Author's Note:
As this story is quite long and I have yet to figure out some plot points, I am submitting this story in bits and pieces. Any and all characters engaging in any form of sexual activity are going to be 18 years and older when such an act occurs. So please be mindful.
Also, I have self-edited the copy and apologise for any and every error. Mea Culpa.
*****
August 8, 2008:
*CRACK*
With that sound, a tear formed in the space-time continuum for him. The gasps of those surrounding him, the singgers of those who wanted this to happen to him sooner than later, the wide-eyed disbelievers whose hopes of a novel romance fell a notch all would remain frozen for him in the moment that he would relive despite him desperately not wanting to do so.
Had they been right all along? That him being loved by the queen of the high school social hierarchy, broke the rules of nature? That she was lying when she had told him those three magical words in the resonating silence of that empty classroom.
Had they known that her honeyed words, said with heavy breathing over the telephone on those darkened nights had just been lies? That the hearts she scribbled that closed all her secret notes she wrote to him were only false hopes she planted so he would do her bidding?
How could have he been so foolish? How could he, the horn-rim bespectacled, dangerously thin and book-smart, class-clown, nerd believe even for a second, that he was loved by the most beautiful, most popular girl in all the high schools in the city?
How could he ever believe that Sarah, his Sarah, was lying through her teeth when she called him in the middle of the night, much to the dismay of his parents, only to hear his voice before she fell asleep holding the phone close as he narrated the poems of Wordsworth he had memorised just for her.
But his then disbelief, though shared by most in their high-school, was negated when she had cozied up to him when they were decorating their class for a project, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. When she slipped those nimble fingers into his, grasping his hand and squeezing it gently as to affirm her emotions, during the one moment they met after recess, near the water cooler every single day. When they talked in sign language, across windows on opposite sides of the school building, only to tell the other that they missed each other.
Ten years later, from when he had first exchanged words with her when he was only nine, all that remained of those cherished memories for Matthew was the sound of that crack. That crack that had sounded when she had slapped him in front of the whole senior class because all he was begging was for answers.
Answers for why had she done so? Made a joke out of him. Cheated on him with his supposed best friend. Made him believe for the last three years they had been together that she was truly and faithfully his. Shattered his hopes and dreams for their future together into a million pieces only because she wanted to be someone's arm-candy.
As burning tears rolled down his numb cheeks, he saw her let out a mirthful laugh as she saw him slowly dismantle her house of lies in his mind, turn slowly and run into the arms of his now former best friend who squeezed her arse in front of everyone when their bodies melded.
As Harold, now the target of Sarah's affection, and his henchmen doubled over in laughter at Matthew's foolishness and gullibility, pointing their fingers at him, all Matthew could do was remain rooted to where he was standing and see the world that he had so carefully built over the last few years, burn slowly, completely, as his will to live went up in smoke.
As he about fell on his knees that had been wobbly for the last few minutes, in front of the now smiling Sarah, he felt his throat constrict and his heart stop its beating, his eyesight becoming blurry and all he could hear was the laughter of Harold, his henchmen and dragging footsteps of the others as the world around him went about their daily-lives, having received their daily dose of entertainment at Matthew's behest.
And all that remained engrained in his memory, before he felt his body lose consciousness, was the feeling of Sarah's lips on his. That one moment he truly believed had come to define his existence. That one moment when all the stars had aligned to prove to him that he finally belonged to someone. Her.
*****
The next thing Matthew remembered was being wet. Not just his eyes, his entire body was wet. And it scared him. Though he was not afraid of dying, he did not remember reading anywhere that he would feel wet after dying. And that is what scared him. Being wet. It meant he had not died. And after his brain kept painfully reminding him by playing the memory of his ignominy again and again, he had hoped for and welcomed death with open arms.
After his parents painful death in a fire that tore his world apart two years ago, he had sworn to himself that he would not let anything break him. And he had made Sarah his emotional crutch ever since, not trusting his own heart and body to anchor his will to live. And that was a role she had played with aplomb. She had held him close to her when his endless shrieking at night, in the immediate aftermath of the fire, was the only noise he would make to communicate with the outside world. She had wrapped her arms around him when he drenched her shoulders with an endless stream of tears that replaced words whenever he remembered his parents.
