Page 54 of Sorry, We're Closed

“I assume that it’s to do with the news you were going to tell me earlier?”

I spin around and my head buries into Marcus’ shoulder as his arms surround me once more. I scrunch his beige polo into my hands, hoping that taking my emotional overload out with one squeeze, until my knuckles turn ghostly, will somehow help.

It doesn’t.

Instead, cooling streams streak down my face as the air in the room bites and makes me fully aware that I am crying. Marcus lays his hand on the back of my head and slowly strokes my wild waves and curls – a comfort which he used to use whenever I cried over my parents when I was younger.

My vocals muffle as I speak into Marcus’ chest. “It’ll be fine, I’ll speak to him tomorrow, I—”

“Avory, you don’t always have to be fine. It’s okay not to be okay for once. You have actually defied everything I taught you and developed a connection with someone.”

We chuckle because, he’s right. Marcus always rambles on about how connections and romantic feelings towards others are no good when you live a travelling life like ours, and here I am, going against all of his wild teachings and falling for a barista with a heart and mind worthy of gold. And I have fallenhard.

“If there was a way we could stay, we would, because you have been the happiest I’ve ever seen you in so long.”

Marcus pulls himself back from our embrace and kisses the top of my head briefly. I nod, because that’s all I can bring myself to do. Words are sharp and painful within my throat, and they refuse to move. I have no idea as to how I’m going to tell him that this—us, is over.

Twenty-Five

Sawyer

It’s the late evening after seeing Avory, and ever since I watched him walk away once more from the fire exit, my mind has been wanting to call out to him. Call out to him and try to understand why my mind didn’t ask him about us being more. I’m still coming to terms with this aspect of myself, the one in which I believed to have shut the door on years ago, in the exact manner my father shut the door on this family, but something feels so incredibly right about it when it’s associated with Avory.

He takes his rightful place in the forefront of my mind, and everything that weighs on my dainty frame until I’m far beneath the heel that forces me to carry that heavy burden, lifts away. Well, not entirely.

I arrive home beaming, practically skipping with every step I make, but my ridged façade creeps back in as I see her sprawled out across the sofa. Her legs hang from the sofa arm and her knuckles brush against the hardwood floors. Her eyelids flitter yet remain closed, and the floor is littered once again with an array of glass bottles, varying in colours and shapes. I stare at a sight which has become all too familiar over the past few years, but for once in my life, the festering dread that fills my chest and rots my core, struggles to bring itself to the surface. It continues to fester, but it is weak. Instead, my chest continues to radiate a warmth and comfort which Avory planted, and I want it to flourish and bloom further until it’s the only emotion I can understand.

An unkept symphony of crashes and bangs resounds from the kitchen, causing my feet to leave the ground as I spin and face the kitchen door. Mother remains unbothered, shuffling in her sleep, tucking her hand into her body and smearing her days old makeup further with her palms. She turns herself away from the room, and me, as I carefully step towards the kitchen, opening the door with my foot and peering in before accepting my possible death right now since I have no chance at self-defence.

A tall, slim figure wonders mindlessly around the kitchen floor, cursing to themselves as they begin to pile up the collection of mismatched pots and pans which have tumbled from the cupboard. I open the door fully and enter, crouching down and helping the man to clean the mess he has made.

“Oh hey! You must be her son? I’m sorry, I wanted to make your mother some food, but it seems I have made a mess already, and I haven’t even started cooking yet!” he chuckles with a deep yet grating tone.

I attempt a small smile to return his enthusiasm as we stack the remaining pots and pans on the counter.

“Yeah, these cupboards have never been organised. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time these cupboards were opened.”

The man, who’s brunette hair parts in the middle and curtains over his forehead, laughs again and pats my shoulder with far too much force. He clearly thinks I’m joking as he continues to smile long after my comment, his dark stubble encasing his grin.

“Well, with how busy your mum is with the café, I understand that she doesn’t have much time for your home, or for you.”

His hand leaves my shoulder and rubs down my bicep in some sort of way which, I’m sure, is meant to comfort me about another lie she has told. I nod along, wanting to grab my food and leave because I am not letting her ruin my mood, my absolute high which Avory created.

I willneverallow her to ruin something which Avory created.

“Well, with your mum selling the café and all, you guys will finally have some time together. I know this amazing restaurant which—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Crap. I didn’t mean to respond. I’m meant to just nod along like I always do, but that isn’t something you can just lie about. Is she selling the café? What purpose do I serve in her life if there is no café to force us together? I feel the shallowness of my breathing increasing with each inhale as my mind begins to spiral, that high I’m feeling begins to fade and sink into the lowest of lows.

“Excuse me, please.”

The man’s hand reaches out for my bicep again, but I recoil myself away, through the doorway, stumbling past her motionless body and up the stairs. I grip onto the banister, my knuckles turning pale until my body bashes into my bedroom door, the door bouncing into the same cracked wall and finally bursting through. The door handle wedges itself into the wall and I use every muscle in my arms to pull it free, revealing the hole which now frames itself with more cracks and dents. I shut my bedroom door with my back as I slide down the wooden frame, my knees tucking to my chest. I jerk my phone from my pocket, swiping the screen to a vacancy of messages. I open the message chat of the only person who I want, who Ineedright now.

Sawyer: Hey, are you free to talk? X

I never send kisses on the end of a messages; those are reserved for Gwen. However, with the sheer number of times I’ve kissed him, and he’s kissed me, I’m sure she won’t mind sharing. I imagine his lips pressing against my warm skin as I wait for his response.

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