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It started with a cigarette. I took it from the packet that Bo left on the dinner table after we finished washing up and took it outside. The sun was setting, casting a dim orange hue over the sky. By then, going outside was allowed and I was no longer watched insistently – although Bo could still get suspicious at times. Taking that cigarette and sinking down on the bench on the porch, overlooking the back garden and the woods, I fiddled with a lighter.
The door clattered when he stepped through, my heart sank when I saw it wasn’t Vincent.
“You smoke? That’s new,” Bo said and the bench creaked as he sat down next to me.
“I used to, you know,” I responded, shrugging, still messing with the lighter. Staring at me for another second, then he took the lighter from my hands, flicked it on. I breathed in and the spark caught on.
“Your nails are too long,” he said. Lit himself one too with practiced movements.
“Yeah.”
We sat in silence, watching the sun disappear behind the tree line, smoking.
He cast a glance my way, before speaking. “What’s on your mind, sugar?”
I sighed, exhaled, watched the embers. “You notice Vince’s been off lately? He won’t see me much these days.”
Bo raised his eyebrows. “But he’s crazy ‘bout you.”
“He didn’t talk to you?” I asked. He shook his head. “It feels like he’s been avoiding me. We’ve barely spoken since last week.”
“Ah. Thought he just had a lot on his plate.”
I shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
Bugs buzzed around, heavy bumblebees flew from weed to weed. The garden wasn’t particularly pretty, nor well-kept, but the blackberry bushes and the apple trees gave a good harvest each year. Vincent promised we could try strawberries next year, my favourite. Have Lester go into town for them, make him marmalade and pies in the summer as a thank-you. Lester liked sweet things. Another sigh wracked my body. The questions piled on top of each other, mixing with fears, insecurities, uncertainty. A mosquito landed on my knee, I killed it with one good slap.
“Strawberries would be good,” I mumbled. My hand stung from the impact and I rubbed the spot I hit, then flicked the dead thing into the grass. “Vince said we could try planting them before winter hits. Too bad there won’t be a next year.”
“What ya mean?”
“I mean, if he dumps me, I doubt you’ll let me stay, or live,” I stared at him, watching his surprise.
“Hey now, that’s rather drastic, ain’t it, doll? Wouldn’t want ya to worry about that.” With a good-natured grin, he bumped his shoulder into mine.
“Thanks,” I said, without feeling it, staring at the last rays of light that hit the trees.
Breakfast with Bo in silence, no Vincent. Everything felt heavier when he wasn’t there. When putting the plates in the sink, Bo grabbed my arm.
“Come with me to the station, keep your mind off of things.”
It was a calm day, much like those before I was allowed alone and before Vincent took interest in me. The easiest things to do back then were to busy my hands and follow instructions. This led to cleaning cars, handing them tools, sweeping the floor, stirring wax as it melted in the pot; working alongside them in silence. With time, Bo became more talkative, as did I.
His most recent project was another car, left by the tourists that passed by less than a week ago. A reasonably new one, probably borrowed from one of their parents.
Once I saw the interior of the car, it was clear why he asked me to come. It was littered with empty bottles of Aperol, candy wrappers and sour-smelling beer cans. Crumbs all over the seat and something sticky was spilled over the dashboard. Clearing it out and throwing it in the trashcan was easy. The scrubbing part wasn’t my favourite.
“You’re quiet today,” Bo remarked, from below by the wheels. He cleaned the mud off of the tires and the wheels, before moving on to change the plates. He stretched and threw the rag back into the bucked with soapy water.
I ducked my head inside the car again, plucked a red thong off the backseat. “So are you.”
He gave half a grin, before I stretched the elastic of the thong and flung it at his head. He ducked and it hit the wall behind him, falling onto the workbench.
“Naughty tourists.” Bo grabbed the thing, pinching it between two fingers, before throwing it back at me, grinning the dimples in his cheeks. I caught it and dropped it in the trash.
“The one with the curly hair was cute,” I said, “don’t think she was the type for thongs, though.”
He raised his eyebrows. “They were an interesting bunch, that’s for sure. Spoiled brats.”
“You said the same about me back then.” I shrugged, aware I shouldn’t push him with remarks that dredge up the past like that, but it seemed my brain wouldn’t stop.
It was his turn to grimace, he dried his hands and approached me. “Even so, you proved us wrong.”
He stopped in front of me, a squeeze of the shoulder, before he trailed his fingers over my collarbone, up my neck. It was never entirely comfortable when he came close like this, always a dangerous edge, always Vincent or their stupid rivalry on the back of my mind.
“Doll, look at me.” His calloused fingers reached my chin, pushing it up.
I did, forcing my eyes to his. Bright blue, framed by dark brows and something brewing within – something dark I didn’t care to know. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to you.”
Quickly, I nodded. Seems like Bo was less sensitive to Vincent’s moods than I was, despite knowing him for longer. Perhaps because he knew him longer. Or perhaps he knew something I didn’t know.
Bo stepped away and I could breathe again. “Get some lemonade from the cooler, will ya?”
