“Feeling rough this morning?” I ask smugly. “Where’s Sam?”
“Good fucking question!” he croaks and shrugs his shoulders. “We kind of got into a huge fight, she took off and I came back here. She’s not contacted you, has she?”
“No,” I reply, glancing at my phone. “Dude, you sound like a small rodent climbed into the back of your throat and chewed on your tonsils for a while.”
“Blame your boy, Matt, for letting weed into his house! The place was a fog of smoke last night,” he complains, still wincing over his painful head, “it’s kind of what we fought about. She wanted to try it and I said no. Excuse me for fucking caring!”
I move in closer and cautiously take a sniff.
“Eww, you do smell gross! By the way, Matt is not my boy, remember?!”
“Yeah, I don’t really care right now! I need to find Sam, see if she’s alright,” he says and with painful, tentative steps, he walks over to his room to see if she’s in there. “Fuck!”
“What? What is it?” I get up and look at him nervously for fear of what he’s just found in his room. “Is she there?”
“No and neither is her stuff,” he thumps the door angrily, “she must be still pissed with me. Fucking great!” he groans and slaps his hand to his forehead, no doubt causing more injury to his already poorly brain. “Ok, I’m going to go and try and get hold of her, but I need a shower first. I feel like a dog’s asshole right now.”
“Lovely image!” I roll my eyes and slump down onto the sofa again, relishing in the fact that for once, it is not my drama.
By Sunday morning Grant is in a foul mood because Sam is still refusing to talk to him. I have to admit, I am surprised it has gone on for this long. Usually, she’d have calmed down by now and they’d be smooching in a corner of the house somewhere. However, I push that thought to the back of my mind because, shock of all shocks, Mom and Dad are going to be home for dinner for once. I’m so excited I announce to Grant, who could care less by the way, that I’m going to make a full-on roast dinner with all the trimmings!
I waste no time in getting everything out that I need to prepare and make my culinary masterpiece. I’m about to turn this family meal into something the Waltons would be proud of, so slap on a bit of music and begin peeling, slicing, dicing, and generally rocking the whole chef look.
“Grrrrr!” Grant suddenly growls at his phone, before throwing it across the breakfast bar in a child-like temper. “She’s being ridiculous! All I did was tell her not to take fucking drugs. How does that make me the shit-head in all of this?”
“She’ll come around,” I say gently, taking the time out of my chef-d’oeuvre and placing my hand over his. It takes a few moments, but he eventually softens a fraction and returns my smile, half-hearted, though it is. “Besides, she has all my stuff, remember?”
“Hey, maybe you could text or call her for me?”
It’s the first time he looked genuinely hopeful since yesterday, but I’m not overly convinced that me hounding her will do him any favors.
“Look, if by tonight, you’ve heard nothing, I’ll send her a text to see if she’s alright. Deal?”
“Ok, thanks,” he grumbles, then sulks back into his room.
Much later, my beautiful work of art is taking a back seat to all the tension sitting around the dinner table. Irritatingly, it would seem I’m the only one trying to sound anywhere near cheerful or talkative and it’s starting to piss me off. Grant is still moody over Sam and is continually checking his phone to see if she has responded, Mom is downing more wine than food, whereas Dad is shoveling in as much as he can at once, just so he can get up and leave.
Ever the optimist (yeah right), I try to talk about school, work, and other such boring, neutral subjects. However, apart from the odd monosyllabic answer or fake smile, I get nothing. By the time I’ve exhausted talking about the recent weather we’ve been having (spoiler: it’s been hot and sunny every day), I give up and eat in collective silence with them.
With the clatter of finished utensils, they all silently push their chairs in and leave, one by one, until I am the only one left at the table with all the dishes and clearing up to do. To say I’m shocked and hurt is an understatement of epic proportions. What a bunch of assholes! In fact, I’m so enraged, I decide to get up and leave it all for someone else to do. I’ll be damned if they think the maid who cooked it all is going to clear away their dirty plates and wash it all up!
Instead, I march myself outside, kicking the sorry-looking dandelions which have no idea what they’ve done to deserve such wrath, and go and throw myself against the Maple tree, venting out into the dusky air in front of me. I can’t even scrawl angrily away in my diary because some fuckwit, called Bowie Phillips, is holding it hostage like a cheesy Die Hard villain. Besides, I certainly wouldn’t risk doing it again, even if I had one anyway.
“Hey, Mils,” Matt steps through the fence panel, but sort of backs up when I gift him with my pissed-off glare. As soon as I register it’s him, and the fact he has done nothing to warrant my ire, I soften and pat the ground next to me. “I saw you pacing about angrily and thought I’d come and see what’s up.”
Thankfully, he takes my invitation to sit down and throws a blanket around my shoulders, not that I’m cold. I’m just shivering with all the rage coursing through my veins.
