Chapter nineteen.
Paige.
Despite my earlier bravado of seizing life by the horns and putting myself out there, it backed fired with my text being left on seen. I waited all of ten minutes last night for a response from Lawrence before deciding to get a grip of myself and go to sleep. But I still couldn’t help that sinking disappointment when I woke up this morning to an empty screen, devoid of any notifications.
No message is a message. So even if I didn’t get the response I wanted, I can move forward now and forget about him.
But at least I did it. And although I went to bed a little dejected, I’ve woken up feeling refreshed. I forgot to shut my curtains last night so the early morning sun trickles into my bedroom, a soft kiss of warmth to welcome me into the day. Other than a few bits of uni work to complete, I have the day mostly to myself again which will be nice. I think people underestimate the power of alone time; there’s something grounding and relaxing in being able to spend a whole day by yourself. Although it can sometimes be hard if your thoughts become intrusive, today feels like the kind of day that the silence of my own company will actually soothe me.
I brush my teeth and get of out my pyjamas and head downstairs to make a coffee. If I don’t have coffee within the first hour of getting up, my day feels incomplete from the get-go. It’s also nice to have a routine; without the consistency of a daily routine, my life seems to just turn into chaos. And that doesn’t mean to say that I can’t be flexible, I’m just more resistant to it than is probably deemed acceptable. But it’s because if I don’t have a routine, I feel myself getting into bad habits and thought patterns. So surely its better to be almost anal in my approach to life, and know that I am at least getting something done, than live in the present, being too wild and flimsy, and feel overwhelmed to the point of inaction?
I treated myself a while ago to a Nespresso machine and life since just hasn’t been the same. It allows me to romanticise coffee more than I already do. Choosing a flavoured pod, I put it in the machine and go heat up some milk whilst the coffee makes itself. The smell of coffee fills my little kitchen, the whirring of the machine almost hypnotic in its gentle hum. Just as I’m pouring the milk, the white eddying and swirling with the rich brown, I hear a knock at my door. Well, not one knock, but three.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I haven’t ordered anything over the last few days so I’m not expecting a delivery. Apprehension is like a snake in my belly, creeping around and setting my nerves on edge. It’s awfully early for anyone to be visiting and I’m tempted to leave the door unanswered. But curiosity pulls my feet towards the hall, the soft scuff of my sleepers the only sound. I give myself a quick once over in the hallway mirror – not my best look but also, by far, not my worst. With a shrug, I pull open the door a fraction and peer beyond to see who is outside.
I blink. And blink again, unsure if what I’m seeing is accurate, or if I’ve finally started to lose my mind. Lawrence stands in front of me, his body angled slightly, as if he’s about to walk away. He wears nothing but a black shirt and black jeans, the concept of a jacket or coat clearly lost on him. He has smudges under his eyes, tired circles begging for the relief of sleep, the only visible flaw to his otherwise good looks. I fumble for something to say, not used to surprise encounters so early in the morning. Or at all, if I’m being honest.
‘Hi’, I breathe, both embarrassed and intrigued by his presence outside my home. I glance up and find him looking at me, and if I had more self-confidence than I currently possess, I would say the look in his eyes is one of hunger, like he could devour me whole and it still wouldn’t be enough.
‘I had fun too, the other night’, Lawrence says, still looking at me with so much intensity, I break eye contact and look at the floor, the spot behind his left shoulder, anywhere but directly at him. ‘So much so that I thought we could do something again’ he continues, ‘today if you’re free?’. He stands there expectantly, his hands in his pockets, a smile slowly creeping onto his face, a little taunt that dares me to accept.
‘I- I don’t know what to say’, I stumble, trying to decide if this kind of spontaneity is exciting or derailing.
‘Well, you could start with saying yes and we can go from there’. He leans towards me, resting his hand on the edge of my doorframe like it belongs to him. The cool scent of night floats towards me on an errant morning breeze, soothing my frayed edges, instilling in me a sense of calm I have never quite felt before. He’s almost cocky in the way he looks at me, now leaning wholly against my doorframe, creeping into my personal space with the kind of dominance I find too intriguing to ignore.
