Saving from Monkeys

by Star, Jessie L.

  She lifted her head as she saw him, her cheek red from where it had been pressed against her knee, but otherwise her face sheet white.

  He didn't know what he was thinking, or what he was supposed to be feeling. Sad, he thought, but that didn't seem to cut it. He should’ve been screaming and wailing and bashing his head against the wall, but he wasn't. He felt nothing except completely

  ing useless.

  "Is she...?" Rox asked, and, as he nodded, he saw that she, at least, was behaving like she was supposed to. As tears started to slip out from under her lids, he crouched down and pulled her against him, indescribably thankful to her for giving him this purpose.

  'Comfort Rox' his brain chanted, sending the clear message to his arms which obediently held her firmly.

  "Chase said she wouldn't have felt anything," he said, wanting to make that very clear. He was hoping that what Chase had meant was that she was too far gone to be aware of anything, because he knew that his last words to Nan had been pathetic. He'd mumbled something about her being the best person he knew, but that didn't even come close to being what he'd wanted her to know.

  Then he'd just sat there; sat there and watched his mum watching her mum in one big dysfunctional family chain.

  Finally the moment had come when Nan had pushed one last rattly breath out, and there'd been a pummelling silence as the next inward drag of oxygen just hadn't happened.

  After everything she'd done in her life, the outrageous, crazy things she'd seen and been a part of, this seemed cruelly anti-climatic. Where was the mystique in her just stopping breathing? Where was the firing cannon? The clamouring hordes? The Goddamn Papua New Guinean slingshot? It was just no more breathing and that was it?

  Nan deserved better and he suddenly hated himself for not giving it to her.

  He tried to recapture the moment when all that had mattered was comforting Rox, but try as he might to soothingly rub her back, he found that all he could do now was clutch her tight.

  Well, that would have to be enough for now, because he was empty and tired, and Nan was gone.

  Chapter 13 – The Weeping Eyeliner and the Silent Scream

  There were many difficult things about the day of a funeral, but an hour or so before Nan's, I was struggling with something I'd never even considered before. How the hell did you put on eyeliner when you weren't able to stop crying?

  I had another stab at sweeping a line of black under my eye, only to again remember that it was Nan who had told me that eyeliner had been invented by women unafraid to kill themselves by means of adder and should, therefore, command the utmost respect. In frustration, I watched as another slick of tears washed the makeup down into the hollows beneath my eyes.

  "Monkeys," I muttered, reaching for another tissue.

  "Leave it," I stopped, the tissue halfway to my face, as Elliot suddenly spoke from behind me, "goth looks good on you."

  And there he was, the post-Nan Elliot. The one who seemed to have had a sensor installed so he knew whenever I started to cry. The one who I knew had sat outside my room for the past two nights without making any attempt to come in and be with me. The one I wished would go away so the other Elliot could come back.

  I turned, hoping some witty retort would have occurred to me by the time I was facing him, but swiftly finding that the sight of him robbed me of any words, let alone witty ones.

  The thing that needed to be made very clear here was that Elliot was wearing braces. Not the ones he'd worn as a teenager to make his teeth straight, but brilliant red ones that were holding up baggy yellow pants that stopped a few centimetres below his knees. As if that wasn't enough, he wore a spotted bowtie and, yes, squishing his floppy hair was a cap with a propeller on top.

  After a few seconds of gaping soundlessly at him, I finally managed to choke out,

  "Hey there, Tweedledum.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, as solemn as anyone could be in that outfit. "Come again?"

  For a second I felt the beginnings of a smile, but it didn't quite make it. Walking over to him, I stood up on my tiptoes and flicked the propeller on his head. As it whirred around, I sank back onto my heels and said, "Nothing, you just look like..." he looked at me, completely stone-faced and I let it go, once again mumbling, "Nothing."

  Something had happened to Elliot the night Nan had died, something really not good. It wasn't that he'd stopped talking to me, or hadn't been there to put an arm around me when I found myself stopping dead and just crying, he had, every time. The thing was...who was this guy who was so unerringly sweet and kind? He unnerved me.

