Agoraphobia - CharlieandEm (the first e reader TXT) 📗

he asked, moving closer to me.
“I don’t know anything about you.” I asked, honestly not the biggest issue on my mind but not the lightest.
“Nor do I about you; so it’s fair.”
“When did this have to do with fairness?” he was quiet, he had obviously learned the Robin trick. Sebastian was more solemn though, he glared against the setting sun with crossed arms. He was scarier than Robin by far. “Whatever, just leave it.” I tried to walk away from him, tired of the prerequisite effort for this entire interaction.
“Why?” he called to me. I stopped my escape out of courteously – it was not as though he had done anything even close to unforgivable. The wind ruffled his hair. “I don’t want to leave it. I want to know you, more than just as my friend; because you never were that, and I was never just your friend.” He was not wrong, but I was uncomfortable with the direction of his thought.
“I don’t like to just tell people things.”
“That’s right; you’d rather push them away at every chance you get.” What he said made me angrier and I stamped slightly closer to him. “We’d fight,” he said in defence, obviously choosing this moment to demonstrate his point. “You’ll hate me, and I’ll hate you – but not all the time, not even some of the time.”
“If you boss me around…” I warned, hollowly, but he took the hint.
“I don’t plan to. I was just trying to impress you.”
“Don’t,” I said. Sebastian smiled, unconcealed in the outdoor light. This did not detract from how annoying he was being, but it softened most of what he had said. The build up to asking him about what he actually spent his time doing, by Robin and Ron’s fault, and the embarrassment of not recognising him had made me overreact.
“I feel so stupid, about all of this.” I muttered, blushing slightly as I relived the last hour’s events.
“I’ll try to be more honest with you, if you’ll do the same for me. It’s not easy, throwing open every door of yourself and allowing someone to inspect every crevice.” He clarified, redeeming himself for making me reveal one of my many issues with companionship. At least we would have the logic to potentially understand each other’s secrecy.
“I can only promise to try.” I cautioned him, lowering his expectations to accommodate me.

That night Sebastian came over. Ron had cooked and my parents, Sebastian, Ron, Robin and I ate together. This type of behaviour was customary in our household – not only as the initiation of a new boyfriend, but as our family’s sole meeting ground. As Robin and I grew up our parents found few ways to keep our personal agendas synchronised and, around the time Robin turned sixteen, we took an oath as a family to eat as many meals together as we could. Luckily, for all of us, my family was not unpleasant to spend extended amounts of time with – until Ron moved in. None of us are particularly sure; though, as we do not yet consider her an integral part of the family, no one felt in the position to ask; whether Ron in pregnant or not. We all assumed, as Robin’s motivation to let her stay in our home was vague. My father certainly would never venture to ask, as at the table of Sebastian’s big reveal, for he is a shy, non-invasive soul. He designs area efficient buildings to house stray animals and gives free consultation to farmers who are clever enough to realise his space management genius; while my mother is slightly more conventional. Even she, from whom I learned to ‘say what you mean when asked, dear’, does not dare breeching the subject with Ron. My theory, from overhearing heated debates and the grating screeching travelling to and from cell phone calls to Ron, is that Ron was pregnant. Her mother kicked her out for choosing to abort, and this is why she is living with us. Of course, as Ron and Robin have far exceeded their parental dependency date, neither of them had the sense to grow up and ask for help. There is nothing more precious than advice; whether it is good or bad, a wise decision is never made without advice. I suppose; while looking at Ron’s insipid, poorly shaped face under the warm, dining room light and supporting the abortion; my theory should also condone her intervention. I smiled at her, across the table, which seemed to scare her more than flatter her.
“So,” Ron piped up, obviously under the impression that someone should grill Sebastian on his first night, “You and Olive finally got together?” I chewed loudly on my carrot and stopped smiling at her.
“Olive?” Sebastian teased; he squeezed my hand, “How sweet. I didn’t know that I could call you that.” He grinned, knowing that I hated it when someone shortened my name by the countess times I had moaned about Ron to him. “Yes, it took some convincing.” He continued, wincing as I looked at him pointedly and dug my fingernails into his hand.
“She’s a handful.” Ron went on, still smarting from our argument over her intervention. To be fair to her, I had given her a hard time about it, but she should know that my tolerance was thin.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Sebastian assured her, smiling kindly. Ron had paused in her furious manner of eating, obviously distressed at the way Sebastian was making light of her warning. Robin, seeing this, tried to coax her back to her food.
