Without any other choices available to me, the only thing I can do is dig deep for some courage and try to get this over with as quickly as possible. I nervously grip the strap of my bag as I saunter up the driveway. I feel numb, almost empty. This house used to be a place of happiness for me. It was once a safe haven for Mav. There is no connection left. I’m as close to the bricks and mortar as I am to the person that inhabits it. It’s a sad truth that clarifies just how detached from my family I have become. Both my parents were only children. The only blood relatives I have are my mum’s parents, Grandma and Granddad Roberts, and my dad’s mum, Grandma Doris. They couldn’t live much further apart, with one set of grandparents residing in Scotland, and my Gran in London. I’m left slap bang in the middle, stuck for anyone to turn to for help. The only family I really have now is Izzy, and I’m so conscious that I’m going to become a huge burden to her.
I ball my hand into a fist and calmly knock on the door before I stand back and take a deep breath. My heart begins to hammer in my chest, reminding me of the dread I’ve attempted to force to one side. Staring straight at the door, I try to focus on one spot, steadying my nerves. I shove my hands into my front pockets just for something to do with them. I can't help but feel uneasy. I have no idea how I'm going to react when I'm forced to look into my mother's eyes after all this. I'm terrified of what I will see. I'm terrified of what I won't see, too. In fact, having my hands in my pockets will likely be a good barrier, stopping me from punching her in the face. I’m ashamed at the mere thought, but then again, she’s caused this, not me. As much as I would love to be able to keep my temper in check, I’ve never been one to do the right thing. I hope for her sake, I can be the better person in this situation.
After standing there for what seems like minutes, I hear the jangle of keys, swiftly followed by a turn of the lock. My stomach plummets to the depths of the unknown. It’s now or never.
Keep calm, Paris. Just keep calm.
The smell of her cooking hits me first before my eyes drift upwards to lock with hers. The moment they do, the anger comes flying to the surface tenfold. My blood is boiling at such a temperature that I swear my head is going to explode. I can feel the heat rising up my cheeks. I grip my fists so tightly my nails dig painfully into the skin of my palm. All I can chant over and over in my head is, don’t do it. Do not do it.
It takes all the strength I have to stop myself from lashing out. I nip my tongue hard with my teeth to help me feel something other than annoyance. The short, sharp pain is enough to drag me from the trance I’m stood in, reminding me of the reason I’m here.
“I need my stuff,” I state. It’s straight to the point – the only way I can be to get me through this as quickly and easily as possible. I have to avert my eyes over her shoulder. I can’t bear to look at her any longer than the few moments I already have.
“Is that all you have to say, Paris?” I can’t begin to understand or describe her expression, but her voice doesn’t sound all that regretful, and it puts my back up further. How dare she be anything but apologetic? The audacity of it is enough for me to glare directly at her, my nostrils flaring like a dragon. If I could breathe fire right now, I know exactly where I would aim it.
“That’s it.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. In one swift movement, I have stepped into the house, brushed past her and started running up the stairs two at a time.
“Paris, what are you doing? We at least need to talk about this. Please,” she screams. Her tone seems to have relaxed slightly, but it’s too little, too late. It’s only now that I become conscious of the fact that I secretly longed for her to care enough to fight for me. When she saw me, I thought something might have connected for her as to the severity of the situation, and she might have begged for my forgiveness. I was stupid to think there could be even a tiny possibility of her doing the right thing. I’d cry if I weren’t all out of tears to shed on this woman.
I race into my bedroom and hurriedly snatch at the things I’m after, shoving them into another satchel. It doesn’t take long for her to join me in the doorway. I still have no desire to talk to her.
“Paris, you’re being ridiculous and over reacting like you always do. Will you just stop a moment so we can talk?”
No, I cannot.
“Paris… Paris?” she begs.
The answer is still no.
“And you wonder why I kept this from you. Just look at how you’re behaving. You’re nothing but a spoilt brat. I blame your father for this.”
That’s it. That’s all it takes to break the silence. I stop dead in my tracks and just glare at her. My jaw is so tense it feels like I could break a tooth.
“How dare you?” I snap, louder than anticipated. I can’t help the rage that is taking over. I’ve tried so hard to control it since the moment I stepped outside the house, but I can’t do it anymore.
Taking a small step closer to her, I keep my eyes firmly locked on hers. My voice is completely monotone as I manage to speak through gritted teeth. “You have no one to blame but yourself.” I edge even closer to where she is stood. My hand has somehow found itself out in front, pointing directly at her. I’m scared of what I might be capable of doing, yet I can’t get a grip on my emotions. I want to vent my anger so badly.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Nothing?” I repeat loudly. The veins in my hands are stood to attention, as in the blood boiling in my cheeks. I can feel the tremble throughout my whole body. My heart is telling me one thing, but my sense is pleading with me to do the right thing – to remain calm and walk away. She’s in shock. Her body appears as stiff as my own as she stares back for a moment before dropping her chin to her chest showing the first slight sign of shame. It’s all I need to gain an ounce of control.
