Excerpt: Method Acting

Benji sat on the rocks in what could only be described as a poor excuse for a beach right in the heart of Granton as Effie stood facing the water, letting the small waves brush over her ankles. It’s awfy nice here - reminds me of my childhood. Of happier times. I can’t say I’m unhappy in this moment (I’m not) but there’s only so much happiness you can have at this stage in your life when the traditional family no longer exists and you’re forced to inhabit street corners more and more often just to make a living. I’d come down here with my parents on the rare days the sun chose to shine down on us and we’d bring some food and spend the majority of the day running scared of the stupid fucking sea gulls. My mother would have a scarf tied around her head to keep the wind from ruining her perfectly styled hair and my father, ever the stylish man, would be decked out in the latest Adidas tracksuit. Shitty, crinkly material and all. And my face would be lit up, competing with the sun, from the moment we got here until the moment we left. It was here that we could pretend to be the picture perfect family with the picture perfect home and the kind of the relationship that doesn’t actually exist outside of American movie sets. What happened to us? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed but this was my decision. It was my choice to leave the home. To have nothing more to do with the picture perfect family life. The residents of Little Motel are my parents. My brothers. My everything – they’re my family now. They’re all I need (more than I need) and I have not one single complaint. No, this isn’t complaining; I’m just saying it was nice, is all. It was nice but I definitely would never go back and relive it. No thank you. Not if you paid me a million quid. Shaking her head clear of the insufferable thoughts, she stuffed her hands in her pockets, stomped her feet on the damp sand to drain off most of the water and walked towards the rocks to join Benji. The wind was really beginning to pick up and her short, dark hair whipped around her, catching her in the eye, sticking to her mouth and, more likely than not, being forced into styles she was sure didn’t even exist. Yet. What is it with this world and fashion? I swear if I was a size zero model on the streets of New York and some over excited, prissy photography got a snap of me like this with my windswept hair and a distinct lack of make up, the world would be sporting the very same look the very next day. It’s a sad state of affairs when little girls have gone from looking up to females such as those providing a direct influence in their lives to looking up to stick thin girls resorting to shoving their hands down their throats or not eating at all, smoking to stave off the cravings, snorting whatever they can get their hands on and fucking their way around the globe. What kind of image is that to give the world? Not that I can really comment on their choice of bedroom activities. I may be bitter but I’m no hypocrite. Stopping in front of Benji, she waited for the boy to open his legs and she placed herself between them, their crotches touching through the thin, barely existing material of their clothes and she looked down at him, gaining eye contact. Getting lost in his eyes. He returned her gaze, his hair matching hers in a wild fight against the wind. Is it so much to ask, to have someone who will always be there? Someone you can count on, depend on, ravish with love and get exactly the same – if not more –back? I never thought I’d find myself in the emotional position I’m currently finding myself in. Up until now, I had never relied on anyone in an emotional way. I’d never felt the need to have someone there to fall back on and pick me up. I’d never craved the physical and mental touch of another human being in a way that’s different from “just fucking”. Now? Now, my heart aches every time I catch sight of the boy in front of me. It races or slows down, depending on the current situation, and every fiber of my fucking being aches to feel his touch on my skin or his breath against my neck. To hear his voice whisper my name, his mouth mere millimeters from my ear. I want to step inside his skin and make myself at home and search every inch of him. I want to find what’s deep in his heart and look at it –really look at it – and take care of it and promise him I’ll never let him down. I’ll never let him go. I never thought love –what is love? - existed but now I’m convinced it’s something I would quite literally die without. With each passing day, I can feel every breath becoming slightly more laboured and the effort it takes to pull in and push out and in and right back fucking out again is becoming more and more unbearable. More than I can deal with. I want him inside me in ways you can’t imagine. Inside me. My head. My mind. My heart. Despite Benji relying on me for everything – food, liquids, shelter- I can whole heartedly promise you that I rely more on him than he ever will on me. And that’s why he doesn’t know any of this. Why it stays where it stays (deep, deep down inside of me) because the world would stop spinning and nothing would make sense and rationality and logic would no longer exist were he to leave my life. Which is what he would do, I’m sure, if he learned. He’ll never learn.
The soft hum of traffic could barely be heard over the familiar rush of the water beside them and they were completely alone; it was rare that people ventured down to this piece of land and, when they did, it was either lone dog walkers early in the morning or a group of underage drinkers looking for some privacy late at night. Now that it was the early afternoon, the unlikely pair was alone and not a word had passed their lips since they had arrived. Neither had to talk. Silences, for them both, were often uncomfortable and awkward but it was with each other that they could truly appreciate it for what it was and what it was able to bring. What it meant. They were comfortable with the company they shared and words would do nothing but crush the silence they secretly craved and could get from one another alone. Shared moments like this were rare and each found themselves reveling in it. Life in Little Motel was hectic. It was busy, it was loud, it was chaotic and it could be damn well frustrating if you let it get on top of you but moments like this, out of the flat, made everything come together and the pieces seemed to fit in ways they never would have imagined if they failed to take time out like they were currently doing. Effie could lie to herself and pretend that she spent moments like this with Benji to get him out of his own mind and the self contained prison he had made for himself within the walls but it was done with more selfish reasons included. Escaping from her own mind was very much needed but she wasn’t about to – couldn’t – let that interfere with her responsibility to caring for the troubled mind beside her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him into her and felt the soft skin of his cheek press against her bare chest and his large exhale of comfort was evident; the pair were both overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of “coming home”. Of spending a vast amount of time wandering, uncomfortable and awkward. Restless. And the smallest action of being held by someone who ruled over heart and head and mind was your return, offloading heavy shoulders full of overflowing luggage and feeling your body screaming out at you with the release and relief. To Effie, turning to Benji was coming home. To Benji, turning to Effie was loving home.