Yellow

chapter thirteen.

Deya's birthday was a Tuesday. She said all she wanted to do was escape for a little while, get away from her dad and her creaky twin size bed. Tanner didn't really know what to do with that. He told Connor about it, and as always he offered something much more thoughtful than he could have ever thought of. He told Tanner to take her to the beach, or to get her some more henna— because he said he'd noticed she didn't really wear it anymore, Tanner felt like an idiot when he realised he hadn't. He didn't tell Connor that, because he knew Connor would sigh and roll his eyes, and probably hold the words 'why are you with her?' under his tongue because he knew Tanner wouldn't want to hear it. But it was all he could hear, Connor's smooth drawl playing out in his head, harmonising with the same message coming out of his own mouth.

"Are you sure your okay with me taking her to the beach?" he asked as they drove home from school Monday afternoon, the air-con rattling relentlessly, hiding the nervous tap Connor kept drumming on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, of course I am." Connor echoed, he coughed and his voice sounded stronger when he spoke again. "It's not like it's just 'our' thing, it's a beach."

Tanner heard the harshness in Connor's tone at the end, the way he almost spat out the words 'it's a beach' as if he was trying to convince himself of that more than he was Tanner. Tanner pretended as if he didn't notice and looked out the window, not wanting to look at Connor because all he felt was that he was betraying something that was supposed to be sacred.

"It's not just a beach." he uttered, "But I'll pretend it is when I take her."

She kept her feet on the dashboard the whole time, her blue painted toenails wiggling with every new song that came on the radio— he'd made her a mixtape, but she said she didn't want to listen to it— not yet.

"Isn't it crazy?" she said, "I'm only just eighteen and already I know that this world is not meant for me."

Tanner tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel as his eyes shifted to her, catching witness to the purse of her lips that embodied so much bitterness he thought he would choke on it.

"Which world were you meant for then?" he asked lightly, moving his eyes back to the road— they were almost at the beach now, the salty air was fresh in his nose.

Deya sighed and pulled her feet from the dashboard, it took a while for her to answer.

"Somewhere else." she breathed, "I was meant for somewhere else, somewhere better."

Tanner nodded his head, he understood what she meant, but didn't share the same idea. "Do you think anyone really deserves to live in this world?"

Deya shook her head, "People deserve the best, but apparently the universe only gives them the worst."

Tanner pulled into the carpark for the beach and shut off the car, although he had no intention to get out, not yet.

"I like the idea that the universe makes it hard." he blurted, "I mean, I guess in a way it makes people's pain more valid, it kind of gives sense to all the questions about is life worth it— because if it hurts so much, than how can it not be— how can happiness not be worth all the suffering, and how does it not make it so much better when you finally feel that freedom, that lightness. The universe has got to hurt us, so we can learn to live."

He took a breath after that, in fact quite a few. In all honesty, he felt quite sick— like he'd spilled his guts onto the pavement and given Deya permission to pick them apart. Because that was something he'd never said out loud, and it was something that he never wanted to get off his chest— because that was his, his way of trying to survive everything— and he'd only just learnt it himself. He didn't want to give it too anyone else, and especially not Deya. Not her.

"The hurt is necessary." she added quietly, and Tanner bit down on his tongue.

The sun cast shadows along Deya's back as she lay there, looking nothing less than what she always did— out of place amongst everything else, like she was placed there by mistake. Tanner pulled his own shirt over his head, placing it down beside hers as he continued to look at her. He'd thought bringing her here was going to be a mistake, he thought he would have felt awful as he saw her in the spots that were still stained by Connor. But he'd been wrong— because she didn't really care where he'd taken her, she just cared about being with him.

"Are you just going to keep staring at me?" she asked, her voice muffled by her arm, he could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"I don't know what you're on about." he teased back, laying down next to her— running a finger along the lines of her back as he always did. He had been right, it had been a matter of getting used too— he kind of liked it now, the emptiness a lot less complicated he decided.

"Is this like your spot?" she asked, quieter now. "I remember that one time when you'd missed English and I'd waited on your doorstep— when you sat down next to me you smelt all salty, and your hair was still wet— did you come here?"

Tanner was kind of taken aback, he didn't realise that she remembered those kind of things, or even that she really noticed. It kind of hurt, to here her say it like that- his spot- not their spot, not Connor's spot.

He debated saying no, lying to her, but he couldn't— not now, not on her fucking birthday.

"Yeah." he replied, "It's just a good place to escape, I guess."

She turned her head to look at him, a kind of smirk playing on her lips. "I know why you brought me here now." she said.