The Definition of Fflur

by E. S. Carter

  I inhale a long, slow breath that smells like sunshine. Like Galen.

  Looking at him from under my eyelashes—an attempt to look seductive and teasing, even though it's unlikely I pull it off—I hoarsely whisper, "What are you saying that for? Are you offering?"

  Galen's lips part, and a warm gust of his breath blows over my cheeks, heating them further.

  He's got that wicked grin on his face that usually means he's up to no good.

  "What if I was, Fflur, what would you do about it?"

  With that he takes a step back, my hands fall away from his chest, and he turns and walks back to his room leaving his door open.

  Is that an invitation?

  Every single hair on my arms stands on end.

  My stomach churns.

  Between my legs tingles and dampens.

  He can't mean what I think he means.

  Even so, I step up to the entrance of his room and find him stood facing the door waiting for me.

  The room is dark. The only light coming from the hallway behind me, and yet I can see Galen as clearly as if he were in sunlight.

  My chest feels tight. Goosebumps break out on my skin. My eyes nervously skitter over his face and down his body.

  The loose sport shorts he's wearing hide nothing.

  He's hard.

  I feel like I'm standing on a tectonic plate that's vibrating wildly after colliding with another.

  "Come and sit with me."

  My eyes snap back towards his. My mouth is dry. We shouldn't do this, and yet I step forward. I know he would never take advantage of me, but I would give anything for him to kiss me.

  Galen sits at the edge of his bed and pats the space next to him.

  On jelly legs, I slowly walk into his room and sit awkwardly, ensuring there's a space between us.

  "I won't bite, Fflur."

  Slowly—oh, so slowly—his hand reaches out and grasps mine on my thigh. Our fingers link and that single touch of his skin against mine turns the tingle between my legs into a throb.

  I've never so much as kissed a boy, and yet Galen can hold my hand, and it feels like the most erotic experience of my life.

  With his free hand, he gently uses his pointer finger on my chin to turn my face towards his.

  "Have you ever been kissed, Fflur?"

  I lick my lips and give an almost imperceptible shake of my head.

  "I can help you with that."

  Slowly, ever so slowly, his head moves towards mine. My eyes fix on his pale pink lips, and when we touch—even though it's only a whisper of skin on skin—I feel the contact on every inch of my body.

  With great care, his lips brush mine causing them to tingle and my breath to hitch, and his finger on my chin turns into his entire hand. Cupping my face, he carefully tilts my mouth exactly where he wants it, then and only then does he kiss me.

  Deeply.

  Fully.

  His lips touching mine, as his tongue learns the contours of my mouth.

  Elation thrums through my blood, and my hands shake so much that he tightens his hold on the one on my thigh, and involuntarily my other comes up to grasp his t-shirt.

  Then, it's over.

  His lips leave mine. His forehead leans against my brow and his panting breath puffs over my kiss wet lips.

  If I could bottle this moment, I would. Better yet, if I could find a flower to absorb the entire memory, I wouldn't press it into a scrapbook, I'd preserve it in an airtight box so that it would remain perfect forever.

  "Do you regret it?” I ask him.

  His forehead rolls against mine.

  "No, I could never regret anything with you."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It's the evening after my final GCSE exam.

  Max and Mum are in bed, but Galen is stealing us alcohol.

  I find him rooting around in the bottom cupboard of the kitchen, where Max hides the good stuff.

  "What are you doing?"

  He grabs the bottle of vodka then walks over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of Coke.

  "Get some glasses, Fflur. Let's celebrate."

  "You didn't finish your exams today."

  "No, but you did. Come on, let's have a drink."

  I follow him up to my bedroom where he proceeds to pour us generous glasses of vodka barely topping them up with Coke.

  We both sit against my headboard and sip from our drinks.

  The vodka burns as it slides down my throat. I don't particularly like the taste, but I'll drink it slowly. One more sip and I can feel it warming the blood in my veins and pooling in my belly.

  I'm too sensible to get drunk, and acknowledging this—even to myself—is a little sad. What average sixteen-year-old isn't interested in getting drunk?

  Me.

  I'm a nerd who gets top marks at everything. In fact, the only thing that I could ever be accused of doing that was wrong is having these feelings for Galen.

  I kissed a boy who might become my future stepbrother.

  'But it was more than that,' my heart whispers. 'It was more than a kiss, and you know it.'

  Despite not drinking much, I can feel I'm tipsy.

  "Let's do something," I say to Galen as he pours himself another glass.

  "Do what?"

  "I don't know," I shrug and my elbow catches his, causing a little of the liquid in his glass to tip over his fingers. "I've never done anything crazy in my life."

  "And you want to do something crazy now? It's midnight."

  "Yes," I say, hitting the mattress for emphasis. "Let's go skinny dipping."

  Galen laughs. It's big, it's wild, and it's free.

  I love it.

  "Now, that would be crazy considering the nearest water to here is the shallow brook in the woods."

  I pout. It feels silly on my face. I'm not that kind of girl.

  "Oh, come on. We can't go skinny dipping." He takes another gulp of his vodka and shakes his head. "How about we go for a walk and see if those flowers that bloom in the night are out?"

