tenerife sea + niam

[semper]

tweed

The first sign was I missed my period. Automatically that raised suspicion, and I waited a few days before working up the courage to go ask Mrs. Bowers-Fox about the situation. When I managed to stutter out that I thought I might be pregnant, she gave a warm, motherly smile and ran through a small verbal and physical check list and, sure enough, every result pointed to the same conclusion.

So far it’s only her that knows my secret. Duncan’s in the other room cooking God only knows what and I want to tell him but I’m scared to. Neither of us had planned anything like this—we’re only eighteen and in a district that isn’t known for any sort of medical profession. There are so many variables that could go wrong and prove the entire situation disastrous that it frightens me. What if something does go wrong? There won’t be anyone that I can turn to for help other than Duncan’s mother. Then again, there are so many women who have given birth to healthy babies without a hitch in Eight and the lower districts; sure, it was agonizingly painful, but no problems. Maybe they’re just lucky—I don’t know. I don’t believe in luck.

My fingers press lightly into my lower abdomen as I’m curled up under a quilt by the fire. Mrs. Bowers-Fox told me that right now the baby is hardly any bigger than a grain of rice, though I’m afraid that I’ll hurt it if I push down any harder. Such a small thing; I still have trouble believing that it’s growing inside of me and is entirely dependent on my actions. I could accidentally starve it, or accidentally hurt it, but I won’t. This tiny human is mine, mine and Duncan’s, and I’m going to protect it.

table by mylee <33

[Deleted]

duncan bowers-fox

If someone asked me to list my talents I wouldn’t dare say baking, and that’s not only because half the flour ended up scattering the floor like the snow that had fallen just shy of a month ago.

With each day Tweed and I had spent together, it came to my attention that though we had celebrated my birthday (we had even roped Cody into the simple festivities), we had never given a thought to hers, and even upon my asking she had shrugged it off without a second thought. And though it was relative in theory I had woken up with the grand idea that today would be the day we marked as hers, for the sun was bright and it was unusually warm for this time of year, and a day out of the normal stretch was exactly what fit her definition.

But my good intentions didn’t translate to the lopsided cake my mother helped me pull out of the oven.

After cutting out a piece bigger than Tweed herself and stealing one of the candles from the dinner table, I struck a match and set my impromptu plans in motion, making my way into the living room, cake in one hand and poorly wrapped present in the other.

I didn’t have much to give, though I considered wrapping one of Cody’s flannels just to see if he would notice it was gone. However, eventually I settled on the leather journal that still lay blank, not a single word to be found on any of its stained pages. It had managed to survive my quick fit of anger from the year before, when most of my time spent wisely had been ripped, shredded, and tossed away. This one had been a gift from Owen, probably on a Christmas or birthday or something of the sort.

But it seemed fitting for her, for she watched me intently every time I took to the page, and I wanted to give her the same.

She had taken to the couch, relaxed, half-asleep and un-expecting of any change of plans or surprises, and I do my best to lay it gently in her lap, taking a place on the edge of the table in front of her. I give her a moment to catch on and let the poorly planned surprise fade out before offering her the plate as well.

“I’ll spare you my singing voice.”

[semper]

tweed

My thoughts had trailed off into a haze until something is set on my lap, stirring me to consciousness. Through blurry vision I see the outline of Duncan and already my heart leaps to my throat. Should I tell him? Now? But my attention is quickly drawn down to my lap where a small bundle of brown paper is folded into a rectangular shape. Strange. I look at it in a curious manner for a few moments before refocusing attention on Duncan, and I see that he holds a plate of cake with a candle sticking up. A small flicker of flame dances at the top of the wax stick, swaying side to side from undetectable little drafts in the air.

”I’ll spare you my singing voice.”

