Page 57 of How We Began

This is what Tristan does, though. He ducks and dives his way out of all sorts of trouble with our parents. Once, when they went away for the weekend, he and his stoned buddies set light to the priceless Turkish rug in the lounge. Instead of owning up, he doused the whole thing in water and then blamed it on a random bolt of lightning that magically shot through the window setting fire only to the rug.

Mum and Dad practically fell at his feet praising him for saving their house and possessions. Mum then turned on me and said, “Where were you, Lilah, whilst all this was happening and your brother was being a hero? In your room, no doubt, reading.”

My brother walks on water and shoots balls of fire out of his arse and all sorts of amazing things. I’ve just remembered why we’ve not been friends for years.

I glared at him, unable to put any words together while Ben sat on the end of my bed rubbing my feet. I love the fact that he does things like that even though we’re not together. Like sometimes he just absentmindedly catches my hand and holds it for a few moments, not saying a word.

Hold on! I was writing about how I was glaring at Tristan not dribbling over Ben.

“Well, don’t you think it is all a little bit over the top? I mean, really? I can’t believe that he’s going to all this effort just because you left your job and went to uni,” Goth Chick said from her seat on my little twirly desk chair.

I don’t know why she was in my room or when she had become part of our gang.

“Ugh, let’s not think about it now,” I pleaded, throwing myself back on my pillows. “It’s all too much for me to contemplate right now.”

“And anyway, Ben has a gig tonight. You guys are all going, aren’t you?”

There was a chorus of yeses and nods.

“Are you not coming?” The blues stared at me intently.

“I don’t want to be a kill joy and I’m not really in the party mood.”

“Well, I’d prefer it if you were there,” he said quietly, just for me, while he blinked at me with those damn blues. Oh he knew what he was doing alright, he’d got it down to a T.

The freckles crinkled as he sensed me give in.

“Oh, okay,” I sighed, putting in some drama. “I’ll come. But I should warn you, sober fan girls are notoriously boring.”

He just laughed and gave my big toe a tug as he eased out from under my feet. “I doubt that very much, Miss McCannon.”

13th January

It’s official. I can’t resist Ben.

I can resist alcohol, cigarettes, and junk food, but I can’t in any way resist anything to do with Ben. It feels like he has become some sort of integral part of my being, and it really hurts knowing that, once again, I’ve done the unspeakable and let us overstep our boundaries, because it kills me to get over this every time. Trying to force the memory of his touch and hands from my mind makes it so much more painful and even harder to forget. Standing next to him every day and talking to him like we’re just buddies makes me want to yank my tongue out.

The gig was amazing, and as surprising as it was, I managed to stay sober the whole way through.

My defences began to crumble when I saw Ben turning down offers of drinks. It took a moment for the penny to drop, but then I realised he was only doing it because I wasn’t drinking.

That kind of dedication was hard to ignore.

Sound Box were amazing. On the front of the stage, with palpable magnetism, Ben just stole my heart. I mean, he’s had it anyway, but this time he plucked it from my chest and pocketed it to keep.

His eyes caught mine, mid song, mid talking to the crowd, mid being awesome. I knew his focus was solely on me when the set ended and they came off the stage, the energy so high you could almost taste it in the air. They all went to the bar but Ben swerved to where I was lingering near a wall, my heart close to splitting in two. He could feel it, I knew he could, the precipice on which I balanced, teetering one way or another, ready to fall.

“Lilah?” The distance between us ached.

“Ben.” His name caught in my throat. “You, you…”

“Amazing guitar playing sex god?” His smile flashed.

“If I say yes, will I ever live it down?”

He took one step closer. “That depends.”

“On what?”