I swing both bags over each shoulder, barge straight past her and hotfoot my way out. I don’t take a single look back. They say time is a great healer but at this point, I’m convinced no amount of time will fix this. My dad cannot and will not be replaced. All I want is to get back to halls and drown my sorrows; however that may be. I have to tell Izzy, too. I have no idea how she will react. I still have a funny feeling, no matter how disappointed she is; she will try to convince me to talk to my mum about things. I’m anticipating an argument, and it’s the last thing I want right now.
Ten
15th December 2000
It’s the last day of our first term, and there is no other way to spend it than out getting wasted with my two amazing friends. The majority of first year students have packed up and shipped off back home for Christmas, but not us. I have managed to convince Mav and Lori to stay with me. Going back home was not an option. Since I walked out on my mum, we haven’t spoken. There have been numerous texts and voicemails from her, attempting to convince me to talk things through and see reason. Apparently, I am not the only one who has suffered over the years from my dad’s illness. She needs to start living again, but the devotion and respect I have for my father’s name has my stubbornness digging its heels in. I refuse to be won over by her or her fancy piece, John.
Mav has tried her best to encourage me to go home and at least listen to her side of the story, if nothing else. She’s always been one to seek out the rationale in any situation. She’s the sensible one of our dynamic duo, and so I suppose it came as no shock to her when I begged her to stay for Christmas. The voicemail I had received, announcing that John was moving in, was the last straw for me. How she can have him move in, under the same roof we shared as a family for so many years, after so little time, is beyond my understanding. There is nothing she can tell me to justify her decision, and that’s what I texted her today.
Please do not text or voicemail me again. You’ve made your choice and I have made mine.
Short and simple, yet it took me over an hour to deliberate hitting the send button. I was uncertain as to what this meant for my future. I was walking away from a huge part of my life,
one I had always loved and trusted in. My parents’ relationship always instilled faith in my future. I idolised their strong bond. It gave me hope that one day, I might find my true love, too. Growing up, black and white movies were my thing. Casablanca and Breakfast at Tiffany’s were two favourites Dad, and I often watched together. Humphrey Bogart reminded me a little of him, with his smooth, suave and sophisticated persona and the way Rick used to say, “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine,” is exactly how I imagined my mum walking into his life when they met in Paris. I am a romantic at heart, just like he was, and my mum has now tainted one of my greatest childhood memories.
This is my first Christmas without Dad. There will be no more family festivities around the Hemsworth dining table. No more snuggling on the sofa like two stuffed pigs. No more matching jumpers or Christmas morning bike rides. It is too much to bear already, and that text sends me over the edge. I am treading water to keep above the surface, but now I feel like I am sinking into new depths. I want to forget it all before I explode, and the best way to do that these days is to get steaming drunk. I have promised Mav that after tonight is over, I will concentrate on revising for my exams in January. It is her sensible side kicking in again. She is always trying to keep me grounded, which deep down I appreciate, but sometimes it gets too much and we end up arguing. It’s so unlike us to fight, and it isn’t something I relish. Most of the time I hate myself for doing it, but just like being sensible comes naturally to her, my temper comes naturally to me. I seriously need to get that in check, so tonight I agree without argument. I am so desperate to disappear into the darkness, I would probably agree to anything she asked.
“I just love your boobs.” I laugh while knocking back another Jägerbomb. “They’re so pert you don’t even have to wear a bra.” Licking my lips, I slam the glass down on the bar.
Mav’s body leans back on the stool she’s perched on, her head glancing down at her chest as she snorts out, “Seriously, dude, where the feck are you looking? You know I hate my little wind socks.”
“Personally, P, I think yours look like amazing, fluffy, whipped cream filled pillows.”
Automatically, Mav and I give each other a look before directing our gazes towards Lori at the same time, where she is sat propping up the bar. We just stare for a few moments, before quickly erupting with laughter.
I try my hardest to speak through the belly laughter. “Jesus, Lori, how many whiskey sours have you had?”
I don’t know what it is about the three of us, but the number of absurd compliments we give each other seems to be directly proportional to the level of drunkenness we are at. Lori is the reserved, cool cat type of girl who doesn’t need to say much. Her appearance and facial expressions speak for themselves. It isn’t like her to be so forthcoming in her ridiculousness. She is usually the one who sits, quietly allowing Mav and I to make complete fools of ourselves and then bails us out of the crapola later on. She must be hitting it way harder than I realised this evening. I wonder if something is on her mind, too, but I won’t pry. She’s as closed off as I am. I don’t think she would say even if I tried.
“Not enough,” she states before ordering another two.