It’s only then that I realize what he’s doing. I distinctly remember celebrating Duncan’s last few birthdays—smearing frosting on his face and a few other areas, giving him gifts, and just being so thankful that I could spend another year with him—but not once had we done anything for mine. Whenever he asked about my birth date, I didn’t want to out-right say that I didn’t remember what day or month it was; besides, to me, every new day that I’m above ground is just as much reason to celebrate like any old birthday.

Still, he had thought about me. He planned something for my birthday.

All for me.

My hands come up to cup over my mouth and nose, and already I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I look up at him for just a moment before burying my face completely into my palms and giving a small whine.

”Oh, Duncan—“ But what can I say? I’m so overwhelmed that someone cares enough to do something like this for me that I’m utterly speechless. So, instead of verbally replying, I just let my head sink sideways back onto the couch. Pulling my hands down just enough to uncover my eyes, I look back at the massive slice of cake, then lower at the present still in my lap. ”You didn’t have to. It’s—my birthday’s no big deal. But thank you.”

table by mylee <33

[Deleted]

duncan bowers-fox

“Oh, Duncan— you didn’t have to. It’s—my birthday’s no big deal. But thank you.”

It’s panic turned to relief, for I half expected the first words to be followed by an undeniable displeasure, and though there are tears in the corners of her eyes I don’t believe it to be sorrow. But there’s still something about the sight of her crying that causes me to set the plate on the table beside me before joining her on the couch, pulling her almost onto my lap before wrapping the blanket around us both and watching the package in her hands.

She seemed even smaller now, pressed into my side like she was meant to be, and despite her words tinged in joy there still seemed to be a bite of uneasiness, and no matter where I looked in an attempt to read her the words remained jumbled. But she trusted me, and I trusted her, and it went without speaking that despite the circumstances that plagued us or the obstacles that fell in our path, we would be there for each other.

I would be here when she needed me because I knew she would do the same, and there wasn’t a single happenstance in the world that could change that.

“Of course your birthday’s a big deal. If it wasn’t why would I have baked such an amazing looking cake?”

But I couldn’t bear to say that it was important because otherwise she would not be here, and if that were the case I wouldn’t either, and both thoughts are too heavy a topic for my mind. Instead I gesture to the package resting in her lap, tapping the cord tied about it in a crude bow.

“It’s not much, but I think the wrapping is the best part of it all.” A smirk crosses my face at this, and I wonder if she knows that I can never match the gift she’s not only given me year to year, but hour to hour, or even minute to minute, for really she’s been a present all along, and she’s one I’ll never lose interest in or set aside.

[semper]

tweed

The tears are still flowing as he sits down and pulls me into his lap. I don’t hesitate to bury myself into him, utilizing his shoulder as a pillow, using the back of my hand to wipe the tears away.

Snuggled up with him and having the blanket around us both, I’m completely at ease. There’s nowhere else that I know I’m entirely safe and welcomed. I’ve yet to actually tell him that but I’m fearful the words will not come to me. He knows, though, I’m sure of it. My body language has delivered that message loud and clear. I need and cherish him.

This small act of kindness that he’s done reciprocates my feelings toward him. He cares enough to declare a day my birthday and utilize his rather mediocre culinary skills to make a cake. I reach out to the giant slice and stick my finger and lick it off, relishing in the taste. It’s not bad, though it’s not the best, but just the fact that he took time to create it makes it all the more sweet. A broad smile pulls the edges of my mouth upward and I press the side of my face into his shirt, unable to stop grinning. ”It tastes just as amazing, that’s for sure.”

My attention’s drawn down to the gift that’s still in my lap. He taps the little bow, mentioning how it’s the best part, and I can’t hide the laugh that bubbles forth. I take the gift in my hands and nudge a loose flap on the end with a fingertip, turning it over and inspecting the wrapping. A very shoddy job, but that just makes it easier for me to pull apart, and so I start unraveling the bow.

“You’re really bad at wrapping things up. No wonder I’m pregnant.”

table by mylee<33

[Deleted]

duncan bowers-fox

She is the sunrise on mornings when everything is pure; she is light when clouds have covered the sky.

