by M R Field
Theo releases me and runs his hands along my back, rubbing me up and down. My legs give out, falling forward, and I allow the bed to catch me as his length slips out of me.
“My intentions were to do that slowly.” His voice is coarse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “But while turning you on, and making you want me, it made me crazy too.”
I giggle into the bedspread, lying my face to the side, watching him. “You couldn’t even get naked, you horn dog.”
He frowns slightly, as he rubs his hands against his thighs. “I honestly couldn’t hold back. Fuck, you deserve better than that.”
“You were quite the animal, Theo.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Lucky I like your animalistic side.”
He smiles shyly, bitting his bottom lip. “You love it.” The bed shifts as he climbs next to me, rubbing my back some more. “But honestly, around you, I can’t seem to keep that animal in line.”
“Don’t even think about trying,” I mumble, my eyes droopy until I feel him between my legs.
My body stiffens as I slide back, clench my thighs, and do the quick bolt to his bathroom. I hate this part. Despite us having our safe sex talk to go bare, it doesn’t diminish the sense of bleh afterwards. I didn’t like sticky thighs.
I quickly clean up and race back to his room, the chilly air tickling against my flushed skin. Theo stands by the bed, fully dressed. The only thing out of place is his tousled hair.
“You’re quite distracting when you’re naked,” he muses as he gazes at my naked torso. “Any thoughts I had just turned to mush.” His brows tighten for a moment and, his mouth opens to speak, but he shakes his head.
I scoot towards the pile of clothes thrown haphazardly around the place and begin dressing. Part of me wants him to continue what he was saying, but the chicken shit in me can’t bear it. As I lift my bra from the floor, I look over to him and catch his eyes lingering on my hips. They trail up to my breasts before lifting to mine. His expression darkens, but I hold my hand up to halt those thoughts. I guess he didn’t want to talk after all.
“Uh-uh, buddy. I have a ton of work to do tomorrow and appointments all day.” I point to my hip. “This already feels tender, so I don’t need you to add to it. I have stairs to walk up, for shit’s sake.”
Theo stands for a moment before he blinks, clearly enjoying the moment of my semi-naked torso. I quickly finish dressing and grab my bag by the door. “Let’s go,” I yell over my shoulder, dashing down the stairs. We don’t do sleepovers, and while the moment isn’t awkward, I want it to stay this way. The same pang of longing throbs in my chest, but I ignore it. Strolling along the landing, I pass his study, look in for a moment, and halt as the edge of a red drawing evokes a vague sense of familiarity.
Before I can look further, Theo’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steering me away and down the stairs. Odd. I shrug and follow him down, enjoying this moment and wondering when I am going to have the lady balls to tackle an even bigger subject. Us.
The panel displays a female character holding the sun in her hands, while he stands in the dark.
TTE
THEO
The small tip of the pen scratches against the sketchpad as I arch over the drawing to get the angle just right. I trace on top of the grey lead, taking my time to add the symmetry needed for the scene. Tilting my head to the side, I glance over to the desk lamp and move my hand to adjust it. The light overhead is adequate, but on dark nights with weary eyes, I need the extra light to seal my thoughts onto the canvas.
The figure that stands in the middle of the sketch is the one that takes the most time for me to draw. Each time I draw her, I feel a sense of connection to her as I unfold each thought into the story. As I trace her jawline, I have to hold myself back from making her identical … to Trinity. I leave subtle hints each time, but I can only drop so many breadcrumbs until she discovers finally it’s me who has her greedily awaiting the next novel. I don’t want to spring it on her. I want her to discover it organically. Rather than slapping it down in front of her.
I make each page gutter perfect for the scenes that take place, being sure that each pencilled sketch has a maximum effect once it’s coloured.
I work down towards her chest, using my memory to capture the long-sleeved shirt from last week. Instead of the actual naming of the band, I draw silhouettes of the band members’ sides to distract from the original shirt she wore. For my own personal benefit, I increase the frizz in their hair to stand out more.
