Let’s Not [Obliterate]

Dema was pacing up and down her living room, livid. 

She had not given Theora her number. She had not given her address. Not her full name. She’d let the bunny hop away!

A full twenty-four hours had passed, and she couldn’t focus on anything. Her bass was lying on the ground, abandoned. Pedals were scattered all around too; they had a habit of lying around on Dema’s bed — her bed being whatever piece of floor she decided to sleep on that night.

Well, perhaps a proper bed would be useful if she wanted to ask a bunny over, because surely, Theora wouldn’t want to sleep on the ground. Dema needed to organise a bed. 

Wait, no, this was all wrong.

Theora had shaken her head. Dema had asked ‘Mind if we meet again?’ and Theora had shaken her head. That could mean one of two things; either Theora didn’t want to meet again, or she didn’t mind meeting again.

Dema stumbled over her bookshelf; which really was just a pile of books lying on the ground, and she gently let herself fall and rolled on her back. She would just have to meet Theora again to clear up the misunderstanding. She definitely was not going to get cold feet about that.

But… typically Dema relied on her immaculate social skills and smooth talking and her raspy voice to seduce people… That couldn’t work here! Being flustered was one thing, but Theora had, embarrassingly, rescued her from being stuck in a well, of all things. Not such a good basis to establish dominance. 

On the other hand, Theora hadn’t actually seen her fall, so perhaps there was still hope. After all, Dema could have fallen down very gracefully, like a rock with wings.

She grasped for her phone, ready to distract herself by reading comments on her online covers telling her she was all out of tune. Only then did she notice an hours-old message from ZapPie.

 

ZapPie: haven’t nagged me all day. u alive?

You: I MET A GIRL

ZapPie: lol what?

You: she's cute and i cant get over it. cure me

 

ZapPie sent a half-assed selfie. Dema started a voice call.

“That didn’t cure me,” she said.

“Big shame.”

It did get a grin out of Dema, but she tried to stay on topic. “I wonder if she plays an instrument… I really wanna be in a party with her… Uh, I mean like, in a band! Oh, would you be our drummer?”

“Hold on a second.” ZapPie’s voice sounded a bit strict.

Dema raised a brow. “Hm? Hold on for what?”

“This is, like, the fifth time you’ve asked me that.”

“Yeah… And? You seem to like being asked!”

ZapPie gave an impatient sigh. “That’s exactly the issue here. You get my hopes up whenever you click with some random person, and then it fizzles out after a few weeks. Last time I built an amp for you from scratch, and—”

“I was gonna tell you I’m sorry about that!” Dema interjected. “And like, I know! I keep being unlucky, alright? This time it’s lucky, though! Like, rabbit-foot level lucky, I promise.”

Dema stared at all of the DIY-pedals littering the ground; she was taking such good care of ZapPie’s home-made equipment, so what was all the fuss about?

“It’s not about luck,” ZapPie said. “It’s about… trust? I guess? How do you even know you’re compatible? What if she has some grim secret? Or worse, what if she’s a co—”

“Secrets are fine,” Dema murmured. “Everyone has them. And I don’t think she’s that bad.”

ZapPie sighed. “Fine. I’m just saying it’s sudden. You just met her, and now you’re already talking about starting a band again… You know how I am about that stuff. I’m serious. All I’m saying is… aren’t you moving a bit fast? Maybe if you give it time, it’s got a better chance of working out?”

“Wha—?” Dema did not comprehend. “How is it fast? I haven’t even seen her at all in over a day.”

“Okay.” At least by now, it sounded like ZapPie was holding back a grin, so it wasn’t a total disaster. “Let’s check, then. You want to play music with her.”

Dema nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

“What else?”

“Hmm…” Dema frowned. She did have urges, of course; any person had them. “I… I wanna make her mine somehow. I mean, if she also wants to.”

“That disclaimer is meaningless to me, you know. I see right through you.”

Dema swallowed. “Hey!”

“So, it’s like, that kind of thing? Hit a vein of girlfriend material on a nighttime mining trip?”

“Wha—?”

“You wanna kiss her?”

Dema dropped her phone into a cushion, yelling, “What do you mean!” without picking it up. “Kiss? Aren’t you moving a bit fast, there! We’re nowhere near that. And ‘material’? Bad thing to call someone. Bad! You’re bad!”