She is my heart, and I am hers.

We spoke words in the dark, pressed them against exposed skin so that they would sink straight to the heart, and though that time had passed I could still feel their mark upon her skin.

(“I love you, I love you, I love you—”)

They still remain, even now as we sit entangled with one another, and I can do nothing but smile, nothing but press my lips to her neck and shoulder while running hands down her back, absorbed in every single, minute detail that defined her.

She was; she is; she will be.

I was; I am; I will be.

She was anger and I was sorrow, two emotions mixed and stirred until they blurred together in an attempt to heal the wounds they had created. She is hope and I am comfort, caught in each other like there’s not another soul in the world that could bear our burdens, simply because there wasn’t. She will be something more, and I will be there to see it, to hold her hand and lift her to my shoulders, because we are nothing but the hope we’ve etched upon each other’s skin.

And I continue to reaffirm this, chuckling into her neck as she comments about the nature of the cake I managed not to completely burn.

With one glance up I realize her attention’s become focused on the gift in her lap, and as she begins to fidget with the bow I lay my head atop hers, watching her fingers twist until they abruptly pull the knot apart in one movement. “You’re really bad at wrapping things up. No wonder I’m pregnant.”

In one quick movement I’ve turned her around so that she’s facing me, and instinctively I lock my hands behind her at the small of her back, pressing my nose against hers, “Babe, your jokes have gotten worse since you got older.”

[semper]

tweed

He spins me around faster than I would’ve thought, and now we’re pressed nose-to-nose and I’m trapped. My eyes widen with surprise at how close he is; no matter what we’ve done, no matter how intimate we’ve been, the close proximity still brings a light tint of red to my cheeks and I divert my eyes from where I had been staring into his enticing blue irises.

Part of me starts to think that telling him had been a mistake. Neither of us had planned to have a child this early in life—hell, we hadn’t even planned for a kid at all. I’m not the nurturing mother type of girl. I never knew a motherly figure after my own mother died when I was young. Since then, being on the street, most of my caring nature had been redirected for only myself, and that put other people in the cold. That even included Duncan when I first met him. He’s been with a family for his entire life so he’ll be far much better than I could ever be at taking care of a defenseless infant.

I clutch the half-opened gift to my chest and shrug. ”You know me. I can’t joke.” Raising my eyes back up, I watch his facial expressions and decipher them as much as I can. ”I didn’t think it was true, but I went and talked to your mother and she confirmed it. The thing’s a few weeks old by now.” One hand sneaks down and presses to my still flat lower abdomen, almost as if I’m ready to protect the little grain-sized baby. Whether Duncan accepts it or not, I’ve already come to terms with the situation; sure, I’m frightened, but I don’t back down from this life-changing event. ”Surprise, I suppose.”

table by mylee<33

[Deleted]

duncan bowers-fox

When her line of sight drops from my own, panic rises in my chest. My fingers lock, pressing against the small of her back where they sit, letting her warmth radiate into my palms. She is the sunrise burning against the background of her pale cheeks, her freckles the clouds dotting the sky.

But I am winter, and with a trembling hand I press my hand along her jaw, the severity of the situation just beginning to scratch the barrier of my mind. Multiple questions scramble in my mind, thoughts crossing like tangled wires. Father—no the word falls from my mind, empty of personal meaning like mother was supposed to mean to her. We were new to the term eighteen, simply children attempting to hide behind the guise of adulthood. Having children was not a phrase we had yet added to our repertoire, and with the words she speaks I attempt to keep the feelings of uneasiness repressed to only a thought, “I didn’t think it was true, but I went to your mother and confirmed it.” My breath catches and my eyes widen as I stare, the rest of her words fading in volume behind the rapidly increasing beat of my heart. Her attention flickers to where her hand is pressed against her stomach, and my own follows suit as she speaks again, “Surprise, I suppose.” My fingers lock with hers, a cold palm pressed to the warmth that radiates from her skin, and as we remain locked about the same ideal, a child neither of us were truly expecting existed beneath, purity which we’d wish to keep engrained into its being.

