. pool party

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Ellie combs a hand through her damp salty hair and braces herself. She had this feeling in her gut that said this was it. The end. There was no recovering from this dishonesty. As she turned the key into the front door of their home, she reminded herself that this was no longer theirs. They were no longer 'us'. Her small body was covered in nothing but a tiny swim top and jean shorts, and her face freckled and bare. She didn't have much energy to put a big effort in, she felt like she was stepping into a funeral. A weird funeral. Their full but empty home. Nothing really meant anything. Their home, or her home could best be described as surfer chill. Maybe a little bit of boho. Maybe trying to be minimal but being unsuccessful as Ellie enjoyed an abudance of throws and pillows. She'd have to redecorate. There were too many memories associated with the things in the home, too much love and too much drama. Ellie begins to unpack her groceries. Filling cupboards and the shelves of the fridge with food that made no sense. Xander usually did the shopping, she was useless in the store and let her stomach do the thinking. She doesn't make it too far into her unpacking when she settles on a pack of Oreos. Overwhelmed with confusion and sadness, she sinks down onto the kitchen floor and starts to shove cookies into her mouth. Ridiculous, she thinks. If anyone could see her, they'd think |how sad. And of course when this thought crosses her mind, the door creaks open and she freezes.

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The sight of Xander throwing a damp wetsuit over the bannister on their porch would be a familiar one to their neighbours. He'd towelled himself off before the drive home, a surfboard propped on the back of his truck to tell the tale of where he'd been. He had driven out at the crack of dawn to catch those early waves, though in the end he had spent much of the time sat out at sea on his board, watching the sun rise and wondering what the fuck he had done to his life. He kicks his sneakers off outside the door to try and avoid dragging sand through the place, one of Ellie's many pet peeves. Probably time to respect those, since this was soon to be her place. He turns the key in the lock, already able to picture himself leaving it on the kitchen counter. A familiar smell hits him as he enters, a mix of sea salt, a specific scented candle Ellie favored, weed and her perfume. Which note was strongest depended on who was home, since he often left a grassy smell in his wake, whilst Ellie's perfume was unavoidable. He can smell it now and it sends a pang of nostalgia through his chest, making him ache to see her... which he does, sat on the floor, eating Oreos. "Um, hi," he says, stood in the doorway of the kitchen.  It's a deeply uncharacteristic view. She's at her most natural state, and he can tell at a glance that she's been in the water too. He wonders if they were at the same beach but resists asking, knowing she'd probably have turned away if she'd seen his truck and driven on to the next. "I'm just grabbing a shower and my stuff and I'll be out of here. Sorry, I didn't think you'd be here."

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An oreo twists in her fingers and she licks the white fluff off one side. Oreos were very anti-Ellie. They were sugary and happy. But it was a level of comfort she craved in this moment, they made her feel animated - like this were a fake reality. In fact, the whole morning at felt that way. She'd been awake forever, headed to the beach to swim and soak in the glow of the rising sun. It was deeply uncharacteristic of her to be slow and thoughtful. Usually she lived for the future and let everything rush by. But this morning it felt important to be connected and comforted. Her body stiffens when she hears the doorknob creak open. She hopes that the wind has pushed it open but she knows that she's wrong. Her eyes look up at Xander, who is the version of himself that she loves most. Damp hair, salty skin and a slightly blushed from the sun. She's caught in a moment of vulnerability and she feels like a deer caught in headlights. "Hi," the Oreos crumple as she shoves them back in their package. She unravels and stands up, attempting to alienate herself from that need of connection and comfort. "It's fine," her mind is chaotic as she puts the oreos in the fridge of all places. "I should have texted."

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It felt wrong to be in such close proximity to Ellie without touching her. They were a tactile couple, always touching in some minor or major way when they were around each other; pinkies linked as they strolled down the boardwalk, a hand on her knee at dinner, their bodies pressed against each other in a club toilet cubicle when they couldn’t wait until they got home. But here he was, stood, and there she was, sat, like strangers, or roommates who didn’t like each other very much. He supposed that was a fair description of what they were now, at least until he handed over the keys. She stands and he nods. It felt so stiff. On the outside he was as placid as ever, if a little sheepish, his damp hair drying crisp with the salt. Inwardly, Xander had been spiralling since his encounter with Lily, grief and regret and deep self loathing swirling inside him and swelling up ever more with every minute that he had to sit with it. “No, you don’t need to text when you’re coming over to your own place. I’ll tidy,” he adds, though the place wasn’t messy. He hadn’t moved much from the couch or their bed since she left, and had eaten only ramen - a dish as easy to clear away as it was to make. “Or I can come back later, whatever you want.”