  The irritating Elliot I knew had gone behind a polite wall, not so much shutting me out, but more pretending that he was letting me in when he quite clearly wasn't.

  It was his choice, his right, his grief, but still, the past few days had provided me with an entirely new urge to punch something every time he looked right at me and said something pleasant.

  "I went into the shop and asked for the stupidest costume they had," he shrugged, appearing completely disinterested in what he was saying. "Considering my hat has a part that spins, I figured I got what I asked for."

  "Well," I said, with a huge effort to match his neutral tone, "Nan would think it was awesome."

  And she would. Cool, suave Elliot dressed as an idiot would have amused her no end.

  "I went for a different approach." There was a lump in my throat as I gestured down at the incredibly tight dress I was wearing. It was bright red and the label had called it a 'bandage dress'. Bandage was right, I was half expecting an archaeologist to burst in and claim he'd discovered me. It sat high on my chest, but was so short I was going to be spending all day with my knees firmly pressed together. It was a bad investment in so many ways; the dress hadn't been cheap (even though it made me look it) and I knew I'd never wear it again, but there wasn't an economic principle in the world that could convince me it was wrong.

  While trying not to remember how I'd thought pretty much the same thing whilst having sex with Elliot, I blurted out, "What do you think?" And gave a little turn, fairly easily accomplished as I wore flats on my feet. The dress deserved heels, but if I was going to spend the day working on basic accomplishments like breathing without sobbing, having to concentrate on how to walk as well was going to be one step too far.

  The new, fake Elliot didn't miss a beat. "You look nice."

  Only three nights ago the guy in front of me had stripped me of my scummy cleaning clothes and made me laugh and squirm...how dare he now say I look nice?

  His grief, I reminded myself repressively, his choice.

  "Damn, I was going for slutty." I tugged at the hem and remembered the horrified expression on the shop assistant's face when I'd accidentally let slip that the purchase was for a funeral. Her disgust had reassured me that I was spot on with my choice of dress, but I knew I was in for some fairly filthy looks throughout the day.

  Well, fine, I thought recklessly. Bring it on.

  I looked back up at Elliot and saw for the first time that he loosely held two bright yellow flowers in his hand. Seeing the direction of my gaze, he lifted them up and then tucked one under his right brace so it stuck out cheerfully from his chest.

  "Here," He gestured for me to tip my head down and, when I obliged, leant forward to thread the stem of the second flower through the messy bun I'd shoved my hair into earlier. I held myself still as he worked, conscious that all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around his waist and tell him that I understood what he was going through and, whatever he was feeling, it was OK. I was equally conscious, however, that this would go against Elliot's recent, unspoken rule; he could comfort me, but I had to stay well away. And anyway, to be honest, I'm not sure I did understand what he was going through...I'm not sure even he did.

  "They're pretty," I said instead, allowing a finger to reach up to gently trace the petals on his flower.

  "They're gerberas," he replied shortly.

  Having secured
the flower to his liking, he stepped back, and, as he did so, I heard a crackle of paper. Following the sound, I looked down and saw the corner of an envelope poking out of one of the droopy pockets of his voluminous pants.

  "What's that?" I asked, more out of nosey habit than any particular desire to know what he was carting round with him. That was until he slapped his hand down onto his pocket, crushing the envelope down and out of view, then I was very interested.

  "Nothing." AKA something.

  I was so used to saying whatever I wanted to Elliot, it almost physically hurt to hold my tongue this time, but I was determined to persevere. He hadn't called me out over dissolving into a mush of tears every few seconds, so I was going to do my hardest to give him the space he seemed to want in return.

  It was incredibly perverse, but I wished in that moment that Nan was back with us and could tell me what to do. She would have known how to get through to Elliot.

  After a good 10 seconds or so of giving myself a thorough talking to, I felt confident that I wasn't about to grab Elliot by his braces and shake him until he said something real. With this confidence, I opened my mouth to ask him whether it was time to head off to the funeral, but was interrupted by a familiar voice suddenly bellowing his name out in the corridor.