  "Evening primrose," I clarify.

  "Whatever. Do you want to go and see them?"

  "Yeah," I say with a vodka grin. "I do."

  We're quiet on the way to the brook. Galen carries the bottle of vodka, but I know I won't drink anymore. At the first sound of the water, he strips off his socks and shoes, pushes down his shorts, and tugs off his t-shirt.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Well," he begins with his trademark smirk. "We can't skinny dip, but we sure can splash."

  With that, he takes off down the hill and strides straight through the shallow water, kicking his feet as high as he can, sending arcs of water into the air. He's twirling and splashing and acting like a complete idiot, and I can't help the laugh that bursts from my chest.

  "Come on, Fflur. You wanted to do something reckless."

  I take off my shoes, slide off my bottoms and stand at the brow of the hill in only my tiny, pink flowery boy shorts, and plain white tee.

  "I'm not taking it all off," I tell him as I jog down the slope, and I squeal when my feet hit the cold water. "Jesus. This is bloody freezing. It's supposed to be summer."

  Cold, wet hands wrap around my waist and pick me up, twirling me in the air and laughing loud and free.

  "Put me down, Galen," I demand, giggling and screeching, not at all wanting him to put me down.

  But he does, and he dumps me so fast, I land on my arse in the freezing cold water.

  "You prick!" I yelp, placing both my hands in the water and scooping through it to splash him.

  I growl at him, but he just laughs before lying down flat in the water and allowing the slow trickle to push him further downstream.

  "You're crazy," I call after him.

  "Only when you ask me to be," he calls back.

  Later, as we shiver on the bank, pulling our dry clothes over wet skin, he looks at me, and the connection between us crackles, much like it did before we kissed.


  "Galen," I whisper hoarsely, while my heart shouts in my chest to 'Tell him. Tell him.'

  He moves closer, and I swear my heart stops.

  "Yeah, what do you want, Fflur?"

  "I— I—"

  I'm about to confess—about to spill my guts on the grassy ground at his feet, with the scent of Evening Primrose thick on our tongues—when a rustling in the trees across the brook gets both our attention.

  Through the thick foliage on the opposite bank, the head of a fox pops out and regards us.

  "Holy shit," Galen whispers. "Look at that."

  Moving closer to me, his wet hand finds mine and links our fingers.

  We watch as the fox decides if it should be worried about our presence. When it's sufficiently happy that we aren't a threat, its entire copper body emerges from the greenery. Its long bushy tail tipped with white stands perfectly straight as he continues to stare at us, still assessing, until it slowly makes its way down to the brook, takes a long drink and then turns, disappearing back into the dark wood without so much as a second glance.

  Galen doesn't ask me to repeat what I was going to say. Instead, we savour the quietness of the moment all the way home.

  He never once let's go of my hand.

  I wake up the following morning in my bed with Galen spooned against my back.

  His breath falls evenly across my nape. His arm is slung around my waist. The heavy weight of it is more than comforting. It sends a thrill to each of my nerve endings.

  I try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he murmurs in his sleep and pulls me in tighter.

  He needs to get out of here. He's got coursework to hand in this morning.

  "Galen," I mumble, elbowing him in the stomach.

  He jerks up so abruptly that he almost pushes me out of bed. "Wha— what's wrong?"

  "Well, I don't have school," I say smiling to myself. "But you do."

  He flops back down onto the bed and groans, "Don't make me go."

  "If I don't make you go, then Mum will be up here dragging you out of your bed. Only you're not in yours, are you?"

  He stills.

  Not that anything has happened between us since that one kiss, but it still wouldn't look good if someone were to see us like this. Even though we’re not doing anything wrong. After all, he's not my blood relative. He's not my relative at all.

  Galen jumps out of bed. Obviously, my words have woken him up fully. Without saying anything to me, he yanks open my bedroom door, darts across the hallway to his and slams his door behind him.

  I growl at my open doorway, too warm and cosy to bother getting out of bed to close it. I turn over, bury my face in the half of my pillow that smells like sunshine, and I'm asleep within minutes.

  The next time I wake up, it's because my phone is vibrating.

  It's a group message from Emma and Erin nagging me about the end of year dance.

  Somehow they've convinced me to go, although it's the last thing that I want to do.

  I check the message to find details of the shopping trip they’ve planned for us to buy dresses. I should probably tell Mum.

  I bet she'll be ecstatic to find out I'm finally doing something every other girl my age wants to do—go out, dance, have fun, and giggle about boys.

  Only there are no boys for me.

  Just Galen.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dress shopping for the end of year dance may be my least favourite activity, ever.

  As I suspected, my mother was over the moon with the fact that I was finally going to my first dance, and gave me far too much money for an outfit, shoes, makeup, and a list of things I have no intention of buying.

  So, here I am at the local shopping centre, trailing behind Emma and Erin as they debate over duck egg blue chiffon or pink sequins.

  I'm tempted to disappear and head home—Emma is unlikely to miss me—but Erin seems to be as out of her depth as I am. I stay, for her.

