Nine Lives

Birthday Boy

The next morning I woke up covered in the illuminus light of my phone pushed against my cheek and puffy, swollen eyelids. My irritating ringtone killed any dream I was in, pulling me back to reality. For one, blissful second, I thought the dream that me and Blake were standing on top of the highest skyscraper in London was real...but as I saw Jacksons face pop up on my screen, I knew it was just a fantasy.

"Hello..." I spoke groggily, pushing my phone to my ear with limp hands.

"Babe! Good morning, or should I say afternoon...I'll be over in 15, just dropping the boys off home." He was oozing enthusiasm, obviously still drunk from last night, or worse.

I checked the time. 11.45. I'd missed my run this morning.

"Babe, Ammy, you there?" I heard as I kicked myself for my mistake.

"Yes, Jackson. I'm here, I'm awake." This slip up meant I couldn't eat any of the birthday cake I made Jackson, the creamy swirls, velvety chocolate and candied sugar dangling infront of me like an imaginary carrot on a stick.

"Be there soon."

I hung up the phone and threw my legs over the bed, feeling last nights food in my stomach. I had a slight spice on my tongue...maybe from the breadcrumbs...but whatever it was, I didn't much like it.

15 minutes, god damn.

I quickly changed into some old jeans and a baggy jumper, making sure I put on my best matching underwear. My feet were frozen as I walked across the landing to the toilet, brushing my teeth twice and making sure every little hair was in place.

After, I rushed downstairs and grabbed Jackson's presents out of the cupboard, running back upstairs and arranging them into a love heart on my turquoise sheets. The wrapping paper id chosen had little shining stars entwined with the glitter, their tiny shines reminding me of last nights sky over the lego city. I smiled to myself, but quickly surpressed it when I heard the back door slam and voices from the living room.

I brushed myself off, sitting in my desk chair as I waited for him to charm my parents and come upstairs, a smaller smile plastered on my face as the butterflies in my stomach felt more like fiery ants. I heard his feet on the landing as I double checked my presentation was perfect, sitting back down just as Jackson came bounding through the door.

"Happy Birthday, birthday boy!" I shouted, pulling a party popper as he took in the presents on my sheets.

"Hey, babe!" He smiled at his gifts and then made his way over to me, throwing down his keys and crashing into the chair, pushing me backwards, face squished hard against mine and lips chewing on my absent words. "God, I missed you last night."

He smelt like booze, and was wearing his 'fancy' jeans and a polo shirt, unusual to his usual baggy joggers and a football jersey. I noticed his hair was greasy, and there was a sickly smell of smoke that stuck to his jacket as it pushed against my cheek.

I returned the kiss as he continued to remind me how much he 'missed me', pulling my hair and crumpling my clothes, his hands everywhere and respect nowhere. I used to enjoy this, honest. Jacksons forceful aggressiveness, it used to be a turn on. We would do it in the car, at parties, in cupboards, in public (not my idea, that restaurant bathroom was obviously just too tempting for Jackson). It was fun, at first. Adventurous. Until it became constant.

All Jackson ever wanted these days was me. Correction, not me...my body. It was sex o'clock, every o'clock.

"Jackson, come on, let's open these presents first. I want to see if you like them!" Jackson sighed as I interrupted his intruding tongue, pulling away and releasing my hands from our entanglement. "I think you'll love the big one."

'"You are such a tease, you know that? There's me thinking you were my present" He hesitantly lifted his torso up from the chair, throwing himself backwards onto my bed, messing up the love heart with his clothes,  and replacing it with a funny looking oval.

"Maybe later, but now, presents!" I grasped up the biggest box, handing it to him and sitting by his feet as excitement fell over his face. I'd spent all my birthday money on this gift, saving up every note until I had enough. He'd wanted this ever since I met him, and the anticipation of giving it to him has been playing on my mind ever since I clicked ORDER.

Jackson shone his moonlit smile, reminding me why I fell in love with him. He ripped the wrapping and threw the bow to the floor, inspecting the box as I nervously tapped my hands on my knees. I really hope he likes it...

"Babe, oh my god, is this what I think it is...?" He spun the box round so the pixellated, ruby red boombox was now facing his shocked face, the features of AM/FM radio, a volume of up to 100 and state of the art speakers boldly highlighted in gold casings. "You got me the boombox!"

Jackson was obsessed with anything vintage - old cars, signed guitars and especially classic music - he loved the look of old stuff, but expected it to work like new. So, in order to give him what he wanted, me and Pat always searched for the newest refurbishments of vintage stock...which, unsurprisingly, cost the expense of a golden treasure chest.

A sense of relief ran through me as I turned the nervous thrown upside down, leaning into the hug he was offering. 'I'm so glad you like it!"

"Like it, I love it! I've been dropping hints to you for years about this baby, looks like someone finally solved the puzzle." My heart stung to his backhanded compliment, but I ignored the edge and took it as a 'Jackson inspired thank you'.

The rest of the afternoon, me and him sat in bed, playing video games, making out, watching movies, more making out and 'birthday celebrations' - but all I could think about was Blake. He opened the smaller presents I gifted him, containing a few vouchers, some upgraded t-shirts and a tool kit for his car. Overall, he seemed pretty happy, showering me in kisses and insisting he say thank you properly.

As I pulled my jeans back on and slipped into an old tank top hours later, Jackson pulled his phone out and munched on the slice of cake I brought up for him. The chocolate filling oozed out onto the plate, icing the china in a chocolaty lake, sprinkles diving into the velvet and doing cartwheels in the indulgence. I resisted cutting myself a slice as I hovered the knife over the sprinkles play pool, quickly turning round and pelting up the stairs.

I threw on a cardigan and jumped back into bed beside Jackson, resting my head on his bare chest and unpausing the film we were watching. I sat like that for what felt like years, listening to his fingers tapping away on his phone, a few huffs escaping his lips and an indistinct giggle. I kept my eyes glued to the tv, the familiar feelings of worthlessness seeping in, every sense aware of Jacksons body movements: the shallow breaths, small hiccups and intermittent laughs. "So, how was the party last night?"

Jackson kept typing out his message, ignoring me as he pressed send and then eventually peered at me over the phone screen with authority etched on his brow, supposedly checking I wasn't snooping at his texts.

'It was bomb, wish you were there though." He wasn't really paying attention, smiling at something on the screen, that was perfectly angled facing away from wandering eyes.

I kept prying, an all too familiar feeling setting in my stomach."What did you get upto? Beer pong, never have I ever?"

Without any hint of hearing me, he said "Babe, that's stupid. This was a party, not a family barbecue. We smoked a bit, drank way too much cider...the usual."

This meant he got high, smoked was code for high. "How much did you have, you know I worry about you taking too much of that stuff."

"The boys were going hard, so I couldn't look like a pussy. A few joints was all." He laughed out loud as he tapped a long syllable into his text, supposedly an extended LOL.

"Who's that, Pat telling you dad jokes again?" I forced a phony laugh, reaching up to move the phone into my eyesight.

As I lifted myself up, Jackson pushed me straight back down, phone out of reach and locked. He snapped his hands over mine, pinning me to the bed as he loomed over me, his blonde locks hiding the clenched jaw that screamed anger. "How dare you." He snapped. "That's my phone, not yours."

Song Dedication - Those Nights, Bastille