Sunburn: Exclusive American Edition with Additional Material

by Chloe Michelle Howarth

It makes perfect sense to want to be inside her mouth, to be torn to pieces by her;

We have never been the type of family to argue; we feel things very strongly, but we feel them quietly. Our deepest emotions may be manifested in the lightest of sighs, but not much else. The silence says a lot. All that upset has to go somewhere; I sometimes feel it moving under my skin, waiting to be lanced.

Afterwards, outside the church, I did not wish Susannah a good day, because my own day was ruined by her poise and beauty, and her terrifying grace. I never knew a person like her, nobody else made me so afraid. Back then, it was easiest just to hate her.

Perhaps it is her moods, the glows and shadows of them, as though her heart is made of the changing sky.

Imagine a place where I could scream and not be heard, and fail and not be seen. A place where my insignificance would not hurt, because everybody would be insignificant. That is not where I am. Here, every breath is heard, every evil thought is known. It might be beautiful to look at, but it is abysmal to exist in; a sweet, sad dream.

Right now it seems as though I only have two options: either I can be who Mother expects me to be, or I can be whoever I want to be. Each seems as treacherous as the other. I will find myself, soon, I just need to stop acting my age and grow up. Mother only wants the best for me. We are old and new versions of each other. I see pieces of her in me, and pieces of myself in her, and still it’s like we speak two different languages; I in my funny rural blabber, and she in whatever tongue grown women speak.

All my life she has been my only role model, my greatest aspiration, but since I started to see her as a person beyond a parent, I have seen her as a grave misfortune, and now I cannot go back to the way I saw her before. Without all the mysticism of being my mother, she is just a woman, exactly like me, only with less time ahead of her, and – I’m beginning to think – all the same uncertainty.

Apart, we are weeds, but together, we are wildflowers, we make a beautiful garden. We make each other. I wouldn’t make sense without them. I might not even exist.

As long as I don’t allow Mother’s words to filter into my head or give myself any room for introspection, my days will float by, vapid and simple. I can gossip and slack off and leave my choices to the democracy of the girls.

Until now, I would have said that Susannah’s body was the least interesting thing about her, but I am ashamed to say that this afternoon it is immorally captivating, stretched out on the grass like a centrefold.

I would drape my own soul over her body to protect her from eyes like mine.

Some parts of her I keep in my memory, others in my heart. This, I keep in my blood. And all night in bed, my blood slowly drags through my veins, bringing that moment to every piece of my body.

When she reads the letter, she will know for certain that I am in love with her, and that our kiss was not just a silly, girly thing, and not just one animal pawing another – it was a dream realised. Maybe I was too honest, maybe I put a little too much love into the letter, and a little too much of myself into the kiss. Maybe if she thought it was just a funny, slutty practice kiss then she would let me do it again. If I could only run to the toilets before I vomit my nerves onto my desk, but Susannah could be in any one of them, with my letter, which reveals my whole heart. Writing it was so natural, but that was last night, when I was high on her spit, and anything would have seemed like a good idea. Now, in the Geography classroom, in my school uniform, hearing about the process of denudation, everything is so staunch, and my romantic ideas seem brainless.

All my lonely days were not wasted, they led me to this most perfect union, this weaving of our two souls. The parts of me that were once afraid can no longer be found. Perhaps they will come back to terrify me again, but for now, I can’t feel them. For now, I allow myself to be wanted by her.

Crossmore is as it always was: a wild and overgrown place where hearts swell and burst the most violently. We feel deeply here. No matter how far I go, I am soaked from the earth and dusted from the pollen, and I will always carry these deep feelings.