Trinity. I could spend hours staring at her and remember each detail a month later. She has a way of working into my mind so deeply that she now infiltrates almost every facet of my life.
I readjust the page slightly, to continue with the secondary characters. Our story is the basis of my novel, Shatter Till I Fall. When you grow up in a household where your mind is pushed but your words are meaningless, you learn to channel your emotions in another way. The pages in front of me can’t hold back or trap silence. They scream with emotion and intent. Just as I want them to do. Of a woman who even though she has a companion so close to her side she could touch him, barely notices he’s there. Instead, he stands trapped beside her, watching as every moment she lives digs into the cavity of his chest.
I play dirty in my novel. I know that Trinity is a believer in her “happily ever afters,” even if she boasts that she thinks they are bullshit. I know the books that are stacked on her bookshelves all give her closure to a world where she thinks love is bound to a contract that will most definitely fail. What she hadn’t banked on was me. TTE is my way of saying that she can fight love all she wants, but it is me who will show her that it isn’t bullshit. TTE stands for us. It stands for our journey to hopefully get to where we should’ve been years ago. Trinity. Theo. Eternal. Our trifecta.
While I was at university, I had seen a few advertisements for a publishing competition to enter the “first chapter” of your graphic novel. It was the day after Harmony’s funeral. Not only was I wrestling with the sadness of having lost the closest mother figure I had besides my grandmother, but Trinity’s anger over that stupid fucking photo was also tearing me apart.
Claire, my only ex-girlfriend, was both my mistake and my escape. I had chosen to date her to distance myself from Trinity. She fell in love with me, but I never returned it. Instead, I used her to protect myself against the one thing that mattered to me. The one thing I couldn’t afford to lose when the shit hit the fan in my household. We broke up when she realised that she could never get close to me, and I stupidly remained friends with her not realising that she would try to cling onto me. She even followed me to the same university in a desperate plea to convince me that we could be together. When she volunteered as a life model for one of our joint classes, I still felt nothing. When she was naked on stage, having her photo taken, I felt nothing. The disappointment on her face was evident. The photo itself was just a reference, purely to get as close to detail as possible for my subject. I barely felt anything when we had fucked throughout our relationship. Emotionally, I was empty.
That day, Trin’s distraught face after seeing that photo, made me feel like shit. It made me ache for her. Her pain was my pain, and although we were caught up in a vicious circle of hurt, all I ever wanted was to be there for her. She is the only girl I’ve ever cared for, the only one I’ve loved and been hell-bent on winning back.
I poured myself into the pages of the cartoon—I sacrificed the remainder of what was left of me, and engraved it into a story of longing and hope. All these emotions were thrown onto the page in a vortex of colour and anguish. Two figures who represented us, who captured the essence of who we were.
After I submitted the first chapter to ComicWorld, it caught the eye of my editor, Tamara, who demanded the first edition in a fortnight. I was excited and made it happen. She then handballed it to my publisher. Ten novels later, the rest is history. Now the focus is the story of Adam and Mila, names that at the time meant nothing to me as I fra
ntically chose them, but now worked for my fans.
Adam and Mila’s story was simple—the poor schmuck Adam, hopelessly in love with Mila, the girl who never noticed him. If I could draw him in transparent ink, it would be perfect. Whilst they undergo their adventures together in life, a looming black cloud lurks at the edges of the panels, a constant threat to smother Adam in his last-ditch efforts to win Mila over. She’s oblivious to the signs he throws at her, and he holds onto the hope that she will one day see him. But not everything is what it seems. Sometimes, those who wait on the sidelines get tired of waiting. Barely existing as they hold on by a thread.
As pathetic as that plot sounds, it works. It seemed that my misery makes for excellent sales … and commercial merchandise. It still floors me that I have a mug with the same tree of life that Adam and Mila always began and ended their adventure at, with the title Shatter Till I Fall, in front of it. Mine is hidden in one of my top kitchen cupboards.
