Page 75 of A Dead Man's B-Side
I didn’t remember how he’d gotten here or when he’d started smoking my cigarettes, but the conjugation was of greater concern at the moment.
So, an ‘e’ makes the noun feminine, and in passé composé there is an extra e on the verb… but also an s? If it’s plural?
I was beginning to get the hang of learning a new language, and I almost smiled in pride before a prickling wave sent a zap through the calm atmosphere; the suffocating presence that wasWolf Kingsley. I sent him a dark sidelong glance that he’d caught and returned with one of confusion. I didn’t elaborate, turning back to my work.
“No need for the long face, I have a coat for you if you need it.”
“Hmm?”
I could hear him take another drag of mycigarette as I closed my workbook and set it aside, standing from my desk and stretching out my limbs. There was no point in forcing myself to focus if Wolf didn’t look like he was leaving.
The boy in question spoke through the smoke billowing out from between his lips, “I said I have a coat for you, if ever you need one.”
I stood silent for a few moments, wondering how I’d appear to him depending on my answer. If I refused, I’d be cold and he would know I was too proud to be smart.
If I accepted his offer, I’d feel that I would owe him, and I didn’t like the feeling of accepting help from others unless they are the ones indebted to me. Not particularly because I wanted one over them, but because when you have nothing to offer others for the entirety of your life and suddenly, you do, it makes asking for help a little easier.
Wolf looked to me for an answer and I gazed back, refusing to give one until, after a silence that stretched for far too long, he stubbed the cigarette he’d held between his fingers on my soap tray,flicking it out onto the field below before reaching for the homework I’d just finished.
He didn’t explain or look back before walking straight out of my dorm, quietly shutting the door behind him.
I stood exactly where I was in equal silence and confusion, looking around the empty room before my eyes reached my door, waiting.
If he didn’t return with the homework I had put my full brain power into completing, he’d be drinking liquids through the gaps I’d be making in his teeth.
It wasn’t long before Wolf re-emerged, sauntering into my dorm as if it were his own. In his right hand was a mass of thick black fabric that I couldn’t properly make out, and something similar yet grey in his left.
He moved closer towards me and held out his right hand, nodding for me to grab whatever it was he was offering. “For the homework. I haven’t done mine yet, and French is a pain.”
I knew what he was doing. I knew what Wolf was doing.
Nonetheless, I reached for it and unfolded what appeared to be a trench coat. I swallowed the strange lump growing in the back of my throat and looked to Wolf as he peered back at me with indifference. Except, Wolf didn’t know how to school his features as much as he thought he did, and the barely-there crinkle of fondness around his eyes was more than noticeable.
“No problem,” I mumbled.
He nodded curtly before throwing his own trench coat onto my bed with a careless fling of his arm, his attention on the secret stash of cigarettes he kept dipping his sticky fingers into.
Upon joining him by the open window, I found it wasn’t so bad being friendly with Wolf.
Sure, I enjoyed riling him up, but when he was like this, mostly silent, it wasn’t so bad.
“What was your mother like?”
Never mind.
I shrugged, breathing out the smoke through my nose with a sigh. “A mother… I don’t know how else to describe her.”
Wolf dropped his head and huffed out a breath, ignoring the sidelong glance I sent him. “Try.”
I took an even deeper breath, as if each molecule of oxygen would lend me strength, bravery to open the dark and bolted box that only begged to be opened in the dead of night. A soft and enticing whisper, a scream when I refused. “She had pale skin and hair to match, blue eyes–”
Wolf laughed quietly. “I didn’t mean what she looked like. I mean… Like–what was she like as a person, her character?”
His question stumped me. Because I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know my mother, and that realization hurt more than I thought it would. “I… She used to…”
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