“Sure thing, Bo,” and my voice almost sounded normal.
Mustering up the courage was one thing, but my knees felt week as I descended the stairs to the basement. The door was locked, as expected, as he often did when he hid his ongoing projects from prying eyes, so I knocked.
“Vincent, love, please let me in,” I tried, knocking another few times. Soft classical music spilled from the cracks, too low in volume to make out which piece it was. Immediately after I spoke, it was joined by other sounds. The echo of something wooden that creaked. I slapped my hand in front of my mouth and my back hit the wall.
It's not what you think, it’s not what you think.
I found Bo in the living room, silently pried the packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket and took it outside, barely hearing his protests. He followed me to the porch, taking back the packet and holding my shaking hands in his. The roughness of his callouses grounded me. Finally I could look in his eyes.
“What’s gotten you like this?” he asked, voice low. I only shook my head.
“Just- just got a lot on my mind.” Shaky breaths. The sounds from the basement- it was exactly the same as when Vince took me there, strapped me down and fucked me over the workbench. It was one of his favourite places to have me, where he felt most confident.
He gave my hand a squeeze, then planted a cigarette between my fingers, lit it for me, then his own. “That’s alright. We don’ have to talk.”
He stared straight ahead the entire time we sat there. After the cigarettes there were beers. Never once did he look at me, and I trusted him more than I ever had.
In the morning I went down much earlier than normal; couldn’t sleep. Vincent tiptoed around in the kitchen and the wave of relief I felt was quickly shaken off by what happened the day before.
“Hey Vince,” I greeted him, voice soft and low from sleep. “We’ve barely seen each other, I miss you.”
He turned around to see me, gave a simple wave, coffee in hand, and attempted to pass by me around the kitchen table. I grabbed his sleeve. A dangerous game.
“Also, Bo wanted to know when you’ll be done with the statues, since you said you wanted to try some different mechanics in making them move and stuff. Could be a bit of an undertaking.” I shrugged. Released his arm.
Vince signed his answer. “Could be a while still. We’ll see each other tonight, yes?”
I tried a smile, “yeah, tonight.”
Not even a hug, I thought, as he retreated down the stairs again.
A few days went by. I cried a little less then, but sleeping was still difficult. Bo was a rock. Having to say that ‘see you tonight’ implied that I actually expected Vincent to keep his word. Even despite knowing it in my gut, my brain already tried rationalising what I heard when I went down to the basement. Most days that week I went with Bo to help him with the car. After that one was repaired, cleaned, changed enough to make it less noticeably stolen – he took it away to sell. After that was handled, it was quiet.
The mornings were me, stewing, alone, in the chair in the living room. Bo slept in when he could, when there was less work to do, which there was, now that the car was done. The afternoons were us doing chores together, or side by side, and we ate dinner at the table.
Then, a Tuesday, Bo came back after dinner, dusk already passed, he motioned to me.
“Wanna show ya somethin’,” he grinned, taking me by the hand, letting me grab my coat before heading out the door. He carried an old floral blanket over his arm. “It’s not too bad of a walk.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, sweets.”
His mischievous mood was infectious and I smiled without noticing.
“Oooh, a surprise,” I said. “Let’s go then.”
The dimples in his cheeks standing out more in the last light of the sun, he gave my arm a pull to make me hurry up. “Yes, come on.”
Still jogging at a lazy pace, we reached the middle of town, the church looming ahead of us, only a silhouette as the last light disappeared. My lungs took in gulps of cold, damp night air. The Museum stood, waiting like a gaping mouth.
“The museum; that’s your surprise?” I chuckled, but he just gripped my hand tighter and pulled me to the back of the building. “And why are the street lights off?
“When Vince and I made this town into what it is today, we wanted to make sure we still had enough spots, like to get away to.” Letting go of my hand, he grabbed a metal ladder that laid discarded in the tall grass behind the museum, and righted it against the side of the building.
“The roof?” I asked, with some sense of disbelief. He tested the security of the ladder and then gestured for me to climb it.
“Ladies first,” and with that handsome smile, I’d do just about anything.
It was only natural to distrust the wax a little, but it was perfect, just as the other rooms inside the museum.
“Catch!” Bo called from down there, and messily threw the blanket at me. I barely caught it by the hem and pulled it up, already laying it out over the sandy wax roof, brushing away dead leaves to make space for it. The ladder creaked as Bo came up, and he scooted over to help spread out the blanket.
“So this is your spot?” I asked, looking around. It was nice, such a high vantage point over Ambrose. There was a case of beer and a bottle of wine to the side. Bo dragged them closer, bottle in hand.
“Something like that, yeah.” He twisted the cap from the wine bottle and held it out for me. Inside the case were two glasses. “We can start with wine, I know beer ain’t your favourite.”
“Very kind of you to remember.” I held the glasses as he poured it. “Ho, stop, that’s more than enough,” I chuckled. “You prepared this? With the blanket and all.”
He took a first sip of wine, folded his legs underneath him and pulled a sour face. “Ah, that’s disgusting. Don’t know how you and Vince drink this stuff.”
