As we head back to Manchester, I’m all too aware of how the past two Christmases have been a wash out, so the odds are that I’m heading for the hat trick. It doesn’t take long after arriving at Mum’s for me to be proven right, either.
“Mum? Where’s all my stuff gone?” I shout from the top of the stairs.
Not getting a reply, I yell a little louder. “Mum? Mum?”
“What? What is it?” she questions from the bottom.
“What the hell happened to my room?”
“Ah that…” She hesitates, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, John thought it would be a good idea to move you and Izzy into one room, seeing as you’re hardly ever here now, then make your room into his office.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Goose, it’ll be fine,” Izzy utters from the side of me. “We’ll have fun sharing together. Just like the good old days.”
“No, it won’t. Not at all. I need my own bedroom, Mav. I need my own space,” I snap.
How can she think this will be okay? It’s far from fucking okay. Not only is John living in my dad’s house, he’s now making himself at home by changing things around. Not just any old things either – my goddamn room. I swear he’s used mine on purpose. He could have used Izzy’s and kept mine just the way I’ve always had it.
“Paris, you’re being silly. John needs an office at home for work and you’re hardly ever here,” Mum whispers through a giggle.
“So what happens when we graduate from uni, eh, Mum? Or is John hoping I don’t come back at all?”
“Goose, calm down. It’s just a room,” Izzy mumbles, but I can feel the tension rolling from her.
“Yeah, my room, Mav. Not yours, but mine. I’ve bloody lived here all my life.”
“I get it. I do, but-”
“You know what, just forget it. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. John wants me out and my best friend is still trying to play peace maker.”
“No, I’m not,” she sighs quietly. “I just think you’re over reacting. We have plenty of space in the one room, and we’ve already spoken about possible plans for after graduation. Do whatever you want to our room. It’s fine by me.”
Not all of them, we haven’t.
“Yeah, well graduation can’t come quick enough. I’m outta here.”
“Paris, where are you going?” Mum demands.
“Out!”
“Fine, go. I’m tired of you throwing these little temper tantrums. It’s about time you grew up, young lady, and realised not everything is about you.”
“What’s going on, Lily? What’s all the shouting about?” John joins us, questioning with that stern glare in my direction, as usual.
“Paris isn’t happy about the bedroom situation.” Mum sighs.
“Well, Paris will have to get used to the bedroom situation, won’t she?” He cocks a brow in my direction.
“Don’t worry, John Boy. I already have.” I fly down the stairs, flashing him an exaggerated grimace.
The same way as I did last year, I turn my back on all three of them and slam the front door shut on my way out. My childhood bedroom is just as bloody tainted as Christmas has become, and I’m starting to feel just as disconnected from this place as I am Izzy. I don’t know what is with her constant need to try and keep the peace within this broken family. It shattered a long time ago and she’s deluded if she thinks she can fix it. As much as I love her, she needs to learn there are some things or people that you just can’t change and this is one of them. The idea of that road trip seems more appealing by the day.
To hell with Mum and John. To hell with everyone!
Twenty
May 2003
Five months on, one random night out and plenty of shots later and here we are.
“I’m warning you, Palmer.”
That’s the last thing I hear her saying before something unexpected happens… In the blink of an eye, Izzy and I have just switched roles.
The peacemaker is now, apparently, the troublemaker.
I can’t believe my eyes when a fight breaks out between her and an old school acquaintance, Katy pissing Palmer, over a guy. Matt Cooper. There are arms flying around everywhere, feet scurrying as everyone tries to hold someone back. The air is tense and I think, deep down, we all know what’s about to happen to Katy if she keeps on pushing, keeps on provoking. I try to warn her that Izzy won’t back down, but she just will not listen. No one will listen.
Then all hell breaks loose.
And one thing I haven’t managed to prepare myself for is getting caught in the crossfire.
125 seconds of watching Moffy Balboa.
186 seconds knocked out cold.
I wake to a sodding broken shoe, a mild concussion, cuts, bruises and worst of all, the sight of Izzy in handcuffs. My vision is blurred, but I know as soon as I see it that I won’t forget the look of shame on her face or the look of shock on Lori’s as the police begin to escort her away. In all the time we have been friends I have never seen Izzy react the way she just has. It was like something snapped inside and she went all out nuclear on Katy’s arse. The light in her eyes switched off and she sunk to a dark, dark place. She was relentless; nothing was stopping the swings and punches, until she accidentally connected with my face. That’s when it ended.
That’s how I’ve ended up where I am right now.
I’m not interested in going to the hospital and getting checked over as advised by the paramedics. My number one priority, from the moment I can stand again, is hauling arse to the police station where Izzy has been taken, and trying my damnedest to get her free.
“We’ll need you to make a statement, Miss Hemsworth.” A stern voice speaks from the other side of the desk.
“Like hell you will. I’m not making any statement,” I shout.
“Firstly, you need to calm down, and secondly, you don’t have a choice,” he says flatly.
“What the hell happened to my rights? I’ve already told you I don’t want to press charges. This is ridiculous.” My temper is flaring out of control at this point, not caring about where I am.
