See You Smile

by Dawn Sister

  "You would not believe how excited I was when I realised Jacob Reuben was my next door neighbour."

  I regard him with one eye closed,

  "The reality is a bit of an anticlimax, huh?" I ask him, although I can't really be sure that's actually what I said,

  "No, it's kind of the opposite actually." He confesses, his eyes shining, then looks me directly in the eye, "And I can tell you this because I don't suppose you'll remember in the morning," he tells me, hopefully,

  "I don't suppose I will, no." I shake my head. I don't think my brain has even registered what he's said right now let alone remember in a few hours time. My eyes close as the world starts spinning again. He helps me stand with a grunt,

  "Come on, funny guy, let's get to bed." he pauses with a gasp, "Er, I mean I'll take you to bed, I mean, I'll help you get to your bedroom,"

  "Are you helping me to my room?" I ask, smiling slightly stupidly and showing too much teeth. He smirks, as he helps me along the hall,

  "Yes, Jake, I am, except I don't know which one is yours," We stop outside my room and I pat the door,

  "This one." I tell him brightly,

  "Great, so now I'm helping you into your room." He informs me helpfully. He's such a nice person, so gentle, so strong, so warm to touch; just the right amount of hair on his arms to feel silky and soft. He makes me want to purr.

  He deposits me on my bed, on my back and I fall with a startled giggle. I open my eyes to see him having some kind of struggle with his emotions, it's playing across his face but the emotions are all so tangled and mixed up and my vision is so blurry I can't read what he's thinking. He's so lovely though, so gorgeous,

  "You're so beautiful Cal." He blushes from his neck to the routes of his hair,

  "Thank you." He replies and I realise I said that out loud.

  I sit suddenly to explain what I've just said, but the sudden change of position was a bad idea. I feel my stomach churn and the room spins deliriously fast. I hold up my hand and place my fingers to my lips, swallowing hard and trying to stay upright,

  "I'm really gonna throw up this time." I warn him so he has time to run. Instead he sits down beside me and runs his hand down my back,

  "Want me to stay?" he asks. Oh god, yes please, but I shake my head, because that would be a really bad idea,

  "No, you'd better go. I already lost ninety five percent of my dignity, don't let me lose the rest in front of you, please. I'm sure you have no desire to see an old guy shouting hooey down the toilet bowl." He snorts then stands as I do. He pushes me in the direction of my bathroom and he moves towards my bedroom door,

  "Okay I'm going then, but I'll come back tomorrow to see if you're okay." I turn and stumble towards him, then press my door key into the palm of his hand,

  "Take my key, because I'll still be in bed, I might even be dead. Old people die in their sleep sometimes." He rolls his eyes,

  "Oh my god. Word of advice, Jake, please don't die in your sleep, I would be very unhappy if you did."

  He gives me a kiss on the cheek and my reaction time is so slowed by alcohol I missed my chance there, because if I hadn't been so wasted I would have turned my head and caught his lips with mine and we'd have kissed. I wonder how much further it could have gone if I'd done that.

  Oh holy shit, I'm screwed, and I'm going to die I feel so crap: about everything. He's gone and probably won't be back, even though he has my key. He'll probably just post it through my mail slot tomorrow with a restraining order.

  I stumble across the floor to my bathroom and make it just in time before I pebble dash the inside of my toilet bowl. Yeuch!

  When I'm done I crawl back into bed and fall into a disturbed, restless sleep filled with confessions of attraction and love and desire and that's just from Cal. I have an overactive, fucking imagination, that's my problem.

  Chapter Seven: Hangover!

  Urgh!

  Why did I think drinking so much last night was such a good idea? I should have been more careful. I should have paced myself. I should have been more responsible.

  There're a lot of things I should have done but I didn't. Well, I'm living with the consequences this morning.

  Is it morning?

  I don't even know, except the sun is shining directly into my brain from somewhere.

  Somebody please turn it off!

  I can't remember anything about last night after Lawrence brought out the whisky. After that it's all very sketchy at best. How did I even get home? Did someone give me a ride? I hope they did. I hope to God I didn't drive in this state. Neither Lawrence nor Lou Anne would have let me, surely.

  I reach across the bed and grab my phone. I wince at the cacophony of pain the movement sets off and then again at the brightness of my phone screen.

  There is one text from Lawrence:

  "We're bringing your car round early because I have to open shop for Lou Anne. She's a little worse for wear this morning. Hope your head isn't too bad. L."

  "Thanks. Just post my keys through the door because I'm dying." I text back, then throw my phone onto the bed covers without looking at the time.