‘I have some uni work that I need to get done this morning but other than that I’m all yours’. I cringe, realising what I’ve just said. I always do this, say something that can be construed in a way other than how I meant it and end up wanting the ground to swallow me whole. But Lawrence ignores my wince, the flush of embarrassment I can feel inching over my cheeks.
‘Just how I want you to be’, winking he pushes off the doorframe, taking me in in my entirety. He pulls off winking in a way most males are are inept; it’s an effortless gesture, understated, all mischief and seduction, not arrogant or debauched. But intriguing. And if I wasn’t going to say yes before, there’s no way I can say no now.
‘I’ll come back around 1 then, if that you gives you enough time?’
‘Sounds good to me’, I nod, still baffled at the turn of events this morning has brought with it. Lawrence tips his head at me, sliding his hands into his jean pockets, he turns around and heads back down the walkway. And even though I watch him walk the entire way, retreating down my road with the ease of someone with nowhere else to be, it’s like his half there-half not. One minute I can see him as clear as day, the black of his clothes standing out against the tired grey pavement beneath his feet. And the next minute, his black outline seems to wash away, blending in with the trees that line the street. Strange. Shutting my door, I shake my head and head back inside. I heat my coffee up and get my head down, determined to get as much work done as possible before 1.
***
I spend a couple of hours going over the nervous system and how transmissions are sent between synapses. The human body is really pretty fascinating; there’s so many processes going on within our bodies every second that we don’t even consciously think about. It’s like being able to breathe; it’s second nature for us, but the minute we start to focus on it, start to actualise the physical inhale and exhale of air, it almost becomes too much for our minds to bear. Like in yoga practises, yes, they tell you to focus on your breathing because it grounds you, but the second you want to go back to breathing unconsciously, it becomes hard to find the natural rhythm of it again. I don’t think we give our bodies the credit they deserve most of the time. Which I guess is why I like to study it – it makes me appreciate what I have that much more.
The clock on my laptop tells me it’s half 12, so I have just under half an hour to make myself presentable. Not that I ever do much in the way of getting ready. I’m pretty low maintenance. I don’t wear make up because I’d much rather spend those extra twenty minutes of a morning in bed, rather than contouring my face to point where I no longer resemble myself. And even though most the time I find myself to be average at best, the odd times that I do wear abit of lipstick or mascara, I feel outside of myself. Uncomfortable. Which is why I generally settle for my unexciting natural face, than wear makeup and feel like an imposter.
Getting ready consists of me changing out of my slouchy clothes into something that shows that I’ve made a little more effort. I opt for mom jeans and a long-sleeved bodysuit, perhaps two of the most understated items in the history of female wardrobes. Not to turn this into a tirade about fashion, but there’s something about a bodysuit that is not only comfortable but also classy; it makes you feel put together despite the simplicity of the outfit itself.
Happy with the clothes I’ve got on, I fold my tracksuits back into the wardrobe and go downstairs to await Lawrence’s arrival. Not knowing how to fill the next ten minutes with anything meaningful, I scroll through Instagram, mindlessly taking in the exotic lives of celebrities and all-too similar pictures of food acquaintances of mine have had for lunch. Riveting. It’s hard not to fall into the trap of comparison sometimes, scrutinising the way my life seems lacking or different from the on-screen personas we all portray to the digital world through our phones. I think that’s why I avoid looking where possible because if I refuse to give these unrealistic entities the time of day, then I can’t compare myself to this over-distorted misrepresentation of adolescent life. Just as I finish watching a video of someone painting their nails, I hear that soft knock knock knock on my door.
‘Ready?’, Lawrence asks as I open the door. I nod as I lock up, curious to see how this day will play out.
‘Lead the way’, I nod. Lawrence takes my hand and ushers me down the walkway, into the mild sun overhead and possibility beyond.
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