Hearing Anna

ii.vii

AN HOUR IN, THE joint is rowdy and rambunctious. the folks are no longer dining like the civilised, but instead drinking like savages, downing multiple pints per hour. the laborers of the pub look disgusted by the grotesque amounts of spilt beer. the smell is enough to make me want to take my leave.

but something about the way elliot's eyes glitter in the dim dining area keeps me from strutting out to quickly.

"y'know, it's started to taste less bad," he says after taking his final drink from the pint. i still have half of mine left, and i fidget anxiously every time i think about it. the former alcoholic says yes, the survivor of cruel acts demands no.

"be careful, any more and you might find that you're a lightweight."

he glances down at his slight frame. "never been drunk, wouldn't know."

"it'd be best that you don't find out tonight," i try to say flatly, but it comes out more flirtatious than intended. just half a pint does me under, apparently.

he laughs. "wouldn't want to see what comes out of my mouth under the influence."

i wonder what he could possibly be afraid to let out. his face is more open than any i've ever seen, and it's a pretty sight, to see truths painted with vibrancy unknown to my eyes. "probably things about stealing the lions of trafalgar," i mutter, but it's tinged with sweetness.

now i know he's a lightweight, because his smile is one that's on the brink of drunkenness. it's funny, in truth. i used to be able to tolerate anything, from gin to whiskey to any ale or brew available, and my tolerance was high as hell. a year off of the binge drinking seems to have made me light and feathery again.

knowing he'll insist on paying, i intend not to waste the drink. but the ale inside of it looms dangerously, as if taunting me. it's boredom that makes me lift the glass to my chapped lips.

"how's uni coming for you?" such a dull question coming from the lips of someone so colourful.

"okay, i s'pose. stressful."

"you know, i never would have thought that you got very anxious about any of this," he says with alcohol on his breath. "that why you have that sleep disorder?"

my brain is a bit too slow to recognise that he called narcs a sleep disorder, rather than a neurological one. bubbles and foam line every thought, making them all impossible to decipher. "no, school is just stressful. it doesn't take intelligence to find bliss in the midst of this."

he doesn't seem to believe me, but it's harder to read his face now. "you could maybe take a break ev'ry once in while, before you break." his tone is almost stone-cold sober, so plain as day.

i take a gulp before i can even think about his words twice. though it isn't whiskey, the feeling in my chest burns like it. "i don't break. i'm tougher than industrial steel," i add with a laugh. i feel too drunk to know if i believe my words or not.

his eyes work to convince me otherwise, to convince me that i am not made of steel.

the stars there have faded.

i want them to return.

"i came here because my grandfather died, and his wife followed suit," i rush into saying. my cadence feels unnatural, feels fake, so i pause. i breathe. i continue. "i'd lived with 'em until then. we moved around, all throughout northern ireland for most of my youth, until we finally settled just outside of portstewart when i was twelve."

it finally dawns on him that i'm answering his question from earlier. the clouds which obscured the constellations part a little bit. i take a long drink from my pint to make sure i don't wuss out of the story.

"they died a year-and-a-half ago, a couple months before i was due to start the sixth form. how lucky i was that my mother contacted me for the first time in years right after their passing." my tone is bitter. another sip, to ease the anger. "she brought me to london last summer, and i started school here. moved out from her as soon as i was eighteen. the place was just a couple blocks away from her flat, but it was far enough for me."

his eyes are knowing. they're filled with every twinkling fibre of the sky.

but they are not knowing enough to know the details i leave out, not insightful enough to see a somewhat younger anna with dilated eyes and alcoholic breath.

"i didn't know. i'm -"

"don't say it. you weren't responsible for it, so you needn't apologise."

he gives me a sad smile, then reaches across the table to hold my hand. i don't pull away from his light grip.

it isn't like before. this time, i want to feel the warmth of someone, to know that i'm not lost in a sea of nonliving beings. and god, is he living.