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after
When you wake up, you don't remember at first. The feeling of Sean's skin against your cheek, his hand on your hip, it's all so familiar you've never noticed it before, so why would you notice it now? You turn over out of his arms, yawn, and stop mid-stretch as the memories suddenly return. Kissing in the rain, and then later, in the room. This room.For a moment, you stop breathing, wondering what happens now. He's told you, twice even, that he's okay with this, that the two of you are okay. But that was before, and this is after. Whether after will be better or worse than before you don't know, but you do know things are never again going to be the way they were two days ago. This train only goes one way, and all you can do is ride it and hope it stops at the right station.
All you can do is watch, quietly, as Sean slowly wakes up. You've seen him do this hundreds of times in fifteen years of sleepovers. First he rolls over onto his back, right foot tucked behind his left knee. Then he groans and puts his arms over his eyes in a futile protest against the existence of mornings. Any moment now, he'll stretch, blink a few times, and then open his eyes.
"Hey." His voice is soft and sleepy, same as always, yet somehow different. You relax, realising this is how it should be.
"Morning," you smile.
"Is it?"
"'Fraid so. Come on, get up."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do."
Before he can protest, there's a knock on the door, and Jesse's voice ordering you to get up. Sean groans. "Who the fuck turned her into a morning person?" He quickly licks your jaw, kisses you, and disappears into the bathroom.
You try to concentrate on your breakfast, but it's hard when Sean and Jesse, both unusually chipper for this time of day, are talking about the evening's concert. This is the last one of the summer, and Sean, of course, wants it to be perfect.
You're putting too much butter on your bread, as usual, and your mind drifts to your mother, who always smacks you for that. Your mother, who hates it when you call her "mom", instead insisting on "Diana", and whom you haven't talked to since you left Ravenwood nearly two months ago. Jesse's called her parents twice a week, and you're pretty sure Sean's at least sent his family a post card, but you never felt the need to call home. You love each other, your mother and you, but she's never been the worrying, smothering type. Sometimes you think that's one of the reasons David hated her so much.
"What do you think, Nick?" Jesse's voice breaks through your reverie, and suddenly you're catapulted back into the here and now.
"Huh, what?"
Jesse rolls her eyes and mutters something about post-coital bliss, which Sean pointedly ignores. "Opening song for tonight?"
"What's wrong with Faithless? We've been opening with Faithless all summer."
Sean starts to list all the things that are wrong with Faithless, and you decide to concentrate on more pressing matters. David can wait.
In the end, Sean gives in, and you open with Faithless after all. By the end of the song, your arms are already aching, you're sweaty and out of breath, and you wish this could last forever. Sean does his introductionary ramble, waffling about REM for five minutes until Jesse reminds him why you're here. Your drumsticks feel solid and familiar in your hands, and you don't even have to look at the set list to know what the next song is going to be. Sean wraps up his ramble, he and Jesse play the opening chords, and you fall in, lose yourself in the rhythm.
You can barely hear the others over the sound of your drums and the pounding of your blood in your ears. You live for moments like this, when nothing exists but you and your drums, you and the music. And you remember why you took up drumming in the first place.
You were eight when David bought his drum kit. He was still your hero then, the cool older half brother you looked up to immensely, and everything he did, you wanted to do too. So every time he wasn't practising, you took over his kit, until one day you realised you were using it more than he was anymore. You kept playing, no longer because you wanted to be like David, but because you liked it, and because it was the only thing that drowned out the shouting matches between David and Diana.
Before you know it, the last song is over, and for the first time, you hear the audience yell for more. You see Sean grin and whisper something in Jesse's ear. She gives you a doubtful glance, but Sean nods emphatically, and she shrugs and plays. You laugh to yourself as you recognise the song. Trust Sean to end the last show of the summer with a cliché like Turn the Page.
After, you manage to bum a joint from one of the people coming backstage to congratulate you on "a fucking great show," and you and Sean smoke it outside. It's mostly just like always, except for some details. Sean's arm around your shoulder is familiar, but now he occasionally strokes your neck, and you can't remember you ever used to stand this close to him, or leaned in to kiss him.
The next morning is more of the same. Driving, with Sean next to you, as always, except he never before held your hand, fingers entwined with yours. Until now, until after.
When you stop for gas, Sean insists on getting cigarettes, claiming he's allowed to because he doesn't have to spare his voice anymore. Back in the car, Jesse asks her daily question, and Sean starts telling her about Miss Liz. You remember the fights you two had about her, the massive crushes on a woman who was not only your teacher, but also a nun, and the days you weren't talking to each other and you were left with nothing but David's insults for company.
You were ten, and your best friend wasn't speaking to you, so you ended up just watching TV or drumming most of the time. David always sneered at you for that, told you to take up a sport, "be a real man." You wondered why being a boy came with an obligation to play stupid games. You tried, of course, if only to get him off your back. But the only sport you were good at was swimming, which David claimed was for sissies.
You kept going for training anyway, because it was fun, and it kept you out of David's way for a while. You even made friends on the team. David told you they were "all queers or niggers, or both," and tells you to stop hanging out with them, that you're an embarrassment to him. You wanted to tell him to go to hell, but you didn't. You wanted to talk to Diana about it, but you didn't. You didn't want to cause even more arguments.
One day, you brought Jamie, one of your team-mates, home. You thought David was out of town, so he'd never know you brought a "nigger" into "his house". David showed up just as Jamie was leaving, and as soon as the door was closed, he started yelling at you. You finally snapped, told him to go to hell, that he wasn't your father, that it wasn't his house. Then he hit you.
After, you only remembered the sound of his fists, of your bones breaking, of Sean's voice suddenly coming out of nowhere. The next thing you remember is waking up from what you've been told was three days in a coma, with your mother and Sean by the sides of your bed. Sean told you later he'd come by to apologise. You told him he'd saved your life.
You never really talked about it again.
You haven't heard of David since then. Life after David was different; Diana and you grew closer, and you weren't afraid to bring people home anymore. But sometimes, in the back of your mind, you can still hear him, telling you what a fuck-up you are.
Next week, you're starting Senior Year, and you still have no idea what you're going to do after that. You keep feeling you're not really going anywhere, but you're not really going nowhere, either.
"Right, Nick?" Sean derails your train of thought.
"What?"
He nudges you. "Pay attention when I'm talking." He launches into one of his elaborate theories, and you get involved in the conversation and forget about David. Hours pass, the road rushing by, and before you know it, you're pulling into Main Street, Ravenwood, and you're home.