“The meat is perfect, Ron.” He said adoringly, distracting her with a kiss from my hasty release of the piece of beef I had reached over Sebastian to put on my plate. Sometimes I felt guilty about detracting from every compliment Robin paid Ron, but other times I did not. I defended my brother healthily, but I disliked the person she changed my brother into almost as much as I disliked her.
“You’re scarier than you seem.” Sebastian whispered into my ear as I retracted from the platter of meat. I pulled a face of obvious disgust, complacent enough for that to be my only response. My father cleared his throat, a man sensitive to tension in his home, and turned to Sebastian. He meant for his expression to appear hospitable, but his muted features could only perform ‘relatively surprised’. Sitting next to Sebastian, I grinned an encouragement to my father, admittedly grateful for his rescue.
“Sebastian,” My father began, “Olivia tells me that you’re studying in the mornings at a college down the road. How are you faring?” I had told my father no such thing; Ron had tattled to him. My father was never one to hide his true meaning, and so I was relieved that he took the right stance on her information. As long as he and I had no issues about Sebastian I was content – my mother believed that any choice I made, as I had been brought up correctly by her standards, was the correct one. She always promised to be around to handle the aftermath. Neither would judge a suitor on the conventions he was defying, if I was content with them.
“Fine,” Sebastian replied, without hesitation, “The hours suit me, because I can still work after that.” My father took his time to digest this information.
“Well, that’s quite a responsible way to look at it. How do you find the marking system there?” My father continued, “I understand you’re taking Advanced English and Philosophy; I know that opinions are strict, from working there for a few years myself.” I waited, Sebastian’s feelings on the marking system mirroring mine on Ron.
“I little more leeway could be given, especially in English,” he began, a characteristically calm introduction that usually torpedoed off into something a lot less calm. “But no one can ever be satisfied, right?” his rhetoric worked and my father smiled, decidedly more naturally now.
“Quite right,” my father chuckled, and looked at me slyly, “I’d quite like to read some of your papers, Sebastian,” my father ventured. “Olivia says that you have some intriguing ideas.” This I had said, but in confidence.
“Is that so?” Sebastian asked, turning to me with a smug grin slapped across his face. “She’s never told me that.” He accused.
“Your head would continue to swell. I’ll not be part of the rally to shorten your prognosis.” I smiled slowly at him, to soften the blow I was crafting, “Narcissism is fatal, you know.”
“Ha!” he laughed. To my horror, and distantly with a twinge of contentment, he smoothed away my fringe with his hand and kissed my forehead. In my recollection I am certain that Ron gasped at this, merely from her disapproval of him, but I may have altered the scene over time. When I was released I looked around the table, bashfully, at the effect this had had on my family. My mother seemed impressed, obviously righting his affection off as chivalry; while my father and Robin, who I believe had assumed that Sebastian would never get on my good side, wore subdued looks of panic. Sebastian had not parted his gaze from my face, despite my anxious once-over of my family and a vehement blush, and, because of this, I met his face with all of the adoration I could muster. It had been a strenuous and prolonged chase, but Sebastian was finally starting to win me over – the least I could do was reciprocate the effort.
On leaving that night, Sebastian was content with the outcome of his visit; he almost pranced along the footpath, all the way to his car, and do not fail to make certain that I would remember our date the next day. He was so overjoyed, in fact, that he sped away from his car door at the last minute to gather me up into his arms and kiss me. It was a pleasing feeling, but ruined somewhat as I crept back inside and sat on the wicker chair at the front door. I breathed slowly, completely unaware of Robin’s presence across the way from me. I was startled when he spoke, in his disapproving, brotherly way that was malignant in its truth: “When are you going to tell him?” he asked.
“I’m not.” I whispered.
“You’re putting an expiring date on him already?”
“No,” A flicker of anxious, palpitating concern sat foully in my chest. My heat was light, so that all that I heard was the high-pitched buzzing of silence. My face and hands were hot; my lower back pricked with heat and adrenalin. I sat up straighter and turned away from the window. The perspiration on my neck had started to cool slightly and sent a chill through my body.
“You can’t have both, Olivia; you can’t stay with him and not tell him about your –”
“I can.” I stopped him. “There are other options.” I grasped around for what exactly these options were; but my head was already overflowing with thought and I gave up. I cried a little, after Robin watched me for a while and the adrenalin faded from my system. Had the dose last just a few seconds longer I could have escaped to my room, but I did not and Robin lifted me out of the chair and sat down, putting me in his lap. He put his chin on my head and hugged me, but stopped talking all together. I stopped crying, but the flicker in my body got worse and I started to feel sick. As if to torture me more, I heard Ron calling Robin from somewhere in the house. I