The Distance Between

"Stop looking at me like that." My voice came out firm as I puffed out some cigarette smoke. There was mud everywhere due to it raining for the past three days. Although, not one of these kids playing in the park seemed to mind. In fact, they were splattering around in the muck. Turned out that my dad couldn't get our rooms back at the Alexandria but I didn't mind. Petya's place was more serene and the slightest bit humorous. There was also the added detail that a very interesting girl lived there, one that I couldn't for the life of me comprehend.

And that irked me. I prided myself on being able to detect what type of person someone was. It was one reason I stayed quiet—to listen, pay attention to how you behaved and what you said. But Eden, fuck. I never knew what to expect from her. In the three days that I'd known her, she managed to surprise me more than once. What astounded me the most was the fact that she appeared to be very proficient in kicking a ball. Her kicks were precise and never failed to miss her target, even when it was moving. Eden had the skill of a striker, something that intrigued me.

Jeremy sank back on the hood of the car we were renting for our time in London. He glimpsed at the kids before peering back at me. "So I'm not allowed to look at you?"

I rolled my eyes, inhaling more toxic smoke before blowing it out. "Do you have a crush on me or something?" He laughed at my inquiry, tilting forward to punch my arm. The blow prompted my cigarette to fall from my fingers. I watched it trundle down the car before landing in the mud and I scowled at Jeremy. "Fuck you."

The snort that left him was nearly animalistic and I elbowed him, reaching into my pocket for another cigarette. Jeremy slapped my hand. "It's about time you stopped smoking anyway." Vexation swelled inside my chest and I held back from snapping at him, recognising he was only trying to help. That's what they all said. They didn't understand that the nicotine distracted me from the fact that my relationship with my family seemed to be going to absolute shit. Then again, how would they know? Getting me to speak about my feelings was like trying to teach a fish to walk.

There was a loud screech and I watched a little boy get hit in the face with a soccer ball. Dirt was coated all over his face but he snickered, booting the ball back to his friends before positioning himself in front of the makeshift goal post. All of them were covered in mud and the childlike side of me wished to join them. They were playing for fun, something I did before everything became a competition between me and my only brother. Jeremy marked where I was looking and urged, "remember when we first met?"

I shrugged, closing my eyes and feeling memories overtake me; memories of a tiny boy with a head too big for his body and slovenly black hair. He had huge blue eyes that were constantly observing everything in astonishment, and he was always babbling. We'd met when we were in kindergarten. Jeremy had been crying because some other boy took his apple. The next day, I brought my own apple and gave it to him. He never left my side since. When I opened my eyes, I watched the transformation happen before me. Jeremy sat watching me with amused eyes. His hair was longer now and his head no longer looked like it would cause him to plunge over. That boy became a man, and even if I didn't regularly say it—I was grateful that Jeremy Dawson was my best friend.