  "In here." Finally, I saw a flicker of the old Elliot as he shouted the reply, swinging round to face the door just as Jonah burst through it.

  There was no momentary pause to take in the situation, or words of greeting. Jonah just grabbed his friend by the scruff of his neck and, in the next moment, Elliot's forehead was pressed against his shoulder.

  I turned away to check my bag had everything I wanted in it. This simple task dragged out for several minutes as the boys had their moment, until I was just standing there with my back to them, my bag hanging listlessly from my fingers.

  Eventually, there was a muted sort of cough and a shuffling of feet and I turned to see that they'd broken apart, although Jonah still rested one, giant hand on Elliot's shoulder.

  "Crap," he said, looking between Elliot and me, "I didn't realise it was fancy dress."

  It was only when I flinched at the volume of his voice that I realised that people had been speaking in sort of hushed tones all week. Apart from when Elliot had yelled at me, obviously. To have someone who sat a little bit apart from all the pain and drama, who just genuinely wanted what was best for Elliot and who I knew would be the best possible ally in the hours to come made me almost wilt in relief.

  It was a symptom of this relief that made me drop my bag down on the floor, run across to Jonah and throw my arms around his big, barrel chest.

  "Er, right, hey Cinders." He awkwardly patted my back a couple of times and I knew he was exchanging a perturbed look with Elliot.

  I suppose it was a bit full on considering the last time he'd seen me I'd been ignoring him in order to concentrate more fully on freaking out about kissing Elliot. God, that seemed so long ago.

  Still, I refused to be embarrassed and when I pulled back I found I was smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in ages. "It's good to see you," I said honestly, adding silently 'Help me help Elliot'.

  There was a pause as Jonah, with a hand on both of us, created a connection I felt I hadn't had with Elliot since the night Nan died. Then Elliot took a step back and said, in his new, forced voice, "How was the trip up? Alright?"

  Jonah's pale, ginger eyebrows rose and then he nodded slowly. "Yeah, mate, it was fine."

  "Good," Elliot nodded as well, his ridiculous cap sliding forward and back with the movement. "Sometimes the highway can get a bit clogged round this time."

  OK, that was one step too far! We had the wonders and pain of the universe to talk about; sex and death and everything in-between, and he wanted to talk about traffic?

  Before I could stop myself, I'd squeaked, "Seriously?"

  He cut his eyes across to me and, in my freaked out state, I could've sworn they were even darker than usual. He held my gaze for a good few seconds, much longer than anything he'd been able to muster over the past few days, but then he looked away.

  I had no idea how long the three of us would have been stuck in this endless rigmarole of Elliot being polite and Jonah and I being freaked out, if there hadn't been a little tap on the door and then my mum's voice saying, "Elliot, the car's ready for you."

  Leaning to one side so I could see past Jonah, I saw her tuck her head round the door. Her eyes widened and I realised that we must have been quite a sight. Elliot dressed like the village idiot, me looking like an adult actor on her way to the porno Oscars, and good old Jonah, a boulder stuffed into a suit.

  I still stood closer to Jonah than was customary, not having moved away after our hug, and, for a split second, I wondered what mum would make of that. Maybe she would think I was rich boy bait, I thought bitterly. I hadn't had the opportunity to call her out further on the things she'd said to me the first night I'd arrived. We'd hardly seen each other and, anyway, it'd really not been the biggest problem on my list.

  "I have to go to the-" Elliot faltered and I realised the word 'funeral' was beyond him. He reworded, and tried again, "I have to go in the family car." The twist to his face told us exactly what he thought of the travel arrangements. "Mate," he focused briefly on Jonah, "can you take Rox?"

  "Got her," Jonah nodded and I busied myself having another go wiping away the failed eye make-up attempt, so they didn't see how that simple, automatic consideration of me made me feel like I was liquefying.