Dema kept fuming at her phone, although the fumes quickly went out as the picture of sharing her first ever kiss with Theora entered her mind.

“A-Anyway,” she said after an awkward pause. “Not gonna be like that this time. This is different! Because she and I have only just met.”

Another awkward silence ensued, but then ZapPie said: “This time it’s different because you’re that much of a mess even though you two haven’t even ‘clicked’ yet?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Dema was shouting at the phone proudly. ZapPie was so good at getting her.

“I mean, if you say so. About the instrument — just call her and ask?”

“Don’t have her number,” Dema grumbled. “Yet.”

There was a snort. “So what are you going to do?”

Dema pulled a grimace. “There’s only one thing I can think of, and that’s…”

“I say try it.”

Dema giggled. “Hey, you don’t even know what it is.”

“Yes, but I know a lost cause when I hear one lamenting into my ears.”

“Meanie.”

“I mean that affectionately.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Dema mumbled between her teeth. “Just wish my belly wouldn’t feel so… bright. Whenever I think of her.”

“There we go. Lost cause.”

Dema hung up.

Her plan to meet back up with Theora was risky, and she had to wait until Monday to do it. But that would be fine. Dema really didn’t want to screw things up with this girl, but she also had that awkwardly misplaced feeling that screwing things up with her might not actually be that easy. 

Theora felt almost like home. 

With a dissatisfied moan, Dema grasped for her bass, and started picking through chord-progressions absent-mindedly. After a while, she resigned, put her head next to her big speakers on the ground and put on some shoegaze. 

 

On Monday afternoon, Dema found herself in front of the third cemetery she tried. Her heartbeat almost drowned the sounds of dried leaves crunching under her feet. The main path had been dutifully cleaned out, so Dema was walking next to it, curling her toes into the twigs and grazing against the occasional soft mushroom sprouting from the cold ground.

Save for the noises Dema caused herself, it was quiet. The sky behind the turning leaves was a deep blue, specked with fluffy cloud fragments toward a gold horizon.

Dema had never been in this place before, but she knew some people buried here. She tried not to think about it. People always left so quickly. 

Now she was thinking about it, and tried to distract herself by searching for the person she was here for.

She spotted Theora in the distance atop a hill at the end of the cemetery between trees. It wasn’t very easy to find access to the diverging path leading up; it seemed to be a more secluded part of this place. Theora was just standing there, staring at a plaque on a thick tree, wearing a wine-red coat with a layered belt around her waist. Her curly hair stood still in the windless air.

When Dema’s barefoot steps approached, Theora turned. She showed an empty but slightly curious gaze, grey eyes embedded in a freckled, tanned face. The expression changed, ever so faintly, into confusion, then filled with a hint of a subdued smile.

“Sorry for bothering you at work,” Dema mumbled.

“I’m done for today,” Theora said. “Just lingering. Can’t get myself to leave her.”

Dema’s gaze went to the tree. “Someone close?”

“I didn’t know her. I was tasked to bury her, and since then, it just hurts.”

Dema read over the plaque. Amanda Clarine Dupont.

The name vaguely rang a bell. From the news, a few months ago. 

At first, Dema figured it might make sense to just leave — she’d clearly visited at a bad time. However, Theora kept Dema in her bright grey stare, her eyebrows slightly raised into a gentle expression. 

Gentle, but oh so oppressive. It kept Dema’s feet glued to the ground. She felt so small next to Theora, and not just because she was.

Finally, Theora released the intense gaze, asking, “Did you come for a grave?”

“Came for you,” Dema said, quietly. 

“Let’s leave, then.” Theora returned to the path downhill. 

Dema hurried after, her little legs almost forced into a jog to keep up with Theora’s long strides. She really was larger than Dema in every conceivable way, and it triggered all the wrong responses in Dema’s lizard brain.

“So, uhh,” Dema blurted out as they were on the way out of the cemetery. “You play any instruments?”

“No.”

Aw. “Uh… Ever thought about learning one? Might, like… help you take your mind off things.”

Theora gave a cute little frown and blinked once. Her lashes were so long, too.

“I’ve never considered it,” Theora replied. “Though I suppose it could help pass the time while I’m on call. I usually just spend it asleep.”

“Yeah, right!” Dema nodded along. “Definitely would. You could play my guitar, if you wanna.”