I press a kiss to her forehead, resting my own against the latter as my eyes remained on our hands pressed together, father—no the word falls meaningless, like a title I couldn’t claim responsibility for. “Surprise is right—” and with a chuckle it falls to the air around us, “but it looks like I gave you a better present than I even imagined I would.”

[semper]

tweed

It’s still scary.

It didn’t actually click in my head that I was pregnant until I started to see the changes in my body. At first it was the sick spells that struck me in the mornings and I spent an hour or so in the bathroom, throwing up every little morsel that I’d eaten for breakfast. Fortunately Duncan had spent those hours rubbing gentle circles into my back, helping pin my hair up so it wouldn’t end up tipped with vomit. I know he’s scared about it all, too, but he’s not backed out. He’s not done what I feared the most that he’d do. I’ve tried to not voice my fears to him too often so it won’t wind him up, and I’ve actually started going more and more to his mother to calm my nerves. She doesn’t seem to mind.

The main feature that forced me to believe was when my stomach started to poke out. Honestly, I was almost scared to tell Duncan about it, so at first I tried to hide it. It freaked me out when I realized there was a human being growing inside of me. When the bump was little it was easy to hide, but as it continued to grow, it was more difficult. While I was embarrassed about it, Mrs. Bowers-Fox was thrilled; I don’t think I’d ever seen her that happy before. Duncan never said a mean word about any of it and that put many of my anxieties to rest.

The biggest drawback to this is that my shirts don’t fit. Duncan’s started to let me wear his shirts and flannels, and I don’t think I’ve worn my own shirts for about three weeks now. My feet are sore and my back continuously aches, keeping me either sitting or lying to reduce the stress on my body. I feel horribly lazy doing nothing all day and yet I’m somehow always exhausted by the time night rolls around.

Curled up sideways on the sofa late one night, I’m riddled with aches. I draw my legs up as close as I can get them until they bump my belly and bury my face into the fuzzy sleeves of the flannel Duncan’s let me wear, muffling an exhausted groan. Everyone else has gone to bed and I’m not entirely sure where the abnormally tall brunet is, but I still call out to him quietly around the sleeves.

“Duncan? Could I bother you for a back rub?”

table by mylee<33

[Deleted]

duncan bowers-fox

A tender heart was not all that was required of a father, apparently.

And though my father and I had passed the basics of what was required in the bond between father and son, we had never strived to pass these boundaries, content to keep our distance as a passing nod to each other’s sanity. Cody had never been close to him either, and truly the only one of the three boys brought about by his blood that had spared him anything more than what was required had been Owen.

Surely my father found disappointment in both Cody and I, the same type of disappointment that lingered in Cody’s vein, personifying only in the outbursts of anger and snark he let fall from his lips on occasion.

If I had been the first to know about our soon to be responsibility, instinct refused to tell me if I would have been inclined to go first to my mother or father, or rather, keep it hidden until the obvious nature of it all became known. However, Tweed’s anxiety and suspicion had caused my mother to be the first to know, and it seemed that my father knew about even the air that my mother breathed.

Needless to say, his hand upon my shoulder in fatherly beckoning was one that struck me as strange, and as we sat out on the porch we shared words striking with more meaning than any in the previous eighteen years. Speaking of responsibility and burden he attempted to pass the weight of parental guidance to my own shoulders, but yet the words fell to a mind that could not seem to grasp them, and eventually he concluded his spiel with the reassurance that he indeed believed in Tweed and I’s ability to raise a child.

Making my way through the rusted back door I curled up in the now empty bed, my mind caught on her absence alone. The notion kept me up long enough to cause worry to seep into my thoughts, and so I shifted from the bedroom down the hall, where, before turning the corner her voice caught my ear. My name on her lips was still the sound of dreams, and as a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth I poked my head around the corner, finding her curled against the couch.