She had chosen to uproot her life, albeit temporarily, from the safe havens of her house to his hotel room that was acting as his make-shift residence to be with him during his time of despair.
As flashes of these memories overtook his conscious mind, he seemed to make peace with his fate. Somewhere, between being broken by his parent's death and Sarah's inexcusable behaviour, he embraced being enveloped by numbness, that was slowly descending upon him. He liked it.
His life then flashed before him. He could smell the mac and cheese his mother made for him to cheer him up, whenever he was in a funk. He could taste the goat cheese omelette his father made for him, before he broke any bad news to him, knowing he could not stay mad for long because that omelette really made him forget his woes. He heard dying notes of Coltrane's Blue Train, one of his all-time favourite's, in the background. He could see his parents dance in a dimly lit room to that song, bringing a smile to his face. This was his favourite memory of them.
As that memory faded out, another faded in. He was at the door, watching keenly as Sarah pulled her car out of his driveway. She had just spent the evening with him, that too a few days before Christmas. For him, it was the highlight of his life. That five foot eight svelte strawberry blond had chosen to forsake an evening out with her friends to spend a few moments with him. He had asked her for some of her time, though not insisted on it. He knew, that was all he could do with her. Ask. And oblige, she did.
"You know, though I am happy for you, there is something about this girl that bugs me," he heard his mother say as he continued to stare at her car from his vantage point from the door as it went around the curb and into the night.
"You don't need to worry about her mom, she is just a friend," he said, failing to wipe the smile off of his face before he turned to face her after closing the door.
"Liar," she said smiling. Matthew's mother, the five footer with locks of silver hair to impress upon you her wisdom, was a psychologist. She probably could size up every person in every room she entered in less than five minutes, though everybody in that room would just be looking at her beauty with bated breath. His mother, much like his father, had an undeniable grace about her. She would remind you of a stoic portrait of elegance you would hang over the fireplace.
But, she always chose to keep her thoughts to herself when it came to Matthew and his friends. So her saying anything about Sarah was odd. "But why do you say that?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"I don't know. Just call it a mother's intuition. You spent your entire savings to buy her that lovely necklace. And all she could ask you was how expensive it was, rather than enjoy her gift. And she got you nothing. It's just odd."
"Mom, don't you think you are reading a little bit too much into the situation?" Matt asked, trying to suppress his laughter.
"Fine, I'll back off. Just answer me this. How come she never comes to visit you before sundown and you never have an other friends around when she is here?"
"That's just the way she like it Mom," Matt said, trying his best to defend her.
"Hmm... Right. Are you sure that's it Matt?" She said, raising his eyebrow at him, as she looked up from where she had bent to clean the wrapping paper Sarah had left behind in her wake after she ripped open everything to get to her gift he had spent months of saving up his allowance to buy for her. The jewellery catalogue he had bought that month giving him the idea for the perfect gift for her.
He had hoped the sapphire encrusted pendant, intricately carved at that, would be the perfect necklace for her. It would compliment her eyes, he thought when he was arguing with himself after looking at the price. The steep price was worth the sparkle in her eyes when she first looked at it, he thought to himself.
Again, his vision faded and another memory faded in. It was the night before the big science exhibit. He had been preparing for this almost a year now. Going against the norm of preparing an experiment, he had worked really hard over the year to prepare his critique on the experiments of Marconi on the radio and created a small short-wave radio that helped him prove just that.
"You should really get some sleep. Staring at those papers will not change anything you already wrote on them," He heard his father's voice booming in his haze, knowing it came from the door his father had cracked open to check up on him.
The best and most hilarious way to describe his father was how his mother did: He was a poor man's version of Albus Dumbledore. Behind half moon spectacles that hung loosely to the crook of his slightly crooked nose, were mischievous eyes that studied you endlessly. Being cleanly shaven, his salt and pepper moustache perfectly complimented his sheet white hair, giving the impression that he was aptly wizened beyond his age.
"I will Dad. Just five more minutes. Last minute nerves, I guess," Matt told his father, turning to the door to look at him. Matt was a spitting image of his father, Logan. Except the fact that Logan kept himself in top shape. As compared to him, Matthew looked like he had been starving for over a year.