If this was too much, Theora did not scold her for it. She just kept that bemused frown on her face, eventually murmuring, “I’m not sure I’d be able to, on my own.”

“I could teach you.” Dema was trying to sound as suave as possible.

They’d left onto the main street. When they passed Theora’s motorcycle, she just took it and pushed it along with them like a bike. 

“You would?”

“Yeah.” Dema made it sound like no big deal. “Can come to my apartment whenever you want. Can show you the basic chord grips and all.”

“Chord grips.”

“It’s when you play several notes at once and they sound nice together.” Dema realised only after saying it that Theora probably knew what a chord was.

“Sound nice together,” Theora echoed.

Maybe she just liked repeating things?

All things considered, this questionable attempt was going great. They were talking and walking and Theora did not appear to be hopping anywhere. They waited patiently at a street light, and Theora did not disappear into the brushes behind them.

On the other hand, she had not said ‘yes’ to having Dema teach her how to play the guitar. So, perhaps—

“I don’t know where you live.” Theora said that right as the light turned green.

“Oh! True.” Dema rummaged in the pockets of her cloak until she found a crumpled-up note, handing it over.

After reaching the other side, Theora placed the bike out of the way, then carefully unfurled the note as if scared to harm it.

“My phone number and address,” Dema said proudly.

Of course she had it prepared. She’d spent the past days meticulously planning out this meeting. That note was one of the first things she’d crafted and fussed over, and it definitely looked that way now.

“So, you are saying I can visit you?”

“Yeah!”

Theora found Dema’s gaze and stared again. “I might.” She made it sound like a sad threat.

“You should,” Dema emphasised. “I mean — only if you feel like it…”

They fell silent for a while. Dema wasn’t sure exactly for how long — she was already busy scheming what she’d do during their first playing session, and when her mind snapped back into reality, she almost wanted to scold herself for wasting the opportunity to talk. 

But then she noticed she really didn’t mind spending her time just walking side by side with Theora. They knew how to meet each other now. There was no rush. They could take things slow now.

Dema found herself glancing over again and again anyway, and ZapPie’s words didn’t leave her brain for a second, especially not when looking at those thin, light lips.

“Alright,” Theora suddenly said, effortlessly heaving the bike across a rail to lower it into a pocket next to the uphill street. She looked up at a window on the building next to them. “This is where I live.”

Dema gulped. She thought they’d been picking streets at random. She’d been bamboozled!

It was a tall stone building crowned by a wood-built top floor. “You live in a tower? Damn!”

Theora nodded while tucking away her bike in a storage compartment under the street. “When I was younger, I lived at the edge of town with a friend of mine. But the brigade wanted me to move closer to the town centre. They were kind enough to construct another level on this building for me.”

Dema nodded, still staring upwards.

“My apartment is not very tidy,” Theora continued. “I haven’t eaten yet, either. However, if you would like, you could come in for — a cup of tea. Or… a movie? Or…”

Theora seemed to have trouble coming up with things two people could do together.

“Sorry,” she added quickly, taking a step back. “I seem to be getting ahead of myself. I’m very sorry.”

“I wanna!” Dema yelped, before this could get any worse. “Let’s go?”

Theora took a shallow breath, and nodded, then produced a key from the pocket of her coat, and opened the entry door. Dema traipsed after. 

Despite a tilted window, the air inside was stuffy and earthy. The ancient stairs creaked at each step, but the wood felt warm against Dema’s toes. She grazed her fingers over the flaking varnish of the bannister. The entire construction wobbled under their ascent. A slanted ladder led to the roof, where a small strip connected to the entrance to Theora’s apartment.

Dema leaned over the rail to look down at the street. “That’s so cool. They built this for you?”

“At my request,” Theora admitted. “It took them a lot of work, but I wanted to live elevated.” She turned her head towards town. The sun was setting above the hundreds of buildings, its light glazing the roofs.

“For the view?”

“Yes,” Theora said. She tore her gaze away from the town and turned. “To spot smoke early.”

Then she pulled on the door — it wasn’t locked. On reflex, Dema followed — and it was only when she crossed over into the entry hall that her brain caught up with what was happening.

This bunny wasn’t hopping away. Not at all. In fact, this bunny had led Dema straight to her burrow.