Her longing look caused me to realize I had only paid attention to half of what she had said, and absentmindedly I began to nod in affirmation, giving passing thought to my shirt wrapped around her body.

I situated myself behind her in a way I hoped caused her no discomfort before laying a hand upon her back and attempting to soothe her pain. Laying my chin upon the top of her head I pressed her back against me, her warmth the comfort on these nights in which the cold seemed to almost overtake the both of us.

But she was the fire that burned deep within that once broken heart of mine, and with it left the embers of a hope I had just begun to be able to put a finger on.

Letting my opposite hand entangle with her own before letting both rest against her stomach I took in that stillness which seemed to surround us with a false peace, “I pray every day that this child favors you more than me.”

[semper]

tweed

Fortunately the light creaks of footsteps reach my ears. My eye peeks over the fuzzy sleeve fabric to see my best friend approaching and bringing along with him a sense of relief my back was already starting to feel. I let my face bury back into the flannel while the couch cushions shift and jump underneath me with the new weight on top as he got settled. I give a small exhale of relaxation as he lowers down behind me and immediately starts to work magic against the sore muscles on my back. I hope he takes my quiet moan and wiggle closer as a good sign because my body’s already becoming less tense, allowing me to relax and melt into the embrace he had on me.

One of his giant hands takes mine, finger intertwining, and he sets them against my swollen belly. My thumb takes to rubbing against the side of his hand, immersing myself entirely in him; he’s so tall that he fits me like a snug case, warm and welcoming.

But his words put a thorn in the side of that serene joy I felt. I don’t… usually think about what the baby is going to look like. I’m still shocked that it’s still inside me, growing continuously, kicking my stomach to remind me that it’s there. As if I could forget, honestly. Part of me is excited but I’m still eaten hollow by anxiety. I’m nowhere near ready to be a parent and I don’t assume that Duncan is either. His father’s given him just a few pointers while I’m stuck out by myself to figure things out. I know I’m not really alone, considering that I’m nearly attached at the hip to the tall, gangly boy, and his mother’s been helping me along since she’s endured pregnancy about three times.

She’s been a lifesaver, really.

However, it’s my inner turmoil that catches my breath and constricts my throat like a wire’s being pulled taut around it. My own mother’s been dead for so long that it’s entirely too surreal having another mother figure in my life while becoming one myself.

I grew up on the streets – I lived in an old warehouse with other homeless kids. I was a thief. I only have a roof over my head because of Duncan.

I’m not fit to be a mother.

Pursing my lips together, I suck in slightly, just enough to nibble on the lower lip. Almost too scared to keep our hands resting where the baby was, I pull them both up to where my face is, pressing the back of his hand against my mouth and nose.

”I’m… not so sure.” The words are quiet and hesitant. I’m rather fearful of what his reaction might be and so I'm glad I'm not facing him. ”I’m still scared, Duncan. I’m not cut out at all to be a mother. Not at all. And I know that I’ve mentioned it before, but as it gets closer and closer… I keep becoming scared. I’m not going to be good enough when it comes. Even though you always say different, I have myself convinced that I'm going to flounder and just ruin everything.”

table by mylee<33

[Deleted]

[presto][/presto]

Confusion in complexity— she is simplicity.

Never symbolism; always straightforward, the curve of her lips an indicator to the exact meaning of every word produced. But with the reach of hand to her side of the bed I find crinkled sheets and a cold touch from the hand of emptiness, and so I rise to a sun that’s been bound to the sky for one hour too many. Heavy footsteps across hollow boards— it is difficult to remember there is a life outside of our own turning over under the same roof. The burden of my brother too heavy for fragile shoulders fighting for four years over, he becomes the hollow bones buried beneath us with each day passing.

But his silence is my second home, never false like white-washed walls or cracks in the windows.