Once the ink is dry, I check the final panel and gently erase out the pencil from my original sketch under the pen. Blowing the shavings away, I place it face down on the pages that are already completed. Reaching out to the side, I slide my rolling chair over to the right and open the lid to the scanner that is connected to my laptop. Grabbing a specialised wipe for it, I make sure to clean the entire glass to rid it of any possible smudges. The next part is just as important as my actual drawings.
Once the scanner is turned on, I lay the first page down to scan while accessing the Illustrator program on my laptop. For precaution, I cover the scanner in a black towel and begin to scan the pages individually. As the tunes of the Red Hot Chili Peppers sound in the background, my earlier fatigue begins to evaporate. Seeing the panels on the screen is always exhilarating. Bringing them to life with colour and extra details kick-starts the adrenaline in my veins. Before the characters were flat, but now, with the extra shading, filters, and backgrounds, I make it fucking phenomenal. Adding the blue tips to Mila’s hair, I smile as her face likens to Trinity’s even more while still holding a sense of ambiguity.
Tapping my foot on the carpet, I continue to add the fillers while humming along to the music. My editor has suggested I get in tune to the digital world by using the latest stylus touch screen, but I can’t yet. For me, the tactile feel of the pencil is reminiscent of when I first met Trinity in our junior art class. I can’t just throw that away, all for the sake of moving with the times. I need to get her my way.
As I make the finishing touches on the last page, my eyes are drawn to the bottom left panel. My chest flickers in hope as, within the crevice of the border, the single word “only” lays written neatly in the left corner. My final plan to have her notice all of me.
The drone of the jet engines whirls beside Trin and I as the plane cuts through the clouds effortlessly. I rub my hands on the armrest, eager for this tin can to land. Riding through chaotic traffic never worries me, but being in something I cannot control, does. Not to mention that my nerves are on high alert. In less than forty minutes, we’ll both be home, and I will be visiting my father, all the while hoping that whatever the hell he wants can be said in a few minutes so I can go back to Trin.
“Oh, is someone scared of the itty-bitty plane?” Trinity croons as she stares down at my hand. I follow her gaze and instantly untighten my white knuckles from the armrest to move them to my leg.
“Yeah, yeah.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “Not all of us can be tough as you, firecracker.”
She smiles as she points towards the window. “We’re fine up here—nothing to worry about. I was going to ask you to be my trusty sidekick in my next adventure, but I think I’ll have to look at other applicants.”
“You know this flying pencil is made from aluminium. The same shit you cover your roast with while it cooks in the oven.”
“A …” Her finger rises in the air. “As if I know how to cook a roast.” She raises a second finger, and continues, “And B, there are other materials used in making planes. Like titanium.”
“Oh.” I raise my voice slightly. “Well, aren’t we clever.” I tap her on the head like she’s a little girl, and she snaps her teeth at me.
“Watch it, smartarse. Or we can go skydiving now.” She gestures to the cabin door, and I chuckle.
“Not today. I just washed my hair this morning,” I deadpan.
“If you’re chicken shit inside this plane, how are you going to cope when we jump out of the air balloon?”
I straighten, turning to face her. “I never said—”
“Au contraire, monsieur, I believe you did. You might just need to double up on the incontinence undies … for those embarrassing moments.”
“Oh, someone is a shit stirrer today.” I lean forward until my nose is almost against hers. “Mock me all you want, because for every gag I can tease you right back.”
A slow smile moves her painted lips as she raises her eyebrow in challenge. “Promises, promises,” she whispers close to my face.
“Always,” I respond before glancing down at the bag by her feet. The corner of my latest novel sticks out and my gut clenches. I return my eyes to hers, but she doesn’t notice my panic. Instead, bending down, she pulls the novel out and places it on her lap.
“Have I told you this month’s dilemma?” she asks excitedly. She runs her hands along the cover, and her knees wobble slightly.