  I cover my head with my pillow to block out the excruciatingly bright sunshine. I have no curtains mainly because no one overlooks me so what would actually be the point and also so that the first thing I see when I wake up is the incredible view of the beach. It also means the sun has no barrier when it wants to wake me up and it really wants to wake me up today, and make me suffer.

  Oh boy am I suffering. My head is pounding, my stomach is churning and my tongue feels like an old, dry leather insole. I don't think I dare risk moving at all right now because either my head will explode or my stomach will.

  Maybe I should go back to sleep.

  I close my eyes to attempt to forget the fact that I am close to death but they shoot open again when I hear the front door. I hold my breath waiting for the inevitable call from my sister, who is the only other person in the world that has a key to my house.

  There is no call.

  Who the hell just opened my door then?

  I listen some more but there is nothing. Then I remember Lawrence's text; it was probably him posting my car keys through my door, like I asked him to.

  I close my eyes again and drift off to sleep.

  In a semi dream like state I start imagining all sorts of things, mixed with remembering things that happened last night, except I can't tell which are real memories and which are just wishful thinking.

  Did I talk to Cal last night? I remember seeing him. I was very close to him at one point, touching his cheek in such an intimate way that it can have been nothing else but a dream. There are other things too that don't seem to be right. Did we talk? Why would we? Why would he even have been up when I got home, it was way after midnight.

  Nngh! Stop thinking, Jake, it's causing pain.

  Sleep, I need sleep.

  When I next wake it's to the sound of the waves lapping on the beach and birds calling outside my window and I realise the French doors that lead from my bedroom onto the deck have been opened to let in some fresh air. When did I do that?

  I feel a little better so I must have slept off most of my hang over. I still feel like shit, but no longer as if I am going to die three times over. The fresh air has definitely helped.

  When exactly did I get up and open my French doors though?

  Intrigued now, I gingerly move to a sitting position and then, when nothing seems to be pounding, throbbing or threatening to break, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

  I am still wearing the shirt and boxers I had on last night, but at some point, after throwing up, I took off my pants.

  I don't remember throwing up. I just know I did because my throat feels as if it's been rasped with sandpaper.

  I groan. I have never gotten that drunk in a long, long time. It's just not a great idea when you live on your own: no one to look after you the next day.

  My throat is actually very dry
, and so is my mouth, painfully so. I could really use a cool glass of…oh….there is a glass of water on my night stand. When did that appear there?

  I pick it up. It is deliciously cool; it has ice in it and a slice of lemon. What. The. Fuck?

  Who put this here? It can't have been here long. The ice hasn't even begun to melt.

  I sure as hell didn't get it and if Sarah was here she would have made a show of waking me up and making sure I knew how much she disapproved of the state I am in.

  I smell it cautiously.

  "It isn't poisoned, I promise."

  "Holy Shit!" I screech. The voice startles me so much I drop the glass and its contents in my lap. I do a weird little juggling act with the glass and ice cubes as the whole lot is dumped in my lap. I jump up with a yelp because it's damn cold. I turn to the source of the voice which seemed to come from my deck.

  Cal's face is peeking above the back of one of my wicker loungers. His eyes widen when he sees I have spilled my water all over myself and he gasps,

  "Oh my god, Jake." He exclaims as he jumps up from the lounger, tipping a protesting Jezzie from his lap. He rushes through my room and out into the hall still speaking, "I am so sorry!" he calls back.

  He returns a few moments later with a cloth and starts to soak up the water which I haven't bothered to do myself because I'm still wondering what the hell he's doing here in the first place.

  He is soaking up water from my lap now and I stop him, because I am just wearing boxers, wet ones now, that will not be hiding anything,

  "Er, thanks, I can manage." I say, taking the towel from him.

  He takes a deep breath and stands, stepping back towards the French doors. Jezzie is by his feet, weaving in out of his legs. Her name is well earned.

  "I hope you don't mind." Cal says as I continue to dry myself, "You gave me your key last night and it got past noon and you still weren't up so I came over. I thought you might need some TLC." His entire body is hunched and tense and his eyes are wide and wary.

  I mean, I'm startled, and more than a little confused as to why he would want to do this but I'm not going to complain if he's come over to look after me. Wait, I gave him my key?

  "When did I give you my key?" I ask him. He bites his lip and I realise my tone is doing nothing to reassure him I'm not angry,

  "Last night." He tells me, "You don't remember?" I shake my head, "You said you wouldn't. I never actually met someone who got so drunk they couldn't remember what they did."