  "Oh, and Rox?" I looked up to see that Elliot had switched his attention to me, the propeller on his head spinning lazily in a mockery of the serious moment.

  "Yeah?" I asked.

  "You look exactly how Nan would have wanted you to."

  For the briefest moment his eyes flicked to my mum and then he looked back at me and I nodded curtly. He'd known, just as clearly as I had, that my mum had been planning to pull me aside and berate me on my outfit choice, and his words had almost certainly saved me from that. Rather than be thankful, however, I just wanted to screech 'stop thinking about me, what about you?'

  "You too," I said miserably, repeating my earlier sentiment, but all out of new things to say to this alternate universe Elliot.

  Even, or maybe especially, in his weird state, I hated that he was being separated from us, but I couldn't begrudge Mrs Sinclair her son today. With this in mind, I just gave a stupid little wave to farewell him, and then he was squeezing past my mum and disappearing out into the corridor.

  There was a ringing silence once he'd gone. I looked across at Mum, still expecting a bit of a lecture, after all, I was dressed as a slut for the funeral of her boss's mother, but was instead horrified to see her eyes filling with tears as mine were so wont to do at the moment.

  After that first day when she'd been more worried about me being used by Elliot than Nan's condition, I hadn't considered that she'd be even in the slightest affected by the whole thing. Now my heart gave a painful thud at seeing her suddenly reveal a less controlled side.

  "Oh, Mum," I moved towards her, but she held up a hand to stop me and took a little step back.

  "You look after him today," she said fiercely, looking first at me and then Jonah. Then, when she saw that her words had had a sufficiently powerful impact, she turned suddenly and disappeared after Elliot.

  "Well, bugger me," Jonah swore, rubbing a hand across his face and sinking down onto my bed. "This is mental. Has he been like that ever since...?"

  "Yep." I could've hugged him all over again for summing the whole thing up so perfectly.

  "What about you?" He added, as I started to walk over to collect up the bag I'd dropped earlier. "Are you OK?"

  I froze, completely floored by the genuine feeling behind the question. Oh God, Abi had found herself a seriously lovely guy. Who would've thought in all those years of cleaning up his vomit while he sat beside me mumbling apologies, that he'd be here breaking my heart by being so incr
edibly sweet?

  "I'm..." I waved my hands around, hoping some word to sum it all up would occur to me. It didn't, but I think Jonah got it anyway.

  "Right, stupid question."

  "No," I reassured him with a little sniff. "It was an incredibly nice question.

  Knowing that even extraordinarily kind guys were bound to get a bit fidgety when faced with a weepy girl they barely knew, I quickly changed the subject. "How's Abi?"

  "Good," his expression immediately lightened at the mention of his girlfriend, and I was horrified to find that just made me want to cry more. "Worried about you, but good. She wanted to come down as well, but-"

  "She's on her scholarship," I finished for him. 'My best friend's mum's boss's son's grandmother has died' probably didn't rate highly as far as excuses for missing a class went. I missed Abi, but really, if I was struggling to hold it together in front of two, fairly stoic men, I trembled to think of how I'd be if my best friend swept in and enveloped me in understanding and love.

  Tearing up just thinking about it, I determinedly turned my attention back to my bag, and instantly hit a snag. How on earth was I going to pick it up without breaking rule number 6 of the girl code, never show your undies to your best friend's boyfriend?

  Geometry had never been my strong suit, so I gave up on considering the angles needed for the task after a second and instead said something I'd been meaning to say for a while. In some ways it wasn't the time, in other ways, in the clichéd way that death made you realise what was important in life, it was exactly the right time.

  "The you and Abi thing," I plucked at my tight dress, feeling bit awkward, "I think in the past I've always been too busy whining about Elliot to say it, but I think it's great."

  Jonah smiled and I got a little buzz out of finally having said the right thing to someone, not that I wasn't planning on immediately ruining the moment...

  "Add your own traditional threats about harm befalling your testicles if you muck her about." Well, it had to be said, didn't it?