Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC

7: The Salt Burned You Right Out of My Eyes

Even at night, this house is sweltering. It's like somehow, the walls trap in the absorb the heat of the day and spit it back out at night. Even in my thin cotton shorts and the tiniest shirt I own, I'm still sweating. I roll over, and kick the sheets off, spreading my limbs out to try and alleviate the stickiness. I've got to get used to this heat or I'm not going to get any sleep for the rest of the summer.

    I shift again, flipping the pillow in the hopes that the underside might be cooler. Moonlight streams in through the window, and I watch a breeze shift through the short trees outside. In the hopes of catching some of that breeze myself, I slide out of bed, padding over to the window, the floorboards creaking under my feet. I undo the latch, and push against the frame, but the glass doesn't budge.

    I simply stare at the wall for a minute. "Fucking fine. I'll just die of heatstroke then." I say, like the house can hear me and is deliberately fucking me over.

    I'm still at the window when I hear a low creak from out in the hallway, and for a minute I'm worried that Venetia heard me, but there is no knock at my door. Instead, her footsteps retreat down the hall until I can't hear them anymore. A twinge of annoyance flares up in me - she didn't even check to see if I was awake. Not that she had to, of course, but this summer is supposed to be about us hanging out. If she's going to go out on a nighttime adventure, I'd expect her to at least ask me along. Especially to get me out of this stuffy room.

    I walk back over to the bed and kick my flip flops out from underneath, slipping my feet into them. Taking the box of cigarettes and the lighter from my nightstand and tucking them in the band of my shorts, I start out after her. 

    I know the house well enough at this point to find my way outside, immediately relishing the feeling of the cooler night air washing over me. The subtle concert of crickets in the tall grass is the only sound. Venetia is nowhere to be found, and I have no idea where to start looking. Instead, I sit down on the stone steps, and light a cigarette.

    For a while, it's just me, the nicotine, and the moon. It's about half-full, and hanging high in the sky. Even only half full, it's brighter than normal, it seems, and casts the grounds in sharp definition. It's goth, almost, the eerie way the moon highlights the statues dotted around the lawn and paints the maze in the distance like a looming mass. It's eerie enough that the sound of the door behind me almost makes me jump.

    I turn, quickly, to see Farleigh step outside, only in his boxers. He seems just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. A beat of silence passes between us. "Hi."

    "Hey." I return, turning back to face the yard.

    I don't expect him to sit down next to me, but he does, sprawling his lanky body down the steps. "Can I bum a smoke?"

    "Sure." I say, digging the box of cigarettes out of my waistband, and passing one to him. Farleigh tucks it between his lips, and then leans close, pressing the end of his cigarette to mine, lighting it off my cherry. The scent of him - the musk of sleep, his hair products, deodorant - fills my nose.

    "Thanks." Farleigh says, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

    Another moment of silence passes as we both smoke.

    "So," He drawls. "Couldn't sleep?"

    "Yeah." I say. "It's so fucking hot in there, and the window in the room I'm in won't open." I let a cloud of smoke slip out from my lips. "I take it, you too?" I say, gesturing to his boxers with my cigarette.

    "Mhm." Farleigh hums.

    The conversation dwindles into nothingness again. It's little awkward - I haven't spoken to anyone but Venetia one-on-one, and I don't quite know what to say. It feels more intimate than it should, us sitting here in our pajamas (Farleigh barely wearing anything really), having a smoke.

    "So what's your deal?" He says, breaking the silence and tilting his head towards me. His tone is totally different - sharper, accusing even.

    It takes me aback. "What do you mean?"

    He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. "Why does V keep you around? What do you do?" He asks. "I guess," He laughs, "Is it drugs or sex? Lord knows she doesn't need money."

    It's offensive, almost, except for the smile on his face. It spikes some anger, but I squash it quickly, taking a drag of my cigarette. "Why do you ask?" I force my tone to be casual. "Scared?"

    He scoffs. "As if-"

    "Because it seems like you're scared, Farleigh." I say, cutting him off.

    There's a tension in the air as we just look at each other. His eyes shift around my face, looking for something. A slow smile stretches across his face. "I see."

    "See what?"

    "It's just like Venetia to need a guard dog." He laughs. "I mean, I know she doesn't have any friends at Cambridge but I didn't know she was being bullied."

    This time, my anger is not so easily squashed. "She's got enough to deal with-"

    "I'm not going to jump on the bandwagon, Eves, calm down." He rolls his eyes. "I was just curious why you're here."

    I take a long drag of my cigarette, and purposefully exhale so that the smoke drifts past his face. My anger dissipates some. I can read him just the same as he's read me - he's making sure I'm not another Oliver, for whatever reason.

    He waves the smoke away from his face. "God, you're vicious." He grins. "I can see why she likes you." Just like that, all the sharpness in his voice is gone. Just like that, he's talking like we're best friends again. Flipped on a dime.

    I roll my eyes, and lean back against the steps.

    "Don't take it personally, c'mon." He says, leaning back on his elbows to follow me.

    "In the week that I've been here, the only thing I've learned about you is that you're a catty bitch." I say, looking him dead in the eye.

    He tips his head towards me with a wry grin. "What, you wanna know my favorite color or something?"

    I just blink at him, and take a drag of my cigarette.

    His gaze shifts back out into the yard. "It's blue."

    The admission makes me smile - it's an apology without saying 'I'm sorry', which seems like the best I'll get from him. "Mines red."