth of him. It’s a give and take I am happy to do,and I can only hope that he can see that we can’t fit perfectly together inevery aspect of our lives, that it will take work to find a rewarding balance.
The exam weeks swallow us whole,the bird-nest of Ezra’s hair turning even wilder from hands run through it, theskin under his eyes bruising. It’s nothing that isn’t happening to the rest ofus, but I hate seeing it on Ezra the most. I take him with me to Iva’s; let himget swept up in the whirlwind of her energy as she recruits him for the souschef position. Moore and I watch as they attack the kitchen, somehow producingfood from the explosion of their combined force. It settles me to see Ezraengaged and distracted, smile open and lighting up even under the fluorescentlights. That night, when we go back to mine, he is quiet in a soft, gentle way,the stress of exams temporarily banished. We get ready for bed separately, andwhen I come out of the bathroom he is curled up on the bed, eyelashes throwingshadows on his cheeks. His fist is tucked under his chin, one arm around hismiddle, keeping himself together in rest. The sight is a small, ruthless blowto the part of me that likes nothing more than to lie to itself, the voice thatis driven by old, coward instincts; to be content with what you have now,instead of fighting for more. When I crawl into bed with him, it is nothing butwarmth, and I curl around the small flame of him, press him to my lungs whereI’m breathing him in, and let myself be a coward, even in the face of theobvious.