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Ellie leans against the counter. She feels like a prop. Stiff and unsure what to do with her body, the blood that runs through her feels cold and like it's trying to fight a current. This was a new feeling for them. Usually their fights were dramatic but healed quickly as well as passionately. Xander being late could lead to slammed doors, but the doors always opened easily. This was a quiet rage that Ellie struggled to process. "Don't worry about it," she folds her arms over her chest and hugs herself. She's afraid is she looks straight at him that tears will burst from her eyes and she'll be caught. Her mouth feels dry as she thinks of what to say. The words in her mouth don't feel like they belong. They're odd. Uneven. Trapped. "just go get your shower. I'll stay out of your way." She hates this newfound awkwardness and what they've become in a short time. She turns her back to him and unpacks the remaining groceries.

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Xander nods, hesitating for a moment before doing as he's told. Moments later he's under the hot jet of water, washing the chalky feeling from his skin and feeling hollow as he does it. He's snapped into a zombie-like state, going through the motions of washing himself, stepping out, drying himself off... he drifts into the bedroom with the towel tied around his waist, his body continuing to take him through the mundane tasks on autopilot. He pulls out a t-shirt and regretfully finds that she hadn't stayed true to her promise of spraying it with perfume. He dresses, he towel dries his hair, he hangs the towel up. Everything feels strange.  Once dressed, he starts to approach the task he least wanted to start: packing his things. He tries his best to pretend that Ellie isn't there as he picks up a crate, moving listlessly around their place as he collects up his meagre belongings, chucking them in with no care at all. Records, t-shirts, bongs, the odd book. As he moves around their bedroom he ignores the framed photos of them, too numb to engage with the reality of what he was doing. Instead he stumbles across a pre-rolled joint and he puts that in his mouth, lighting it with his free hand and chucking the lighter into the box for good measure. Moving to the kitchen, he puts the box down and takes a drag, before holding it out to her, the first time he's acknowledged her since he arrived. "Want some?"

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She scrunches her salty hair and daydreams that today was more simple. She could slip into the shower with him, wash away the sand and salt. Kiss and forget what she was mad about. Instead she finds herself on the couch and squeezing a pillow. Her eyes follow him as he moves around and packs up his spot in their life. Ellie feels a soreness in her chest and realizes that she can't stay here. It made no sense. She'd have to find another spot that didn't belong to them, somewhere they were never able to be. Her small frame sinks further into the couch. "Hm," she looks up at him and eyes flutter to the joint sitting lazily in his hand. Something to take the edge off, she thinks as she takes a long drag. "I don't want to live here," she says, holding the joint back out for him. "Why don't you stay? I'll go live with Karley for a bit."

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There was a lack of reality to what was unfolding, since Xander fundamentally believed Ellie to be overreacting. He was well used to her overreacting in general, used to times she lost her temper because a waitress had been flirty with him or he had tipped a barmaid in a way that Ellie deemed excessive. So it was easy to play this off then same way, to almost roll his eyes and wait for her temper to subside. But it wasn't like that. She was cold with him but it didn't feel like an act, it felt inevitable, and worse, it felt deserved. He takes another inhale after her, struggling to comprehend a universe in which she wasn't his other half. Obviously it wasn't as easy for her as she was making out either, since she kept flip flopping on who should take claim of their place. Looking at her, he started to ease, the THC settling into his system like a comfort blanket to a child. "I don't want to either," he says. Hs nose scrunches up at the mention of Karley, since they shared a mutual disdain of each other. But he has no grounds to object to Ellie living with her, as much as he hates the idea. "If that's what you want," he says, placid im the way he always was when he could no longer be bothered to fight.

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Ellie had spent the past two weeks absorbing the situation and coming to realize her feelings. Initial rage turned into feelings of betrayal and now it felt like grief. Like she was losing someone close to her once more. Like watching her mother wither away into death. Except rather than long and slow, this death felt quick. Dragged out or sudden, Ellie still didn't know how to process it. She felt herself pushing Xander out a door and ignoring the trauma that bled into her. The weed helps ease the tension in her body. Her grip on the pillow softens and she takes a more intentional breathe to help steady herself. She frowns a little and looks down, "maybe someone will buy our things. They're nice things." Ellie speaks absently and her kneeds curl up to her chest. His face turns sour when she mentions her friend. Karley would like that. She'd been shit-talking Xander all week. "I don't really know," she admits, reaching for another drag. "It's different."