Her simplicity is my first, always needed; never forgotten. And when my eyes turn a hollow hall into morning sun I find her, sunlight turned rays against a wooden floor and her breath catches as I shift into a position behind her, skin warmed by the morning sun I press lips to tender skin in the crook of her neck, warm breath that leaves her shivering in our warmth.

Pads of calloused fingertips pressed to stiff muscles we pass the seconds in silence, a vocabulary spoken in the time that ticks for my hand to find her own, fingers interlaced to rest against a life neither of us are prepared to step towards. Paternal instincts never second, third, or fourth nature fear is a catch twenty-two in my throat, an anxiety that finds its humanity in the shadows of night, when thoughts are all that are to bear. There are no four steps to caring for a child scrawled in black and white upon our walls, rather scratched questions marks and sentences with no period to tie them off.

A hold of her breath and my grip tightens, holding to her in the stillborn fear of losing that which I had just found, her words catching me by surprise in the time it takes for her to shift our hands from her stomach until her lips rest against the back of my hand.

Resemblance to her a priority her doubt dulls the sense of calm left in our presence and instead replaces it with my stomach sinking to drop and hit rock bottom, “I’m not so sure.” No comfort to be found in my silence her concerns find my ear, slow panic to be found in the rising tension when the phrase “ruin everything” falls to the floor, it shatters.

My head nestled in the crook of her neck the stutter of silence takes hold, time spent in consideration there is no promise in uncertainty, “Just because we don’t know what’s going to happen doesn’t mean we’ll ruin it.” Paired by a promise we would never leave there is no fault for us to bear alone when the other’s heart still managed to hold a true rhythm, “Given our past times,” lips pressed gently to her cheek I find no complexity, only simplicity in its form most broken down, “I’m almost positive we can handle anything.”

table by anzie

[semper]

tweed

We.

Every answer he tells me.

We. We. We.

I'm not alone. Everything he says indicates that there will be someone with me, and it's him. He'll never let me be by myself, standing at the edge of the cliff, toes dangling off the end and the wind picking up dangerously, becoming forceful enough to send me falling to the jagged rocks below.

But someone grabs a hold of me each and every time to pull me back.

And it's Duncan.

I press the back of his hand to my forehead and emit a shaky exhale. He places a familiar and tender kiss to my cheek and I allow my eyes to close briefly, letting myself be wholly absorbed into the lingering sensation of his lips on my skin.

I know Duncan will always be by me. He's never let me down at all. Like a steady rock in a harbor, he's been there to hold my hand when I'm scared. He's comforted me when I felt the world tearing itself apart around me. And when I thought he'd leave after figuring out he'd be a father, he didn't. Duncan stayed, coaxing me through rough patches, and never letting me doubt myself for a second.

Us.

Untangling our hands, I press it into the soft cushion of the sofa, twisting myself around so that I'm laying to face him. Immediately I nestle into him, burying my face into his shirt and quickly inhaling his scent, once more letting my eyes close.

In his embrace, I know I'm safe. I trust him with everything I am. If he says that we're -- meaning the three of us -- are going to be okay, then surely it must be so. He would never lie to me about such a thing. Almost anxiously, I let one hand fall back to my belly, fingers curling into a light fist against it.

Inside... is our child. Some unborn human that shares his genes and mine. It's going to be a mixture of the two of us, but I did hope he was wrong. I hoped this child would take after him more than me because I am nothing compared to him. Duncan is as bright as the sun and I am but a small wildflower that needs the sun's warmth and rays in order to live. Without him, I'd be lost; dead, even, considering how many times he's had my back on the grimy, gritty streets of Eight. And now, with a tiny third addition to our group, there would hopefully be another sun.

"You're much too kind to me." My words are muffled by the fabric of his shirt and I speak slowly, albeit meaningfully. "I love you. I really, really love you. I don't know why you'd ever stick with a stray like me, but I'm thankful. So, so thankful. Please don't ever leave me. I don't know what I'd do by myself."

table by mylee<33