3. dangerous water

We didn’t go to Tommy’s place.

We didn’t even get on a bus to Tommy’s place.

We didn’t go anywhere near Tommy’s place.

I could hardly recognise where we went. It was a lake surrounded by several rocks and a mini forest of trees on the other side. There was a small, abandoned house perched up with the trees; the kind of house that was like a fairytale cottage with a chimney, kind of like in Snow White. I’d like to have gone up there.

I vaguely recalled coming here before for a picnic with my parents and my little brother Daniel, but back then it wasn’t this beautiful. I knew Tommy came here often but this was the first time I’d ever been here with him. If he wanted to be somewhere that barely anyone knew about with me, then obviously he had something to tell me. Or maybe he was just bored. The latter meant that I had skipped school for no reason, so I hoped that he did have something to tell me.

He stopped walking and sat down.

I propped myself down next to him, the grass half tickling, half itching me, “Why are we sitting so far from the water? It’s so pretty. You know, I bet the swans are jealous of it, and all the other birds too, because it’s just too pretty for them. That’s why there are no birds around here. They’re scared of being condescended by the pretty water. Yes.” I nodded vigorously. It made sense. I knew it did. When he didn’t reply, I added, “So since the water is so pretty, let’s go closer!” I squealed, jumping up. He grabbed my ankle; a grip so icy I yelped.
“No,” he dragged me back down, “It’s dangerous.” He caressed his right elbow gently.
I frowned, “It doesn’t look that deep.”
“You could fall in anyway, and the creatures that you can’t see might suck you in deeper, past the sea floor, and you’d get lost forever. I could jump in after you, search for you, and probably drown trying.”
“Did you eat some bad peas at lunch?” I raised an eyebrow.

Without a reply, I gave up on trying to get closer to the water. We just sat there, watching the waves ripple and splash on top of the small rocks. The water was a pristine blue; a huge contrast to Tommy’s eyes, which were amber against the sunlight. The scene in front of us could’ve been a painting—it seemed too pure, too perfect to be true. The trees were topped with lusciously green leaves and the lake gently glistened under the sun. It really was like a fairy tale.

I let my hair out and allowed it to stream according to the wind direction. It was my best and most admirable feature, in my opinion. Tommy gently held a few strands in his cold hands and looked at it in admiration and... almost nostalgia for a moment.

“It’s so light...” he murmured, as if in a trance. I blushed, “Why is it so... long?” he muttered, almost to himself.
I cleared my throat, “Maybe because I grew it.”
“Right. That is a rather reasonable explanation.”

I laughed. I was beginning to worry about the fact that he was quite silent the whole journey to this place, but now he was back to his old self. Asshollish, but always managing to make me smile or laugh. I almost forgot that I was supposed to be at school (but I really did want to skip that math class).

“So, you made me ditch school just to come here with you. What’s your explanation, mister?” I demanded, crossing my arms and pretending to be all high and mighty.
“I just wanted you to come with me,” he shrugged loosely, lay on his back, and closed his eyes.
“You’re tired again, aren’t you?” I sighed, lying down beside him.
“Maybe,” he whirred out, not opening his eyes.
“You should stop coming home so late,” I accused, “Even I don’t know where you go or what you do so late at night... or so early in the day.”
“I’m sorry, Ash,” he said quietly, “Personal stuff.”

I understood. Whenever he said ‘sorry’, you could bet your life that he was being serious. I knew because I knew Tommy, and I knew how he was with his personal life. And that didn’t only include objects in his room. Without him telling me, I could deduce that he didn’t have a very good relationship with his mother, and he didn’t have a father that I knew of. To him, his home ‘reeked of his mother’s smell and her cooking’, to put it in his exact words. Mrs. Hayford was working most of her life.

Outside of home it was for Tommy most of the time.

“You’re uncomfortable,” he said loudly, “Don’t let me get to you. This is a really nice place. Enjoy it while you can.”

I smiled and relaxed in my position. I stared at the sky, examining the pretty fluffy formations that we humans called clouds. It seemed rather ridiculous that something so cute and white was actually stinky and full of raindrops.

“Can you see the bunny?” I asked, “That one right there. It’s looking down, though,” I pointed to the cloud.
“It looks more like a dying rose to me,” he said, narrowing his eyes as if he could see further if he did so, “being engulfed in flames...” his voice drifted off, and he closed his eyes again.

Even though he wasn’t looking, I frowned upon him. Sure, make me laugh and smile once, then ruin the whole afternoon by destroying my fantasy. I couldn’t look at the cloud in any other way now, and it wasn’t drifting away. Thanks, Tommy. Thanks to you and your morbid mind.

I breathed out and sought out some more cutely shaped clouds. I found a rocking horse and a dragon but decided not to alert the oh-so-innocent Tommy about it since, one: he’d spoil the image for both the prettily shaped clouds and move on to comparing the rest of them to god knows what, and two: he looked so peaceful and serene, his slight form so gently still on the fresh grass.

