Page 68 of How We Began

I walked straight through the door of Ben’s room.

The moment I was through the door the tears started. He was cross-legged on his bed wearing just sweat pants and an old T-shirt, his new guitar across his lap. I needed him like I never knew was possible, a slow and steady ache in the very marrow of my bones that told me if he could just touch me, his hands on my skin, everything would feel slightly better. I walked towards him, legs like lead, in slow motion, even though his bed sat just four short steps away. His face fell and then the guitar was down and I crashed into his arms, sobbing nearly as hard and loud as Meredith.

“Has someone died?”

“They may as well have,” I snotted back through my tears.

I didn’t even know why I was crying so hard, it seemed so irrational, but Meredith must have passed her saltwater tsunami onto me.

He waited while I caught my hitched breath, and then I told him. His arms snaked around me tight, the smell of him washing through my senses; clean worn cotton, cigarettes and Ben.

“It’s just not what I wanted for either of them, you know?” I said, lifting my head and wiping at my nose. Nodding his in agreement, he touched the tip of my nose and a small smile curved his mouth.

“Your nose goes red when you cry.”

“Wonderful.” I tried to look at the end of my nose, crossing my eyes and making him shake his head, but then I remembered the eighteen-year-old in the room next door and all my humour evaporated. Picking up his hand, I traced pattern on his palm. “I mean, you have to be accountable for your actions, but she is eighteen, for fuck's sake,” I said after a few beats of silent tracing, before quickly having another thought. “I could kill my brother. I really could.”

He nodded again in agreement. He was very quiet. A little too quiet.

“What’s wrong?” I lifted my head from where I had collapsed back against his chest; my favourite pillow.

“My mum was eighteen when she had my oldest sister.”

What could I say to that? I knew he came from a broken home, and I guessed he didn’t want to see that happen to either of his friends.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that last time. There's nothing for you to be sorry for.” His voice brushed against my ear, and he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I’m pretty sure he inhaled deeply, and I spun in the moment, never wanting the tangible delicate web of trust we’d weaved to evaporate. I did trust him, as surprising as that seemed after the disaster of Black Lace Gate. Our separation now is nothing more than a means to ensure he leaves with his band. That slices harder than any lacy underwear ever could.

I reached up and swept my lips against his, the sweetest of slow kisses.

“I’m sorry for anything that hurts you.”

Even if it is me, I added in my head. Especially if it is me.

Possibly wrong under the circumstances but I needed the connection between us to last, just a little while longer. There in his room, with a grey and icy January blocked from view, lengthening shadows casting us into just thoughts, feelings, and touch, I climbed onto his lap, pushing him down under me, my lips insistent as they demanded more for him. His palms ran along my spine, anchoring at my hips. “Ben.” I sighed his name like a prayer, and he caught me tighter, melding us together.

This time it wasn’t simply sex. I wanted to connect with him, bond with him. Engrave him on my skin until I’d always carry the scars of where he’d been.

It was different. Slow and exploratory, no hiding. We spoke a language without words as we slowly found each other. And I know that when the time comes, it will be that memory that hurts me the most. It will be that moment that I’ll never be able to erase out of my mind, no matter how much time passes.

I’ll be ninety-nine years old and I still remembering the cold January day. The day I found out that my best friend was pregnant by my brother, I’m going to be an aunty, and I finally connected with someone, connected in a way from which I’d never be able to separate.

17th January

Meredith is still in my room. She’s ignored all of Tristan’s calls. He’s also been calling me and Ben. I had to tell Meredith that Ben knew. He’s been sitting with her, giving the Ben Chambers foot rub, while I’ve been Googling what the hell you are supposed to do when you find out you’re pregnant. I mean, are you supposed to tell someone official? How did everyone survive before Google, because honestly this has stumped me. You can get an MOT easier for a car than you can find out what to do when you are unexpectedly expectant.

I’ve tried to get Mer to the doctor, but she says she’s too scared. I think she needs a bit longer to adjust and hopefully tell Tristan. I’ve got fifteen missed calls on my phone and every time Ben’s beeps with a notification he blanches a funny pale colour. So we are sitting here, the three of us, all of us feeling pretty shitty for one reason or another.

18th January

(8.00 a.m.)

We can’t use the snow as an excuse for not going to class.

Ben and I are going to go. Meredith is staying home with a ‘tummy bug.’

(9.30 a.m.)