My bedroom door closes softly and I shift to the left, waiting for him to meet me halfway.
I force myself not to fully wake up because I'm sure as soon as he lays down in bed he's going to fall asleep. He wraps a cold arm around my body and sniffs my hair, neck, shoulder.
“I thought you were not coming tonight,” I whisper.
He sighs, like he has been holding that same breath for hours, “I couldn't sleep.”
I turn around to face him. His mess of curls are everywhere and his mouth smells a little like beer and weed and chocolate. He stares back with a content smile that grows bigger, painfully happier, when he realizes what has been playing on the speakers.
“I had this song in my head all day.”
His lips brush mine, before resting on my forehead, and I press my nose against his chest. His fingers waltz over my spine making me giggle. When his voice fills the room — the house, the city, the whole cosmos — I can barely tell which leg is mine and which is his.
“No one does it like you.”
little kingdoms in your chest
It's the beginning of the first semester and I walk an extra mile to avoid the main entry of the university surely full of my shiny happy fellow students eager to talk about summer and their pathetic adventures and make me feel miserable.
My cellphone starts ringing at the same time I see Kim, smoking a cigarette against a tree. She's wearing a sundress and big combat boots, her red hair like flames in the brightness of the autumn morning.
“Hey!” I shout and she looks up, all crazy eyed.
“Dude! I have been trying to call you since, I don't know, yesterday. Where the fuck have you been?”
We walk together to what people call the old building. Since no one has classes there anymore, it is quite literally falling apart, and all the straightedge kids believe it is haunted with heroin addicts and bipolar fuck ups with knives, it's the perfect place to hang out. Because of exactly that and the inside garden Buck, the communist janitor who was in jail, keeps in perfect state like a sacred place, a healthy lung full of oxygen in a cancerous body, we — the potheads, the depressed, the lazy ones — call it Eden. A couple of professors have their offices in the old building — most of them are ancient, alcoholic and hate to teach — so the little cafeteria still serves some baked goods and coffee. I understand how it can look scary from the outside, and I'm glad it does since it keeps unwanted people from messing up our vibes, but the only time I witnessed something bad happen one of the guys wasn't even studying here. Still, now we have Officer After looking out for us. He is around twenty eight and hot as hell. Every gothic, hipster, freak, punk girl has a crush on him. Kim included. She has just bought two large cups of coffee when he appears, rubbing his brown eyes. We both hear her sigh but I'm the only one who laughs.
“Good morning, girls. How was your summer? I hope you haven't done anything reckless. Or illegal.”
“Oh no, sir!” I salute him and he grins “We've tried to rob a liquor store but then princess Kim here wouldn't shut up about the guy's kids and his wife and how because of us they wouldn't have any christmas presents and how the wife would probably have to sell her body to buy food...” I drink up, gesturing with my free hand a never ending loop.
Officer After chuckles and, just before we step into the garden, checks out Kim's legs. Again, I'm the only one who laughs. Nathan calls out from our corner, a black freckled spot next to the dozens of pink roses.
“You look surprisingly happy for someone who's going to be murdered.”
It's the beginning of the semester and he has already several books trying to escape from his backpack. I whistle Monty Python's Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life but have no idea what he's talking about. Kim sits next to him waving goodbye to Officer After.
“I haven't told her yet,” She says and this time I'm the only one who doesn't laugh.
“What now?” I honestly wasn't expecting drama this early in the day. They exchange looks, as if to decide who should tell it. I wait rolling up a cigarette. Kim wins.
“Okay. It has to do with Satan.”
I suppress a smile. Of course it has. “Go on.”
“Someone saw him getting out of your house last week. At like nine in the morning. And that someone told Sandra but you know how she is with that he-may-fuck-others-but-he-loves-me attitude. No biggie.” Nathan is nodding, I'm bored. “But then that someone saw him get out of your house again. And again. And again. And Sandra's people started talking. Warning, telling old tales, etc. She still didn't sweat it. Until yesterday. Dude, it was her birthday.”
Kim stops talking, maybe waiting for my reaction. This isn't news to me. I mean, I didn't know I was on the rumor mill again but I know how he treats his girlfriends and how they still love the shit out of him. I know he is a perfect asshole.
