We watched Frodo trudge to Mordor on one of the rare days he was with me instead of her. A bowl rested between us, crammed with popcorn, sweet and salty because he can never commit. Frodo leant on his faithful companion. I sucked my fingers clean, waved them towards the screen.
True love right there, I said.
He didn’t show he’d heard. Maybe he hadn’t. Still, we kept watching, silently, eleven hours straight, stopping only three times to refresh ourselves and shake our bodies awake.
My crossed leg switched sides every few minutes, proving it didn’t care either way. When it was towards him, I slipped into his sofa rut. The empty popcorn bowl was the only thing separating my hand from his burning arm. Summer or winter, his sun-speckled skin runs as hot as Mount Doom. I feel it, she feels it, we all feel it, drawn together in voiceless fellowship; a fellowship we pretend doesn’t exist, because we’re ‘not like other girls’.
He was yawning by the time the credits rolled. He checked his phone, perhaps looking for a message from one of the others, but who knows? He had made it none of my business.
I longed to watch the extra features, make a weekend of it, but I didn’t ask. I couldn’t. It would have thrown us straight into the lava, hurried our inevitable end. At least for now, he was here, and we were safe.
About the author
Hannah Retallick is from Anglesey, North Wales. She was home educated and then studied with the Open University, graduating with a first-class BA (Honours) Arts and Humanities (Creative Writing and Music) degree, before passing her creative writing MA with distinction. Her work has been placed and shortlisted in several international competitions.
Website: https://www.hannahretallick.co.uk/about
Blog: https://ihaveanideablog.wordpress.com
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