  I'm not sure whether he's in disapproval or in awe of the fact. I'd prefer the former, since I wouldn't want to be labelled as a bad role model. He also looks, I don't know, a little relieved to be honest. What's that all about?

  God this is terrible. I can't remember a fucking thing. I groan and hold my head. Cal is at my side, his hand on my arm and his blue eyes full of concern,

  "Are you alright?" he asks, "Want me to make you some coffee, get you some painkillers?"

  What is this? Role reversal day? Cal isn't supposed to be the one looking after me, not in my version of the universe anyway. I should be looking after him; protecting him; keeping him safe.

  Now what am I thinking? Yes I need some coffee because my brain needs straightening out,

  "Coffee, Cal, thank you. That would be fucking amazing." I fall back onto the bed, because despite the fact it is slightly damp now, I am still completely wrecked.

  Lying here on my back looking up at Cal as he regards me almost expectantly triggers a memory in my alcohol fuddled brain. He was here last night, looking down at me in this exact same position.

  I frown. I don’t remember anything else. My hands cover my face and I groan again. I peek through my fingers and see Cal still staring down at me, as if he's in some sort of trance, except he isn't looking at my face,

  "Cal, Coffee!" I bark, snapping him out of his day dream,

  "Coming right up." He calls, and scarpers through my bedroom into the hall.

  I lift my head and glance down at myself. What a fucking state I'm in. Of course he was staring. I'm lying here in wet boxers. And I still didn’t get a drink of water.

  I stumble into my bathroom with the now empty glass. I fill it at my sink and drink thirstily, wiping my mouth and filling it again, drinking another half a tumbler before my thirst is quenched.

  "Oh, god, that's much better."

  Now I dare to look at myself in the mirror. Holy shit I look like fucking death warmed up. What did Cal say? It's past noon? He must think I'm such a slob, or worse: some kind of alcoholic.

  I feel bad barking at him like that, but I'm cranky in the morning, I mean afternoon, especially with the mother of all hangovers. And he was staring, and making me feel, I don't know, uncomfortable?

  I walk back out into my room and change out of my wet things. I pull on some sweats and a clean t shirt, strip my bed, because the edge of the sheet is damp, then pad out, yawning and scratching through my bed hair to straighten it out a tad. I want to see how Cal is coping in my kitchen. I'm hoping it is clean and presentable because I'm not the tidiest of guys.

  "Hello the house!" A female voice calls and I freeze half way along my hall.

  This is all I fucking need: my sister. Couldn't she have called first? Maybe she did though, I haven't checked my cell or my voice mail.

  Oh shit, she's gonna find Cal in my kitchen and me in my sweats having just got out of bed. What is that going to look like?

  "Jake, I brought you some apple muffins." Sarah calls as she approaches the kitchen and I just listen, helpless to stop this inevitable meeting, "I used mom's recipe. They're still warm if you….oh!"

  That's it; she's going to be jumping to all sorts of conclusions now. I should have headed her off but my body just isn't working quick enough to have reached her before she reached Cal. Plus, part of me is curious to see how he reacts and interacts with someone else other than me without those damn headphones over his ears.

  "Who are you?" Sarah is asking as I reach the kitchen door. She sounds amused more than anything,

  "Er, hi, I'm Cal." Cal is saying and I imagine he's holding out his hand, and giving her the benefit of those baby blues,

  "Uhuh!" my sister replies, sounding unaffected, "Mind telling me what you're doing in my brother's kitchen, Cal?" she asks,

  "I'm erm, making him some coffee?" Cal tells her, making it sound like a question,

  "Oh, that's nice. And where exactly is Jake?" she asks, an edge to her voice that I don't understand,

  "H-he's in his room, getting dressed."

  Holy fuck, this is not going well. I think I'd better get in there and give some better explanations,

  "Hi!" I say as I enter the kitchen trying not to look like I just got out of bed, but I know my hair will be the give away: that and the fact my eyes are hanging somewhere around my knees at the minute and probably look like piss holes in the snow.

  "Oh, hello!" Sarah says sarcastically as she approaches me and stretches up to kiss me on the cheek. She gives me a significant look, nudging her head ever so slightly towards Cal, then her eyes twinkle and she smirks, "Just got up have we?" she asks.

  I ignore her question, opting for checking that Cal is not freaking out because he looks like a rabbit caught in car headlights. I meet his gaze as I step further into the room and raise my eyebrows. Out of sight of my sister I sign to him "okay?" And his eyes widen then he smiles and nods, signing "yes" almost imperceptibly. This is the extent of my sign language knowledge though,