He’s my safe place

Jace's sleeping face stares at me from beyond the phone screen, while a hand regularly comes close to his eyes to rub them and keep them alert - knowing him, he will have spent Friday night drinking and partying with his Parisian friends. As much as Mum and Dad believes it is only Charlie and Seth's fault if both of their older children have taken bad habits, in reality we are the ones who incite the ingestion of alcohol and the assumption by map and filter of "illegal" substances. And now that my brother is away, he continues to do the same things he did here.

«What did you do last night?» He asks, taking a cigarette from the pack next to him. The skill with which he manages to keep the phone straight and handle everything else is a source of envy, but I don't dwell on it more than I should; after all we know that he is the best, between the two.

An embarrassed smile lifts my lips and with a shrug I reveal the sad truth: «Liz and I have been seeing for the sixth time "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"». I am a bit ashamed to admit it out loud, but after all, telling lies, especially to him, it is certainly not something that can say I knows how to do well - Jace notices everything, I can only remedy it, although I don't know if it's for his will or because, indeed, it is a talent.

I could have done many things, like going out at the usual pub, stopping at a few concerts, asking Caroline to meet up to see if we can be friends or not ...

Well, if I had wanted to, nothing would have prevented me from leaving the rooms of this house, but the ghost of someone just didn't want to leave me alone; moreover, these past few days I have been listening to Catherine's complaints about me. Every excuse was good for re-examining the umpteenth meeting she had had with the principal of Saint Jeremy, or my total lack of respect for the faculty, or my reluctance to follow "a few simple rules".

In short, my mother wanted to highlight again how in her opinion I am the black sheep of the Ravens.

And she really made me feel like that at some point. When even grandmother Josephine gave up taking my share, I realized I had brought everyone to the limit, so I preferred to keep quiet and enter a state of momentary lethargy.

Jace's voice brings me back to reality, coming a little muffled by the speaker: «Why didn't Charlie come? He loves Harry Potter!»

«He adores Emma Watson as Hermione, you mean!» I laugh, suddenly realizing that I had combined yet another disaster.

I haven't heard from Charles Benton for exactly three days, the longest time span we've ever separated in the last five years.

He remained silent for seventy-two hours: not a call, a voice recording or a message of dubious content - something suspect, more than any other attitude, given the talkative inclination of my best friend.

I do not know exactly which, among the expressions that contort my face, incites the senses of the major among the Ravens, but the fact is that it happens and, frowning, he asks me: «You heard him recently, didn't you?»

And I can't lie, he knows it better than anyone.

«You're an idiot...» he snorts, blowing a milky cloud from his lips. His look becomes distant, the expression serious. I guess by myself what he is thinking and I don't know if it's the case to talk or to remain silent to deal with my faults.

Perhaps it would be better for me to remedy - to what, exactly, I don't know.

I should apologize to Jace for putting me in the middle of something that isn't right for me, just as I should lift my bottom from the mattress and run to Charlie to tell him I'm the usual mess. Also, I should understand what to do with Seth - and I am sure that it is he, the one who is now occupying the boy beyond the screen's thoughts.

I bite my lip, squeezing in the shoulders.

What to do?

In my head reality and dream collide with unprecedented violence. They both wield the sword, they strike each other and then move away, they make me believe that the war is over and then resume, without end.

«He? You heard him, didn't you?»

The gaze lift,pointing at the two eyes of the same color as mine.

«No, I didn't hear from him» I say lapidary, trying to show myself indifferent to the question - but I'll never be, I realize. The wrong guys, the rebellious ones, the "bad boys" of the situation, who could very well be the main characters of some New Adult with trash implications, like in their own way, ethereal and eternal, capable however of fomenting the uncensored imagination of the unfortunate protagonists and readers. And Seth is just that, I could not describe it otherwise.

He has everything out of place, besides beauty.

A scruffy look, made of rough rings, ripped jeans, all kinds of boots and tattoos of dubious meaning; a passion for rock that attracts in his fascinating trap, a job that does not fit his lifestyle always on the border between correct and incorrect and a bipolarity that I personally diagnosed him at the age of sixteen - Morgesten is all this and much more, and I've always wanted it, even knowing the risks. And yet, now that he has confessed the unthinkable, I can do nothing but fear him.

Jace turns his lips, frowns and then bursts out, making me feel a bitter taste in my mouth: «I don't like bullshit, Jay» there's a sort of veiled threat in his tone; but how can he doubt me?

I swollen the chest, perhaps succeeding in sketching a more decisive expression: «And in fact it is not. I didn't hear either of them, right?» And it's all true. They were days of total silence.

«Didn't Seth show up?» He asks me skeptically. His eyebrows are two dark arches that try to reach the hairline, failing.

What to tell him now? How could he react to the truth? And is it better to talk with him about the kiss? Maybe it's not the case...

Yet my brother urges me, he does not want to wait, he is in a hurry to know what has happened since his departure.

I bite the tongue.

