Condensation/Evaporation

His eyes stare down at the cup of tea. Your hand creeps over the table to rest on his, but falls short. Your fingertips are atoms apart. The words mull over in your mind.

Take me home.

He said.

I want to go home.

You knew this was coming. You see him awake on the cusp of night and day, eyes never stilling. In the morning when you finally move from the bed, to the carpet, to the linoleum floor of the bathroom, he is still motionless. You can see he hates the noises of speeding cars and drunken yells that float up every night.

He looks up. You snap back to the here-and-now.

Well?

He says. Is he being threatening? You're unsure. You take a sachet of white sugar, rip off the top and sprinkle it in your tea. You don't have a spoon, and stir with your finger instead. He's saying something more but your brain refuses to comprehend. A baritone hum fills your ears as you try to make sense of the words. You catch fragments of speech in an oh so familiar voice.

Crime.

Danger.

Home.

Us.

We.

You.

Your heart is ice, he's slipping through your hands like water, he's steam clinging to winter windows. Your finger is still in the tea. You raise the slightly red digit to your mouth and suck away the hot sweetness.

The hot sweetness against, in and around you that has been absent for months.

You tune back into the bitter reality. He's echoing your mother.

Pay attention, pay attention, pay attention.

How can you? This is the only way you know how to get your way - ignore the difficulties, sweep them under the carpet with every other argument and dilemma. The metaphorical rug is heaving yet you brush more underneath.

You're filled with a sudden urge to stand. You do. The same urge wants you to turn and leave. You do. It compels you to look back. You don't.

It is October 30th.

---

You hand him his cup of tea and start on your own. His hand flutters over the table. You want to feel it on yours, but he doesn't touch you.

He never touches you.

You open your mouth and a soliloquy comes - wrenched out by some hand determined to destroy you. /Sirius/I hate London/take me home/I don't belong here/I want to go home/

He stares into his tea. Anger rises rises and bursts. /Well?/ Your venomous saliva soars onto the table's dust.

He reaches forth //ohgodtouchmelovemelovemeloveme// and takes a sachet of sugar. White, in gold paper. He's so intent on not looking at you he stirs with his finger to distract himself. /The crime rates here are disgusting./We're in danger./I want a proper home, for the both of us./We can be happy./You can be happy./

He sucks his finger. The child seeking solace from an ever absent mother. You follow her methods. /Pay attention./Pay attention Sirius./Sirius Black, pay attention./

You refuse to bend the rules for him. He is not your childhood friend any more. He is your lover/enemy/a stranger.

You were birds in the same cage, now free and

f

f

flying apart.

He stands, turns, and is gone.

//Tomorrow it'll be okay.//

//I'm sure//