  Hours later, they've finally decided on their dresses, while I bought a black, lace dress from the first store we visited. If not for my loyalty to Erin, I could have gone home only thirty minutes into this trip.

  Emma convinces us we need new makeup too, so that's another hour spent in Boots listening to her advice on the finer details of contouring. It’s bizarre, listening to her talk about primer and highlighters when a few weeks ago we’d be talking about books, movies or music.

  I don't know where my old friend has gone—it's like an invasion of the body snatchers—but Toby Canter sticks his hand down her knickers once and she’s suddenly turned into a carbon copy of every other girl in my school.

  Erin goes along with it all because she likes an easy life, but I'm here, in the fake, floral scented cosmetics department, with something called 'shimmer highlighter' in my hand, and no idea how or why I got here.

  I’d rather be in bed or exploring the countryside.

  Or anywhere with Galen.

  I thank every God I don't believe in when I'm finally deemed dance ready by Emma, and I head home with bags full of stuff that I'll never use.

  It’s the day of the dance, and Mum once more invites the girls over to get ready at her house.

  I know she's arranged it out of excitement for me, but if I could've faked some kind of contagious illness, I would have. I even Googled symptoms and had my back-story ready to go, but the look on my mother's face when I tried my dress on for her was enough to have me chickening out of faking the measles. Besides, I think I've had the vaccinations so it might have been difficult to pull off.

  Mum helps us all get ready, pinning my long hair into a messy but pretty up do, and giving Erin perfectly feline-lined eyes that make her usually shy amber gaze, confident and enchanting. She even gives us each a small glass of wine and lemonade, elevating her to ‘cool mother’ status with Emma.

  By the time we get to the school hall, where crowds of our peers mingle excitedly waiting for the band to start, even I'm feeling a little more enthusiastic about the evening ahead.

  That is until Galen and his band are announced as the opening act. He didn't tell me they were playing tonight. Then again, I didn't ask.

  The crowd cheers, although it's mostly girls with a few catcalls from Galen's gang of friends, and Galen and his other two band mates saunter onto the stage.

  As I always suspected he would, he owns the performance; his band mates are merely accessories.

  They only play two songs, but like most of the females in the audience, I’m transfixed.

  I don't blink, I don't dance, and I swear until the moment he walks off the stage to rapturous applause, I barely even breathe.

  Galen will be a star one day. And I will forever be condemned to become one of his many admirers.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  "Look at her. She's practically drooling. It's pathetic and beyond perverted. I mean he's her brother."

  "Em, please don't make a scene. Not tonight."

  The lights have gone up for the stage change, and as Emma's snide words register, I not only feel the cut of her hate, but also the harsh stare of dozens of eyes.

  Everyone around us is quiet. Too quiet.

  "I'm not making a scene, she is." Emma stands in my personal space; hip cocked, both hands on her waist, and her contoured face twisted into a hateful and ugly mask. "She's sick. Didn't you see the way she watched Galen? The way she always watches Galen."

  My eyes flick from Emma to Erin, and even underneath the quieter girl’s makeup, I can see the pallid tone to her skin.

  She's not joining in, but she's not stopping this either.

  "What? Got nothing to say?" Emma looks around at the crowd she's drawn, and her face takes on a manic glee. "Oh, that's right. You can't say anything because it's true. You want to fuck your brother. Admit it."

  I'm mute.

  "I bet your mother is so proud of you both. Fucking freaks."

  I don’t think, I act, as I turn on shaking legs to run away, and my eyes c
atch the amused stares of my schoolmates.

  Panic swells in my gut like a tsunami; a wave of shame crashing through me as my heels clatter down the empty hallway towards the bathrooms.

  They can’t know.

  They can’t understand what I feel for him.

  I need a flower. I need one desperately.

  A sharp pain stabs and gouges at the centre of my chest. My lungs burn and my throat clogs with humiliation, embarrassment, and fear. My fingers hit the hard surface of the door, and I use the last of my strength to push into the empty room. In seconds, I'm at the sinks throwing cold water in my face, uncaring about the make up my mother so carefully helped me apply. Her smile while completing the task was filled with a joy that I hadn't seen on her face for quite some time. She wanted us to bond over these typical mother-daughter rituals, and tonight was her opportunity.

  For some reason, remembering her smile—her pride for me shining brightly in her eyes—only makes this hurt so much more.

  Why did I make it so obvious?

  Why didn't he tell me he was playing? I could have prepared myself.

  The door squeaks open, and I feel someone enter the bathroom.

  It's him. He's found me.

  I wish he hadn't, and yet I hoped he would; my heart and head demanding of me two very different responses.

  "Don't," I warn with shaky, uneven breaths. "Don't come in here."

  "Fflur, it's okay."

  "It's not. It's not okay."

  With my head bowed and my hands braced on the sink, I see him move slowly in my peripheral vision. Between one slow blink and the next, a small, almost closed daisy is placed on the porcelain in front of me.

  "I had this in my pocket all night. It's not doing so well, but I thought you might need it."

  My eyes threaten to overflow, my heart desperately clawing at my chest. If it breaks free, it will land with a heavy splat at his feet, and I fear it will never again beat without him near.