«I saw him, yes. We met in Camden while I was with Liz» I say quickly, praying that he doesn't understand - but he's used to both me and my speech, so he doesn't miss a single syllable.

Jace's lips barely open, in a gesture of amazement.

On his face a dark shadow falls, an unmistakable sign of the disapproval that is growing in him - it will be due to the fact that I didn't talk to him before, or more probably because I disobeyed his will.

Our video-call quickly turns into a dark screen and his voice screeching from beyond the speaker. He is furious, even a cretin would understand it.

My brother mumbles that I have to stay away from him, that now it's up to him to handle it and that as long as Seth has not understood his mistakes, between the four of us there can be no serenity like before.

He revives things I don't know, dramas I've always tried to keep out of. He over-emphasizes his best friend flaws almost as if I didn't know them, but in reality I know them by heart, I learned them slowly and at the same speed I understood to appreciate them as part of him - but only in my imagination.

Jace's words become so many, too many, they haunt me and dig into a conscience that I don't want to be teased, but that still makes my eyes burn - so I burst, exactly like a capricious brat.

«Whether you're okay or not, I don't care. They are also my friends, clear? Both of them! The problems with Seth are only yours, instead!» And for the first time in years, I'm the one who puts the phone down, closing the conversation.

As far as I know, I am in the wrong at the moment.

I don't want to get away from Morgenstern, even if I already have begun to build a sort of wall.

But mine is fear, not hatred.

I'm keeping him at a distance because of the panic that comes over me at the mere idea of being able to finally have the boy who makes the panties wet, and knowing I'm not at his height - from no point of view.

This is why Sharon make me so much envious, because she knows how to stand up next to him and, even after the thousand low blows, they continue to choose each other; I would not be able to do it, I would not be able to hurt him, but to me he will, terribly.

And while I think that a tear escapes.

"Maybe now I really need to see Charlie".

*********

The doorbell echoes loudly between the walls of the house, letting the sound rush towards everyone inside, in order to announce the arrival of some unwanted guest - that is the undersigned.As a child I began to despise this metallic clink. It was to indicating that Jace would disappear somewhere along with his little friends, abandoning me in a house that was too big for my five years and no one to be with. The bell indicated the end of his attentions and the beginning of his life outside the home, where I was not included for a long time.

Now instead, on the threshold of adulthood, I feel it vibrate like my heart. It means that someone arrives and often does it for me.

Mrs. Benton opens the front door, bringing me back to the present with a certain brutality.

I'm here for Charlie, to see him, apologize to him and make me welcome him - the only ones from which I let myself be held without fear when Jace isn't there.

Molly's smile becomes immense, it shows in an obvious way how much it pleases her to see me at the door after all these days of distance, but soon after a glimpse of doubt passes in her eyes, a sort of worry that confuses me. Maybe something is wrong, or maybe she notices how upset I am - it's hard to tell. So I begin with a greeting, trying to remove as much as possible this strange feeling that something is wrong.

Without ceasing to smile for a single second, even if it is a forced gesture, I immediately ask for her son. The stomach just twists, maybe because the fear that he's not here is so great, but I know its shifts by heart and I rarely find myself wrong when it comes to him and his not too monotonous routine.

The woman moves, so as to open a chink towards the inside of the house: «He is upstairs, in the room» she warns me before I cross the threshold. I nod, giving her confirmation that I've understood, even though by now I know Charlie's home and places as if they were mine.

As soon as my nose crosses the door jamb a scent of apple pie cooking assails it, making me feel welcome, just like every winter afternoon spent here.

Ms. Benton has a part-time job in the neighborhood kindergarten, where screaming brats fill her ears with ultrasound, so when she gets home, just in time for lunch, she relaxes and sits in the stove. Bake delicacies of all kinds, experimenting with recipes from all over the world, but what she does best is the cakes, the most classic ones. Entering here is like stepping into grandma's house, that of old books or advertisements - certainly not mine! Josephine could even burn ice cream if she decided to go for the culinary arts.

I remain motionless for a moment in the entrance hall, soaking in this olfactory delight and, taking advantage of the moment, Molly approaches me, puts her hand on my shoulder and asks: «Jane, can I ask you a question?» Catching me off guard.

I wrinkle my forehead without understanding.

Is she referring to the fact that she didn't hear from me for three days?

«I know that eavesdropping is wrong, but the walls here are thin, especially when someone raises the tone...» she begins, stirring a sort of hilarity in me. It is a well-known fact that Charlie's mother is a nosy one, she likes to know the gossip about anyone, be it a high profile VIP or the neighbor close to death; no wonder she heard something she shouldn't have. The woman wets her thin lips: «I heard that Jace and Seth had a fight and that Charles got in the way for some reason. Do you know why? After all, one of them it's your brother, surely you know more» to this question I feel my legs become limp. Suddenly I realize that what happened is not something so simple, that the seriousness of the argument between Jay Jay and Morgenstern goes far beyond what I had expected - but I still don't know why.

Am I the only one in the group to have been excluded from this schism? Until a few minutes ago I would have thought I could find a hold in Benton, a fellow with whom I could complain about this nauseating situation, while now I wonder with what face I will be able to look at him.