“Beer isn’t much better.”
“But to answer your question; yes, I did. Though you’d need a moment like this. Can’t really get away from it all, but this is nice, right? Come.” He pat the blanket again, set his glass down, then took mine from me to set next to his. Then he laid down flat, eyes unreadable. As I sank next to him, I saw what he meant. The stars. Hundreds of them. Some glistened brightly, others were dim, and their colours varied. Red, white, yellow, blue, orange…
Speechless, feeling deeply touched by his considerate gesture, I blinked away tears.
“Bo, I’m- this is incredible.”
“There’s little light pollution out here, if we leave all the street lights off,” he said, voice normal, but when I looked to my left, there was something unexplainable in his expression. Perhaps it was just the darkness that cast strange shadows. To avoid it, I looked back up, mesmerised.
We finished the first glass of wine – him only drinking half of it before pouring the rest into my glass – in silence, looking up at the night sky. The air cooled down, but it was just about comfortable once I buttoned up my coat. The second glass went easier, warming the blood in my cheeks. He cracked open a beer and pulled the packet of smokes from his breast pocket.
“Want one?” he said, as his already dangled from his lip. With a vague nod from me, he held one out for me, as I pressed it between my lips much the same as he did. With the flick of the lighter, his hair tickled my temple as we both leaned in to light the cigarette.
The silence returned again as we smoked slowly, letting most of it burn to ash, tapping them against Bo’s old glass as a makeshift ashtray. After that, the wine tasted different, but it was still wine.
My eyes kept returning to the same stars, only to have them dim when looking directly at them. The entirety of the sky was almost overwhelming, and having been out in the dark so long made it not resemble anything of a normal night. It was as if being awake for the first time in months. Of experiencing the world how you do when you travel, how even the simplest things feel special. Words of beauty wouldn’t describe it, beauty was irrelevant – it was an awe so deep I felt it under the skin. I sighed deeply, emptying out all the old air that resided in my lungs. Sat up to replenish the wine, then laid back down. Along with it all was a heaviness I did my best to shove away, and as I looked at the depth of the sky, it was all so far away.
Once again my eyes trailed over to the side, catching sight of Bo’s profile. Not often I got to see his face at rest. Older too, noticeably older than the early 20s college students we had out here a week or two ago. Years would flow by out here, leaving their marks on him. I opened my mouth to say something without even knowing what, and he turned his head, catching me before I could form any words. His eyes crinkled as he smiled widely. One of the arms he had folded underneath his head extended and he brushed over my temple, then trailing to my eyebrow and I let my eyes flutter close as he explored my face. The rustling of clothes as he shifted. His fingers almost tickled on my cheek as he followed the shape of it, and that of old acne scars. A waft of his scent, something like wood, warmth, and the smell of tobacco on the tips of his fingers.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, a sudden break in the silence, but it barely registered before his lips touched mine. It took a moment to kiss him back. I never thought he’d be soft like this. A dog with all bark and no bite. A nudge of his hand under my chin was enough to make me open my lips for him, to feel the scrape of his tongue against mine. He only pressed closer and closer, letting me taste him deeper, letting our teeth clash – the curve of his lips as he smiled into the kiss.
He cursed as he lifted himself up to lean over me, making sure not to lean on my hair – almost annoyed with having to break the kiss. We re-joined and something swirled inside me, stringing along into gut and liver and spleen, something that was deeply a part of me for a long time. It all jumbled together. As it got difficult to breath, panting into his mouth from the force of his kisses, the denim of his jacket scratching my collar bones, it was my lungs that the feeling invaded. After that, into the stomach, and it twisted and turned around the new nervous feeling and the abundance of wine.
Bo sighed as he pulled back for breath, eyes half-lidded, wearing a lazy smile, letting his accent drawl more than usual: “How can you feel so right?”
And I believed him. The charmer, the scheming face of Ambrose, the one who isn’t to be trusted – in that moment he was all I ever wanted.
My fingers tangled in his hair as I pulled him back down to me, biting down on his bottom lip. A calloused thumb pressed my mouth open further, giving him free reign to explore. My other hand at his hip, feeling the warmth of his skin as I pulled his shirt up, feeling the muscle that laid over his back. He nuzzled his nose against mine, opening his eyes to look at me and I did the same. How could it feel as though we have the same will? This was new, but it felt like coming home. Fingertips followed the indent of his spine, up and down to the waistband of his jeans.
“Bo, I-”
“Shh, not now,” he said softly, kissing me again. I dug my nails in, pulling him as close as I could.
“More,” I said, and he chuckled, before kissing his way to my ear.
“Only if you sleep by my side tonight,” his hot breath ticking the sensitive skin and warming me in places I shouldn’t feel so heated from such a simple action. Hand kneading a breast through layers of fabric.
“Always,” I answered, breathless. Over his shoulder there were the stars, countless and without any consideration of life on earth. Tomorrow I won’t wake with the same hope, but the feeling that crawled its way into my heart will rest easy in his arms.