After Forever Ends - Ramone Melodie. Страница 4

“No.” I answered suddenly, moving my hand from the back of my head. My mouth had gone dry, “No…I mean…no…I just…no, not at all…”

“Sorry?” He was amused, still keeping his eyes locked with mine, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He stood straight and peered down at me with his head cocked as if he wasn't sure what to do. We were lost in an odd moment set apart from time and trying to find our way back to where we had started. “No what?”

“I mean…no. I’m not hurt. Not at all. I’m fine. I’m just…I’m…” He grinned at me crookedly and I felt my face flush as I returned the smile. “I’m just Silvia,” I said finally, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m just Silvia Cotton and I’m just fine, thank you.”

He took my hand in his and held it for a second without shaking it. He just sort of let the weight of it fall against his palm and kept looking at me with that sideways grin. He could have had the devil inside of him with all the mischief of that little smile, but it was too sweet to belong to anything more than an ornery angel. It was at the moment he spoke that I noticed that he had two dimples, one on the left cheek and one on the chin, and that his lashes were long and black. His eyes were the exact colour of baking chocolate melted in a silver bowl, but they sparkled in the sunlight, “I’m Just Oliver Dickinson,” He told me brightly, “It’s nice to meet you, Just Silvia Cotton. Sorry about that, you know. I hope I didn’t tick you off.”

“No,” I started giggling like a mental, like the girls you see in films making fools of themselves, but it seemed perfectly OK since he was still smiling. “I’m not ticked off.”

“Not hurt and not ticked off. Just Silvia. Just Silvia Cotton, eh?” He sat beside me on the bench. It was a few more seconds before he released my hand, “You’re new here. What year are you?”

“Fifth year.”

“Ah, me as well. We’re bound to have loads of courses together.” He glanced at my schedule, which was open on my lap. “Well, maybe not then. You must be clever.”

“I get good marks.”

“What’s that accent?”

“I’m from Scotland.”

“Lovely!” He said sincerely, “No other Scots here that I’m aware of, you’re the only one! Have you met many people at the school yet?”

“No, I haven’t had time. I wasn’t here last night. My father dropped me off this morning right after breakfast.” I couldn't believe I was actually sitting on a bench having a conversation with him. I was usually very shy, but there was something about him that set me completely at ease. Whether it was the kindness in his eyes or his disarming smile I am still not sure, but whatever it was, I felt like I'd known him for a long time and not at all as if we'd just met.

“Oh, well then let me help you meet some,” He turned and gave a friendly wave at someone who had just called out a hello to him, “I know everyone at this place for the most part. I’ve been coming here since I was eleven,” He turned back to me, “You’ll have to meet my brother, Alexander, first. He’s my twin, but don’t think we’re all that much alike. Only just exactly,” He jerked an arm at a group of teenagers across the quad as if to invite them over. I could pick Alexander out from a distance. They could have been the same person. Tall, long limbed and dark haired with a loose tie and his shirt undocked, he gave a short wave of acknowledgement and began to amble toward us. Oliver continued, “The lovely lady beside him is his current flavour of the week, but don’t tell her I called her that. She’s a nice girl, which is a switch for my brother, lemme tell you! Her name’s Sarah Farnsworth. She’s rich as the queen and has the brains of a rabbit,” The group began to approach, appearing to be a friendly bunch, “And that is Merlyn Pierce, the black kid with the hat on crooked. Nothing bad to say about him, he’s a right decent sort. He fancies being an opera singer, but he can’t sing. He goes off into the fields and belts out Puccini every so often and clears the sky of birds,” He paused to shake his head with a mock frown on his face, then turned his head back to me and grinned. Our eyes locked again for several seconds before he broke away, “The one with the scarf is Lance Crosby,” He continued, “He’s a fantastic bloke. Alex’s and my dorm mate. He actually knitted that scarf himself. Can you believe it? Happy colours, he says! He’s quite the quilter from what I gather, too,” Oliver looked at me and winked, “Just don’t ever mention it to Lance that he’s short. In fact, when you greet him, just say, ‘Hello! You’re looking quite tall today!’”

I found myself giggling again.

“Everyone,” Oliver stood and put his hand on my shoulder, “This is Just Silvia Cotton and she’s just fine!”

Those were my friends at Bennington, the five of them I met first on the quad. I quite liked Sarah Farnsworth, but it was not long before she moved away to Canada, leaving Alexander somewhat heartbroken. That is to say he was as heartbroken as he was capable of being at the time, which did not add up to devastation. He rebounded quickly and within a few weeks he had a new flavour du jour.

Merlyn Pierce was a lovely bloke, handsome in an offbeat way. When I think of how he looked the first thing that comes to mind is that he had smooth, velvety skin. I swear he never had a blemish on him. His colour was dark and really beautiful, like creamy chocolate mousse spread flawlessly over his bones. His nose may have been a bit bulbous, but he had beautiful brown eyes and was always friendly and forever quick with a joke. Although he couldn’t carry a note and was not as great a violinist as he dreamed of being, Merlyn’s love of music blurred the lines of obsession. He could tell you at any moment what was happening in the World Opera scene and what the latest jazz artists were up to, as well as what was topping the pop charts in the UK, Western Europe and the US. He had connections that got him tickets to just about any show in Cardiff or London, so none of us ever lacked something to do on the weekends when we could leave grounds.

“We’re going to a show this Saturday,” He told me casually on my third day. I had been officially inducted into their midst, “I can get another ticket if your parents would give you permission to go. The thing is we don’t know if you’d want to.”

“Well, who are you seeing?”

“Motorhead,” Alexander answered as he playfully, but quite firmly, slapped his brother across the face. They had begun rough housing the moment they entered the common room. Oliver slapped him back harder and they both turned to me.

“Motorhead? Are you bloody joking? I love Motorhead!” I exclaimed. They all seemed shocked. Even Oliver gave me a great expression of surprise, “What?” I demanded, looking between them as they stared, “Just because I dress in skirts and wear lipstick doesn’t mean I don’t own a pair of Docter Martins or don’t love Lemmy! Who don’t love Lemmy? Lemmy is God!”

“Lemmy is God?” Oliver asked with an approving smirk.

“Damn right Lemmy’s God!” I swore, “He’s my boyfriend, too!”

“Lemmy is your boyfriend?” His eyes widened and his brows went up. Oh, he was adorable when he did that.

“Well, yes,” I began to laugh, “He is my future ex-husband, you know!”

This Alexander seemed to like. He laughed out loud and tossed an arm over his brother's shoulder with his hand dangling in front of his chest, “So you’re not one hundred percent committed to Lemmy then?”

“Well…you know...he’s very busy with Motorhead…”

“Not to mention being God,” Oliver interjected, “Blimey!”

And, thus, my first rock concert was front and centre at Motorhead, crushed against the stage right before the mosh pit, pinched in front of Oliver, who happily beat off the moshers. I very much enjoyed watching him block and shove people away from doing me harm. It made me feel quite special, not to mention that he seemed to be having the time of his life doing it. Often the onslaught caused us to be pressed close together. Merlyn and Alexander, however, abandoned us both and were in the thick of it, caught in the mosh with the other hell raisers.