They excluded me, exactly like years ago.

I contract the jaw: «Probably for the usual bullshit, Molly. They will have testosterone pressing on a brain lobe». I shake my shoulders and forcibly pull my lips, to make her believe that it's nothing important.

"But it is".

For me.

They are really exaggerating with this story and if their intent is to mess up with our friendship, I'll oppose it. I can't lose any of them, neither Charlie, nor Seth.

The woman snorts, bringing her plump hands to the hip - or what's left of it: «You'll surely be right. Having more than twenty years still does not make them men, they are just little kids who have grown up in the bodies» and one step behind the other goes to the kitchen, babbling something else about it.

As soon as her silhouette disappears from my view, I turn to the stairs: twelve steps that I can usually do with my eyes closed and which, now, seem to me a sort of impassable mountain.

I sigh loudly, tightening my grip on the shoulder strap and trying to force myself. I don't want to quarrel with him, yet the fact that he hasn't told me anything about what happened, after two weeks, turns me into a beast. He should be my best friend, so why does he treat me this way? Why doesn't he make me a participant?

I begin to climb, looking at the landing with excessive intensity. A few seconds and I'll be in front of his room, the one that fills me with calm and that speaks about him with every detail. On the walls there are very old posters that he stole from the affixes of the clubs, dominated in some places by new ones; on the shelves there're cd listened to the nausea, recovered in every corner of London and not only; the floor is instead a sort of battlefield when Molly does not clean up for more than two days. Thrown badly there are always the clothes of the day before, the scribbled scores full of melodies that I have not yet heard him play, music magazines, niche and, occasionally, even some Playboys found in the shop where he works, read stealthily, in solitude.

Her room is an alcove of creativity and adolescence that none never want to give up completely - and I've loved it since I first entered it.

The wooden door, which is dominated by a black and white photo by Sid Vicious, is ajar, leaving a crack in the interior. More surplus, the more i get close, more clearly I can see shapes behind it, familiar and the mild smell of nicotine pinches the nose.

I feel more and more nervous, but this does not prevent my hand from resting on the chest of the most famous of the Sex Pistols and gently pushing the door, making it open flat.

I hold my breath, even if the reason is not clear to me. Maybe I'm afraid I'm not welcome, or maybe I'm keeping it to yell at him, who knows.

With my eyes I look for his figure in some corner of the floor, but he is not there and, raising the gaze just a little, I see myself reflected in what remains of the mirror. It is not just a matter of the thousands of stickers attached to the edges to compromise my silhouette, there is also a web of cracks whose origin, looking well, seems to be the legacy of a punch. But when he've pulled it it's a mystery.

I swallow, conscious of never wanting to ever see Charlie furious - Jace was enough for me. So I started to look for the guy with a certain fear, advancing on tiptoe among the crumpled sheet music. I turn to the wardrobe, wide open as always and then, sure to find him, in the direction of the bed, where I see his figure.

His body is stretched out, tattered jeans wrap his long legs highlighting the silhouette of the muscles that skateboarding has given him. The white shirt is curled on the abdomen, leaving its inked skin free. His first and only tattoo stares at me, letting the edges of the bare tree rise and fall in sync with his breath. Under the marks impressed by the needle of a machine, right on the curve of the side and near the pelvis, two scars add up, forming a lopsided x. That pale inlay is the memory of a bad trick, of a ruinous fall at the skate-park.

I would like to look away, because it is not correct that I fix him in this way, but the action seems to be tiring even if I think about it. Strangely it is bewitching, seeing it so blessed and defenseless leaves me strangely - it is my best friend, but I cannot deny that he is a beauty in his turn. He could compete with Seth if he wasn't so similar to Jace...

The huge wireless headphones cover the ears, preventing him from hearing outside noises, but that doesn't stop them from leaking a few notes: he's listening to one of the usual relaxing ballads.

I leave the shoulder strap on the floor, regardless of what is really supporting it. All the anger I had believed would have assailed me dissipates, leaving me with only an infinite sweetness.

I bend over just to hear better.

I recognize the Death Cab for Cutie and automatically a smile turns my lips.

His breath is so light that it blends with the music and instinctively I close my eyes to enjoy the peace of this moment. I slept next to Charlie dozens of times, during trips, in the middle of some public park, on the couch at my place, but not even one gave me the luxury of giving him so much attention. Every fiber of him comforts me, dissolves my bad moods. It is the anchor that I cling to, the one who knows how to hold me to the shore and not let myself be shipwrecked in an ocean of solitude and wrong decisions.

And while I'm busy enjoying the tranquility of this room, immersed in thoughts so sweet to take me to the brink of diabetes, something grabs my face.

Benton's hand opens like a spider on my nose and his hoarse laugh breaks the atmosphere that had gone into creating: «Look, my name is not Aurora, I don't need your kiss to wake up.»

I feel my cheeks warm and my heart speed up.

"I'll kill him, now!"