“My family are a bunch of jerks!” I mutter bitterly into the air in front of me, before turning on him to let rip and vent with the justice the situation truly deserves. “Do you know I made this whole roast dinner for them and they just sat there, silently, shoveling it into their asshole faces before leaving me to clear it all up!” I kick at the dirt in front of me. “I expect Mom and Dad to be dicks now, but even Grant was letting his sulky argument with Sam turn him into one!”
“Yeah, they really fell out on Friday,” he mutters, then emits a heavy stream of air over the memory of it, before cuddling up closer to me. “She really bit his head off and he was beyond angry when he left my place. Are they still not talking?”
“Apparently not!” I raise my brow and scoff over their stupid behavior.
“By the way, how come she was wearing your stuff?”
“Oh, she didn’t like her clothes, so I said she could borrow mine,” I mutter on a shrug, “no big deal.”
“She didn’t look half as good as you, Mils,” he whispers, then pulls my hair back behind my shoulder.
Oh, holy shit, Matt! Don’t start all this nonsense with me now. I’m really not in the mood to pretend like your weird affection doesn’t make me all sorts of uncomfortable. Of course, I eventually have to look up, only to see him smiling softly down at me.
“You know how I feel about you, don’t you?” I swallow hard over his words, all the while my poor heart beats wildly about in my ribcage. It too is pissed off by my epically bad day.
“Erm, I’m beginning to, but I…” Christ, I don’t even know how to finish that sentence!
“It’s ok,” he says with the same warm smile, “I know you’re not there with me yet, but I’m kind of hoping one day…” He shrugs suggestively and a little relief hits me, knowing he realizes nothing is going to happen in the here and now. And who knows? Maybe he’s right and I will feel differently when we’re a little older.
“Maybe,” I smile genuinely at him.
“I better go back in and finish my homework,” he says with a determined pat of his thighs, seemingly placated by my hint of a chance. “Chin up Babe!”
He kisses my cheek again and although it’s still weird, I don’t feel nearly as anxious about it. So long as he knows romance is a no-go at the moment.
Darkness has now hit and I can no longer hide out here, pretending it’s still dusk and perfectly acceptable to be sitting alone in the blackness, scowling over your unappreciative family. So, with a heavy sigh, I pace back inside to find the place is still empty. Not a single one of them has come to talk to me, no one has cleared up, so I’m still pissed at a
ll of them!
However, being a neat freak, I can’t stand the mess any longer so begin cleaning the table and running the washing up water. Fortunately, I’m good at clearing away as I cook so it’s not that bad, but the principle of having to do it is still making me seethe.
After a while of playing angry rock music as I wipe up dirty plates, I hear a tip-tapping over the kitchen tiles. When I look up, I see my Mom picking up a tea towel with a sheepish look on her face. I don’t fail to notice the red puffy rings around her eyes, giving away the fact she’s obviously been crying, but I choose to bathe in my disappointment rather than probe further.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, picking up a wet plate and beginning to dry, “you made a wonderful dinner and we were all jerks. I’m really sorry.”
“Well, I’m glad you can at least admit you’re a jerk,” I bite back, just before we both giggle about it.
“So, how’s school? I feel like we never get a chance to talk…” she says but from the look on her face, I can see she’s now regretting her choice of words.
“There’s a reason for that Mom,” I reply bluntly, “and before you start, Dad’s just as bad, so I’m not bringing it all down on you. But it does kind of suck to not have a mom around to talk to. Grant’s great, well apart from when he’s arguing with Sam, but having to discuss boys and period pains with him is a bit crap.”
“I know sweetheart, but as soon as this current merger goes ahead, I swear I’m cutting back,” she looks at me and ceases drying for a moment, “I promise baby girl.”
“That will be cool,” I say with a slight smile but with masses of hope inside.
Our tender moment is interrupted by a heavy banging on the door. Mom is mid-dry, so I tell her not to worry before making my way over to answer it.
An ominous feeling falls over me as I walk to the front door and notice flashing lights through the small pane of glass at the top. In fact, I feel like I want to ignore the knock and pretend like it didn’t happen.
“Excuse me, Miss Thomas? We’re looking for your brother, Grant Thomas?”
Chapter 5
Present day, Amelia 17
After another torturous day at school, one where only Mercy acknowledges my existence, I sit down on the bleachers with a heavy sigh, ready to watch Matt at football practice. Now bigger, faster, and broadly built, he zips in and out of the other brick walls of team players, all vying for the ball as they charge at one another. You can no longer question as to whether we’re adults anymore, but it still seems like I was here only yesterday, much younger and much more innocent to how cruel life can be. A time when my brother was free and was still known for being a good boy. How time flies when you’re slowly dying inside.
My bag sits in my white-knuckled hand as I look for my helmeted player, all of them looking like clones of one another, and only release my tension when Matt finally does his usual glance and wave. I follow suit before pulling my bag over my lap to retrieve my English book, Tess of the d’Urbervilles, and attempt to read it. A full four pages go by before I realize, I haven’t taken any of the content in, merely looked at the words floating around the page, all singular, with no connection to one another at all. My mind cannot make any sense of their existence, much like how I feel about myself right now.