“Helena told me they had plans of spending the night together and he totally bailed after the business time,” Nathan continues “I guess Sandra grew a set of balls because she followed him. To your house. And then back here in the morning. She confronted the fucker in front of everybody.” Nathan's eyes are glowing with excitement. I also know how he hates Satan. And why.
I shrug “What has any of this have to do with me?”.
Kim grabs my arm dramatically “He told her you never did it. Never had sex.”
“Sandra started barking,” Nathan tells “Asking why, I mean, demanding an explanation. He didn't say anything. He didn't even look guilty or I don't know, amused. Just bored to death. The whole hallway went quiet for a full minute. And then Sandra lost it. She was hysterical, calling you every name in the book, and other nasty words like love”.
Again, not news. Satan's last girlfriend also came to the poor conclusion that, if he didn't fuck me but still spent most of his nights in my bed, love had something to do with it. Love. Like he would be capable of feeling such thing at this point. Now I see why this was mildly important. I sigh. Definitely too early for confrontation. In their stupid brains it is always my fault. In their stupid brains sex isn't cheating, love is.
“What are you going to do?” Kim asks, still worried.
I give her a big smile and lay down on the grass, “Wait.”
The worst part is that Sandra also hangs out in Eden. She has that whole Lolita thing going on, with the vintage clothes and high heels and overdone chest tattoos of hearts and birds and the most annoying laugh in the history of annoying laughs. She shouldn't be here. There's nothing wrong with her. Eden is a place where everybody drowns, sad and lonely. Nathan starts reading out loud Hemingway's Fiesta. His voice is raw, low. After several pages I think I'm going to fall asleep but Satan's hair covers up the sun making me shiver from the sudden shade.
“Cunt,” I groan.
He giggles.
“You could have said we had sex, you know.” And for a second he looks at me the some way he does when we're in bed. Like I'm his lampshade. The garden is getting crowded, two different songs playing in two different laptops mixed with the sound of soda cans opening and grinders grinding. Satan turns to Kim, who is drawing in her moleskin, “You look terribly cute today.” She blushes and looks straight at me. This is one of the things I hate about my girl friends. They do feel and act like he is, like he is well, my boyfriend. Most of them are hopelessly romantic and believe we are going to end up together, that our relationship is beautiful and pure and that he truly loves me; that he only messes with them to make me jealous. But I'm not, never was. I know him better than any of them, it's true. I see through the glamour. I know that he messes with them because he enjoys messing with girls, I know he would make out with all of them without giving a second thought about how I would feel. Nathan makes a disgusted sound, packs his stuff and stands up, glancing over at me with some kind of pity, “See you guys later.” He thinks I'm too good for Satan, that I'm just like all the other girls helplessly in love with him, throwing my life, or my love life, away every night I let Satan crawl into my
bed. I watch him go, feeling like shit for breaking his heart, wishing he would understand I'm exactly like the guy he hates.
One of the laptops shuts up and I'm Still Your Fag wins the silence. Even the two or three punks smile. It's an universal amazing song for the good kids of Eden. I close my eyes again, taking a deep breath; the air smells deliciously of flowers, weed and wet dirt from the first signs of rain. I want to kick off my shoes and roll around. It's such a perfect day, weather wise. And then someone barks my name.
“You, bitch!”
I quickly try to analyze the situation. Is she pissed enough to start kicking me? Maybe I should stand up. If she talks down to me she will think she has all the power but I do not care about what she thinks so I stay put. Both Kim and Satan stand up though. Kim looks ready to step in, he looks intrigued and part of me wishes he would slap Sandra, defend my honor and all that bullshit. I swallow it and stay put. All eyes are on her, just like she loves, and then on me, as she reaches our corner. I picture her heel stabbing my eye and some guy yells “Fight!” just like in Scott Pilgrim and I can't help but chuckle. She takes it personally, of course.
“Do you think this shit is funny? Stealing other girls' boyfriends?”.
I try to maintain my voice as calm as ever “Do you think it's funny, how you should be shouting at your boyfriend