“Yeah, you did … on the phone, remember? When you ordered me to book the same flight as you.”
“I did not order you, fool. Just politely encouraged you. There’s a difference.”
“You mean the, ‘just fucking book the nine a.m. before they’re all sold out, idiot’ was just positive reinforcement? Bonus.” I reach forward and grab the novel from her lap and flick through the pages.
“Gently.” Her hands move up to guard around the magazine.
“I know.” I smile, a sense of pride filling my chest. To know that she is enamoured with my novel makes it all worthwhile. All I have to do now is get her to be enamoured with me. She begins to prattle on the latest episode, and I stop flicking to watch her. Trin’s eyes brighten whenever she’s excited, and as she recaps the scene, I can’t help but remember how I deliberately got her to read it in the first place.
Trin has read my collection of comic books and graphic novels, right from when we were teenagers. Rather than suggest reading this one, after I first released it, I fanned out a normal selection of novels, and simply tucked my first edition within them on my coffee table. Hook, line, and sinker. The only thing I hated was her paying for it. If I got her a subscription, she’d completely flip, even if it were a birthday gift. Yes, I paid for our dinners, but she’d lose her mind if I spent any more money on her. I found many different ways of paying it back to her. Especially through orgasms.
In my warehouse, my shelves are full of magazines and art books for drawing techniques. Trin has stood by those shelves and never recognised the signs. She’s only seen me as being arty. My subtle hints might need to be turned up a bit. If only I had the courage to just tell her.
I interrupt her mid-whine over Mila being so damn blind and tell her of one of my plans. I can’t hold it in any longer.
“I’m adding to my back tattoo next week.”
She jolts back in surprise and grins wide, her eyes sparking with mirth. “Oh, what are you doing? Filling the tree?”
“Yep. Going to bunk up my trunk,” I joke, “and thicken the branches.”
“How many sessions until it’s done?” She shifts in her seat, her thumb pressing into my novel.
“Four more.”
“Oh, so how’s your spine?” Her eyes twinkle knowingly.
I shudder. “Hurts like a bitch. Got a bit to do, but this time it’s more on the roots. I have to build myself up to that pain again.” The memory of my last session causes me to grimace. I am now a “seasoned” tattoo victim, despite the scratching and the third-degree burn sensations that I grit my teeth through, but I am not l
ooking forward to having the last part of my lower spine done.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “My back hurt like shit, but the reward of having it is worth it.”
My eyes travel over Trin’s bare shoulders, where her tank top rides low on her back while she sits forward. The cherry blossoms along her shoulder and the tree on her back reminded me of my oba-chan. In her home, she loved to display traditional artwork. My particular favourite were the two vases she had, one with a cherry blossom tree, and the other with a Geisha looking down at her kimono robe with the branches of blossoms along the hem. When she wasn’t slaving away at her restaurant before she retired, Oba-chan taught me folklore whilst she baked my favourite dishes.
At times like this, I try not to dwell on missing my grandmother. I know she loved me, and I adored her, but the tension that my father caused that kept me suspended in a whirlpool of angst ruined the last few years I had with her. It has taken all my power to hold the bitterness at bay. Acting distant has worked better for me. Until this weekend. I turn from staring at Trinity’s back and focus on the now rather than the later.
My identity is askew, caught in between two cultures, one which is all that I know, that I thought was all me. The other, which I presumed would be so foreign to me, is now felt beneath my skin. It’s a lingering presence that I can’t deny. The instant connection I felt with Elly when she charged into my life was proof of that, not to mention the rest of the family that she steamrolled through as well.
The thump of the plane wheels suddenly on the tarmac jerks me out of my daydream. As we glide along the runway, my stomach tightens while the stiffness in my joints increases. I barely register the plane halting and our movements to dismount the plane as my nerves begin to spike. The stress must show on my face as I walk along the tarmac, and Trin grabs my arm and squeezes it.