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He takes another drag, weed having been his comfort blanket since he was around thirteen years old. It soothes him and at least at this stage, with this low level of potency, it helped him to think more clearly, easing his stress so he could better process what was going on. Seeing a box full of his stuff seems unreal and inevitable all at the same time. Their relationship was fiery at the best of times, and there weren't many people who actually expected them to go the distance. Xander himself had never really bought into the idea that they would, though it wasn't because he didn't want to. He doesn't know what he wants, his indecisiveness the root cause of the problem to begin with. But whatever it is that he wants, he knows what he doesn't want, and that's to see Ellie as dejected as she is now. It just wasn't her. He sits down on the couch beside her, though without touching. "I can't believe you basically fucked some dude," he says, though he doesn't mean to cause a fight or imply that she needs to defend herself. He's merely processing aloud, verbalizing what's going through his head as he passes her the joint. "You didn't waste any time."

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Despite it being very much apart of their lifestyle, Ellie never smoked much weed. She remembered inhaling too much when she was a teenager. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest and the way it made her body feel loose. It was mind-numbing and it forced her to relax, which never worked for a control freak. It made it easy to forget how complex things were sometimes. Ellie like to keep her panic at the forefront. She wants to kick out and laugh at this. She could roll her eyes and spit about how they were broken up. Her chin rests on her knees and her hazel eyes can see that it hurt. "I didn't know what to do," her forehead slumps and she looks out the window where she can see the wind tearing through a palm tree. She thought it would feel better if she revenge fucked someone and it only made her feel worse. She pinches the joint between her fingers, "I was so angry, I seemed like it would make it better. It didn't."

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Xander kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, slumping further into the couch. This was the exact spot he'd been in since she left, usually with a Playstation controller in his hands. He'd even been tempted to drink, though he wasn't much of a drinker as a general rule - he preferred uppers to downers, and was far more likely to smoke as a means of relaxation than to ever open up a beer on his own. He expects Ellie to say he deserved her cheating, if it could even be considered cheating in the circumstances, but she doesn't. She seems hollow. "It doesn't really matter." He pulls out his phone, the group chat he shared with his boys blowing up with messages and missed calls. It's then that he realizes he was supposed to have left by now, driving over to the prearranged meeting point, in this instance his friend Luke's. He sighs, looking at the box on the counter. "I'm supposed to be heading over to Luke's, Karley is on the way, right? I can drop you off if you want."

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She frowns when he says it doesn't matter. "I guess not," she emits a shallow sigh and slides her legs off the couch. A little dramatically, but more lazy than her usually animated drama. She stands to walk over to a shelf and look at all the bits and pieces that sit on it. Maybe she should pack a box too, but she can't bring herself too. Most of the things she found worth packing had ties to them. She'd never be able to wear most of her jewelry, what do you do with break-up jewelry? She picks dead leaves off a plant and then lifts it up. The plant will probably die if they just leave it, so maybe she should bring it. Ellie stands in her little bathing suit top with the plant held tight to her chest. She's still frowning, "okay. Maybe that would be easier."

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Watching her, her minute frame stood clutching a plant, Xander cannot help but laugh. He shakes his head, getting himself up and closing the distance between them, taking the plant from her arms but staying close to her. "Go pack a bag, Ellie," he says, glancing down at her tiny little bikini top. Not exactly the most practical item to go with, if you're going somewhere indefinitely with only the clothes on your back. "I'll be back in five days to move out properly, I'll water the plants then." He places the plant back where it had been, his body brushing against hers as he leaned across. When he pulls away, he stays close, his eyes on hers. "I really am sorry," he repeats, though he can't remember if he's said it aloud to her, or only sent it in a million text messages. There's a pull towards her, a gravitational pull that he's never been able to resist, though he has to now. Awkwardly, he gives her upper arm a squeeze, before heading into the kitchen to check the fridge for perishables. Inside there's a mish mash of things, including Oreos, which he'd totally blanked on her putting there earlier.

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Xander laughs and there's a split-second where the tension breaks. Ellie glances down at the stupid plant, with it's dry soul and dying leaves. Evidence of her green thumb - or lack thereof. She smiles for a second but then feels cold. Pack a bag. The damn finality of that. But she nods, letting him take the plant from her. She feels like she might cry when he apologises. Her chest gets tight and she feels like she's choking. There's apart of her that wants to latch onto him and bury her head against his chest. But she's stubborn, so she looks back out the window. "Maybe we were wrong and mistook it for passion," she breathes heavily and shrugs, letting him move past her as she goes into the bedroom. She fills a bag full of things she thinks she may miss. Like her mother's wedding ring, which she slides onto her right hand. There's some clothes she really likes, a mug that she found held the perfect amount of coffee and her expensive toothbrush that did the same job at a cheaper one. She blindingly pulls on one of Xander's shirts that he left behind and shoves the front of it into her shorts so strangers can see she's wearing pants. "Okay," she says, slinging the bag over her shoulder, "this is all I want."