My darkening thoughts, ones which often find me sinking further into the realms of depression, only break when a sudden, loud clatter of metal on metal, causes me to recoil. Yet something, a sixth sense, tells me I should know better than to look up at the cause of such a commotion. It can only end badly for the sister of the boy who raped his long-term girlfriend. The poor sap who was left behind to deal with all the hatred, the misery, the confusion, and the hurt. I feel their eyes on me wherever I dare to walk, like I’m trespassing amongst the normal, decent folk as a diseased, monstrous outlaw, who should just do the decent thing and go away and fade into the shadows.
“You get my flowers this morning?” a familiar, now very deep voice asks me, sounding as casual as one might be asking how you’re feeling that day.
“I did, thank you,” I mutter with just as much nonchalance, though with a clear undertone of contempt.
“Don’t thank me, Fridge, I don’t send them for your pleasure. They’re just a promise of what’s waiting for your brother when he finally gets out of the can.”
I almost smirk at his attempt to intimidate me, it seems ridiculous after my summer where all and sundry enjoyed throwing their spiteful jeering my way. The only benefit of which is that I am no longer afraid of Bowie Phillips, for his general nastiness became a part of everyday life. Thankfully, time, amongst other things, brought my level of torment down to a point whereby I’m treated like I no longer exist. As such, I merely shrug my shoulders and continue to look like I’m reading.
“Still here to tease with Matt, I see,” he says with a clicking of his tongue, a sound which warns me of an impending stabbing remark, “you know he’s had his fair share of pussy but is just waiting for the right one…yours!” I feel him look me up and down, no doubt with a sneer upon his lips. “I’ve never seen what all the fuss is about myself.”
“Please go and be vile somewhere else, Bowie,” I reply flippantly on a long breath. “Matt can sleep with whoever he wants to. He doesn’t belong to me.”
“I know that, and trust me, it’s far too easy for him to get it, but he just can’t get the little, dowdy girl from next door out of his head. Of course, you like to make sure he doesn’t, don’t you?!” He tuts with so much judgment behind it, I have no choice but to let natural instincts force me to look up at him.
The man before me is one of the biggest in school; tall, well built, and without a scrap of fat to fool you into believing he’s anything other than what he is, a gladiator. A force to be reckoned with, a thug you never say no to because, ultimately, no normal-sized person could. I, more than anyone, can appreciate how kind mother nature has been to him in terms of how aesthetically pleasing he is on the eye. It’s almost cruel that he’s also been afforded an athletic talent that would give any professional a run for his money, together with a wicked soul and a propensity to make my life unbearable.
“Your point, Bowie? Are you ever going to reach one, or just continue to fall in love with the sound of your own voice?” I level with him, pretending to be something I’m not, brave.
“I was just wondering Fridge, when are you going to do the decent thing and leave him alone? Give him the chance to get over you?” He leans in a little closer but with an expression that will no doubt, have me sniffing at my armpits after he’s gone, because he obviously has a bad smell under his nose. “You really are a selfish bitch, you know that?”
And there’s the sting. Bowie Phillips has finally made me second guess my own morals for staying close to my best friend. I look over at Matt still running circuits around the field, and with a pang of sadness, I consider the words just thrown at me in accusation, that maybe I should let him go. Maybe I am being cruel and selfish, even if it took a bully to point it out to me. So, in the space of only five minutes, if that, he has managed to guilt me into ending my long-term relationship with the boy from next door.
“Think about it, Fridge,” he murmurs before picking up his helmet, this time without the anger with which he threw it down, and leaves.
It takes me only seconds to make my decision, to get up and stuff my unread book back inside of my bag and leave my sitting space, the same one I have occupied for the last few years, and to walk away alone. I feel guilty over the thought of Matt finding it empty when he looks up again, but I love my friend too much to see him suffer because of me. Because I cannot give him what he wants.
The walk home is longer than usual, and full of tears and disappointment, heading back to a building with no parents, no Grant and now, no Matt.
Monday after Grant’s arrest
Amelia, 15
Nearly sixteen years old and I already know what hell on Earth looks like. It comes in the
form of a simple American high school, with nothing outstanding about it but the monsters that lurk between its walls. My brother was arrested, he didn’t get bail, and I didn’t get to see him again. Mom and Dad returned to work and I was told I would be re-entering the pits of Tartarus as though nothing had ever happened.
I prepped myself well for today, opting for an oversized, black hoodie, complete with the hood up and deep pockets to hide my hands inside of. I slump over to try and make myself look as small as possible, however, I guess it wasn’t small enough. That or my genius intention to go unnoticed wasn’t quite as effective as I was hoping it to be, because as soon as I enter, the halls turn eerily silent. You could hear a gust of wind as a figurative tumbleweed blew across the tiles. No longer invisible, everyone turns to look at me and glare like I’ve grown a third eye. It’s like one of those nightmare dreams where you’re walking the school halls in your underwear, and there’s no way of hiding it or backing out because ultimately, this day was always going to come after what happened.
The Darkness Within Page 6