I’m about to change my mind and question her when something catches my eye, or should I say someone? It’s possible I have my beer goggles on but across the bar stands a slightly older guy, in a group of four, who appears to be staring in our direction. Since losing my virginity, I've had a few sexual encounters. I've shared a bed with a couple of different men, just… Not as many as people may believe. In all honesty, there hasn’t been one to capture my attention for more than the necessary, yet the way this man is staring with clear intention, I can’t help but be captivated. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was undressing me with his eyes as they trail up and down every inch of my body. I attempt to break his stare, shooting my sight to other areas of the bar, but it keeps on drifting back to him. His hand runs through his hair, causing his shabby, loose waves to hang over one side of his head. He is the tallest of the group, but that isn’t why he stands out. His golden brown stubble is the burning basis for his rich, chocolate eyes, which are currently boring into me with a passion.
I snatch at one of Lori’s drinks, downing it quickly to take the edge off this intense pull.
“Hey! What the hell?” She nudges me. “Get your own drink. That was mine.”
The jolt is enough to snap me from his trance. “Sorry not sorry.” I grimace while Mav shoves at my other shoulder. “And after she gave you such a compliment over your titties, Goose.”
I can feel the courage building inside of me. In the same way our level of drunkenness affects our complimenting, it also conditions my brain to start aimless conversations. Some people lose the ability to speak when drunk, others become loud and lairy, but me, I like to chat. For some reason, it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable I feel or how forced the conversation is, I will do it. I can’t explain what it is that makes me act this way. I cringe when I look back at all of the stupid conversations I have started up. Plenty of them I would definitely not be inclined to consider even if I were sober. It’s this woozy weakness, coupled with his constant charming smile coursing my way that sends my feet seductively sauntering around the bar.
“I’ll be back shortly, girls.”
“Where are you going?” Lori’s arm flails. “You owe me a drink,” she shouts after me.
I just about hear Mav chuckle, “Uh oh, I think Goosey spotted her gander,” before I’m out of earshot, making my way to the target.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Come dance with me right now.” I smirk at the same time as I grab his hand, dragging him away from the bar, towards myself. I’m oblivious to his friends surrounding him. I couldn’t care less what they think of me. It isn’t them I am after. As long as this man wants me, I am there like a shot.
I feel his scruff scratch the side of my cheek before the warmth of his breath blows sweetly into my ear. “I don’t dance, sweetheart.” His husky voice almost sends me weak at the knees, but the challenge in his tone spurs me on.
“Correction, sweetheart. You didn’t dance, but you do now.”
What the hell has gotten into me? I’m never this forward. Okay, I lose the filter but this is something else. I’m even more shocked when my hand instinctively slips into his back pocket, having a cheeky squeeze of his arse. I don’t even know this man. He could be anyone, into anything, yet my body is naturally reacting to the arousal between my legs. I notice the curl to his eyelashes. It makes me pretty jealous; no amounts of curling I do ever make mine stand to attention like that.
An amused drawl echoes in my ear. “I’ll do you a deal.”
His arm wraps around my waist tightly as he tugs me flush to his body. I struggle to keep my composure. I’m caged by this statuesque man. His arms aren’t huge, but his vice-like grip proves he has muscle. He has triggered an awakening I’ve not experienced before, leading me to ponder just how capable I would be of saying no to this deal.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?" I gaze dreamily upwards, more than aware that I probably look like a complete idiot, but the alcohol is fuelling my body, making me believe I am Kate Moss.
“I’ll dance with you… Back at my place.”
He practically lifts me off my feet the way he sweeps me closer, burying his head into my neck, softly caressing my skin. He lips are slightly full, and his smell is seductive. I am intoxicated by this alluringly arrogant man. He might be what I need right now – the perfect distraction to my shitty day. His erection digs hard into the sensitive area of my stomach. For the first time in a long time, I have the evidence that someone wants me. It feels amazing to know I have this hold over a man I’ve never met. Without hesitation, the word shoots straight out of my mouth.
“Deal.”
Eleven
16th December 2000
It’s not exactly a line from Casablanca, but somehow I find myself g
oing along. It’s difficult to turn down the hand of the man offering it. I’m not stupid; I know what I am doing. I am easily surrendering myself to someone in exchange for affection. As we step out of the night sky into the light of his home, it becomes obvious to me just how good looking the man is. It isn’t just the beer goggles playing tricks on me. Even though I can’t shake the feeling that he will only cause me pain, the flames inside my eyes burn bright. Going against my usual moral code, I close my eyes and drift away, allowing my heart to run free for just one night.
I’ve been awake for a good few minutes now. I daren’t move. I awoke to our fingers intertwined as he lay behind me, naked. His body is pressed against mine, so flush together that I know even the smallest of movements from me, and he will be awake, too. I only have the pounding of my heart for company. I can’t fully remember what he looks like, but I do remember being firmly thrust into, using numerous positions, until the early hours of the morning. The ache between my legs reminds me of that, if nothing else. It was the best sex I have had in my life. He is a man who puts all the previous fumbles with boys to shame.
As I run my tongue across my lip to try and build up some moisture for my dry mouth, I can still taste his skin. I flush brightly from the visions of all the intimate places he encouraged me to kiss him, and all of a sudden, I’m grateful to have him lying behind me.
Paris Hemsworth's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 2) Page 7