A soft breeze misshaped the clouds and flexed the long grass around Tommy. They softly swayed around him, like little fairies daintily dancing around a beautiful flower. Because that was what he was; a beautiful being in the cruel world he lived in.

His face twitched. Just lying there, I realised how vulnerable he looked and smiled. I reached out to stroke his cheek, but stopped myself because I knew that would wake him up (from past experience, and, well, he was an abnormally light sleeper).

Abruptly, he gasped, his eyes snapped open and he sat up. Startled, I jumped up. He inhaled, exhaled quickly and looked around him. His eyes were wild, still amber.
“Did you...” he started, then blinked, “Were you watching me the whole time?” his tone changed suddenly, from confused to somewhat quizzical.
“Uhh... maybe?” I said, looking around and pretending to look for something. No way was I going to get caught out again. It was just too embarrassing, “I was just looking for more clouds.”
“On my face?”
“Don’t be so up yourself,” I scoffed, “I was just looking at you because you woke up like a little kid who just had a nightmare.”

He looked slightly offended. Pleased, I stood up.

“Where are you going?” he asked, already recovered from the slight humility he had just suffered.
“I... don’t know,” I said and looked around where I was standing. Why did I stand up? Tommy smirked at me as I slowly sunk back onto the grass. Damn, why couldn’t I embarrass him without embarrassing myself a few seconds later?

He didn’t lie down again. He kept his eyes wide open, as if afraid to fall asleep again.

“So...” I said, “Did you have a bad dream?”
He coughed, then laughed, “No. Well, yes. I was dreaming about you,” he teased.
I slapped his shoulder, “That’s mean.”
“You know what, Ashley?” He stood up, “I don’t care!”
“Now what are you standing up for?” I questioned.
“Unlike you, I have a reason. I have something I want to do,” he answered, and briskly walked away.

Obviously he was leaving the option of following him to wherever up to me to take up. Well, I followed him, even though I knew very well that whenever he does this, it’s usually when he doesn’t want to be followed. Also, I didn’t really like the idea of being left alone in a place I didn’t know, no matter how pretty it was.

I was glad I ignored my mind’s protests and warnings against a potential deathly cold glare from Tommy and followed him because we ended up going to the cottage I saw and wanted to visit earlier. We walked for fifteen minutes in silence, but filled it up by breathing in the scent of fresh grass and enjoying the breeze.

“I come here when I need to think,” he told me before opening the door.
“You think?” I asked, amused.
“Of course. I’m very pensive.”

I rolled my eyes.

The cottage was rather unkempt and rough-looking. Well, it was to be expected, being abandoned and occupied by Tommy, who didn’t have the word ‘tidy’ in his vocabulary. Before us was a wide stretch of chipped brick wall; the smudged graffiti on it had faded somewhat. A large, dead tree arched over itself nearby, sending dark, misshapen shadows trickling over the long grass; I saw it looking out the heavily cobwebbed and dusty window with busted frames.

On the back of the door was three words scrawled in red permanent marker and judging from the way the ink smudged (quite terribly) from left to right, the person who wrote it was left-handed.

Til Ella’s 21st

Under it was a sequence of crossed-out numbers starting from fourteen. They stopped counting down at nine.

I beamed toothily at the back of Tommy’s head. He looked startled and nearly jumped back in surprise when he turned around and saw me grinning at him like an idiot.
He recovered, and frowned, “What?”
“Who’s Ella?” I swooned, clasping my hands together and putting them on the side of my tilted face. I pasted what I knew was an annoyingly sweet smile on my face and hoping that my eyes twinkled so I looked like a love-crazy girl from dramas.

He turned his head away from me and looked up out of the window. I bounded to him, making giggly noises and slapping him on his back, “No need to be shy, Tommykins, you can tell your Ashes anything!”

Actually, I was rather jealous, and I would be at any girl who had a closer relationship to Tommy than I did.

He muttered, almost inaudibly, an answer to my question, “You don’t know her.”

Come to think of it, who was Ella? Did he even know who she was? I mean, anyone could’ve written her pretty name on the door; it wasn’t necessarily Tommy who wrote it. There were plenty of left-handed people out there. Then again, he did answer as if he knew her.

I knitted my brows together, deciding to push further, “Well, can I meet her?”
He laughed bitterly, emotionlessly, then smacked his lips and sharply inhaled as if he had eaten something spicy that hurt his tongue, “No.”

I was stung and bit my bottom lip. Did he have to keep this girl who may or may not be his girlfriend a secret from me?

But all the hurt and disappointment faded away and transformed into awe as he whipped out a thick black marker and wrote something on the door in his own speedy, jagged writing.

The immediate smudges caused by the side of his left hand made the dark ink appear to be thick, oozing black blood, the grim nature of the words emphasised.

Then he turned around, smiling at me bitter-sweetly, as if he were remembering some good times. The pain etched on his face was unreadable, yet unbearable for me to watch, and my heart slowly shattered when I saw a single, glistening tear roll from his eye.

The flames from hell took her away from me.