“Yes, we are fully aware of that, Miss Hemsworth, but you weren’t the only one attacked tonight.” He looks down at his notes for clarification. “A Miss Palmer was also attacked and she is adamant she is pressing charges, which makes you a witness.”
“The bitch,” Lori snipes.
“Oh my God. She wasn’t attacked. She was the one doing all the provoking. I was otherwise engaged, mopping the floor with my hair, so you see, officer, I didn’t see anything.” I huff, crossing my arms and flinging my head defiantly to the side. Two can play that game.
But it’s no good. I’m forced to sit in the bleakest, grey room I’ve ever seen and talk. They still aren’t getting shit from me. If I don’t talk, they don’t have any evidence. I refuse point blank and I know Lori will, too, from the look of agreement we exchanged before we separated.
After that, fourteen hours passes me by. Fourteen hours.
That’s how long I’ve hung around this dismal place, along with the drunks and dregs of society. Having said that, I know I’m not looking too cracking myself at the moment and fatigue is starting to sit heavily on my eyelids. Waiting here has given me plenty of time to reflect, and the one question I’ve deliberated over is, do we define our moments or do our moments define us? God knows how many have been a learning curve for me, and no matter how much I try to pave my life, it has a habit of taking over, setting a different course for me.
When Izzy is finally released and I see the look on her face, I know this is one of those moments that is going to define her. She’s cut up and closed off, which are sure signs she’s beating herself up over what happened when she hit me. My guess is she’s scared, petrified she’s morphing into her father. The thing is, we all make mistakes and this is just one of those. I forgive her, otherwise I would have pressed charges and I sure as hell wouldn’t have hung around here all night, fighting
for her to be set free. But, something tells me she isn’t going to forgive herself in a hurry, which worries me even more. Not only have I been knocked out by my best friend but now she won’t talk to me either. The stab in my chest instantly doubles in size. I’m too tired to fight and argue with her now. I’m prepared to give her the space she so desperately appears to want. In fact, I don’t know why I bloody bother sometimes.
*******
Later turns into six weeks.
I knew she would take it hard but even I am shocked by just how hard. Izzy is all but cutting me out of her life, choosing the company of her four bedroom walls and her writing pad instead. I try to talk to her, but she isn’t entertaining it. What saddens me the most is that once upon a time, I was the first person she would turn to talk about things, no matter how bad or dark. I’m lucky if I get a ‘hey’ at the moment. When did things change so drastically between us? I know we’ve had a lot to deal with since starting university, and in many respects, we’ve had to grow up. I never once thought it possible that we would also grow so far apart. I try to convince myself that it’s just a blip, to give her some time and the space to come round, but deep down I can feel her slipping away from me.
I do get angry when I allow myself to think about the situation and her behaviour. I’m the one who has been knocked unconscious by her best friend; she should be begging me to forgive her. I have every right to feel this way, yet I’m the one being shut out. I’ve done nothing wrong. It all just seems unfair. The whole situation is wrong. Needless to say, another birthday has come and gone. I was invited to see Mum, but there was no way I was going for a meal with John to play happy families. What he did to my room is still unforgivable, and the fact that Mum allowed him to do it still hurts.
I just can’t believe all this is happening when I have my final exams to sit. I feel like I’m going to explode most days. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’m being pulled in all different directions – Izzy, exams, John, work – and juggling them all is proving so hard. I’ve heard other students talk about the word ‘stress.’ Jeez, I am totally stressed to the max. I’ve never felt the pressure to succeed as badly as I do now. I want to succeed with my friendship. I want to succeed with my degree, but all the problems flying around at the moment are making it so difficult to.
I don’t want to fail either of these wants, and it seems there is only one thing keeping me motivated at this low point, and that’s my dad. Despite making him a promise to look out for Izzy, I can’t disappoint him by turning into a failure. The longer this thing goes on between Izzy and I, the more fearful I am of being just that. I wish he was here now. He would know what to do or say. He always did.
For now, she’s stuck with me and I’m stuck with the fear. I just don’t know what to do, but I worry the fear is winning.
Shit friend.
Shit stepdad.
Shit birthday.
Shit revising.
I’m close to giving it all up. I need a break. I need that road trip.
*******
Two weeks on and we’ve parted ways. Izzy has moved into her new apartment and I have gone back home. She never outright asked me to move in with her and after the tension of late, I wasn’t prepared to ask either. She’s made it clear she doesn’t need me anymore, no matter how much I might need her. There’s this huge rift between us and the more time passes us by, the bigger it becomes. I guess there comes a time when I just have to let a person be, and this feels like one of them. I’ve tried to pull her out of her reclusive state, I truly have, but maybe I’m not what she needs anymore. I’m starting to think I’m not what anyone needs anymore.
Being back home is torture. Most of the time, I hide out in my bedroom or I avoid being at home at all. I don’t feel like myself. I struggle to think of the last time I smiled – genuinely smiled. All I seem to be is consumed by the dreary thoughts in my head.
The nights are long and lonely.
The mornings are an effort.
The days are tiresome.
Everything just seems hopeless. I’m not one to easily be defeated, but the anxiety of the past few months has caught up with my beaten arse and dragged me down to the point where I barely recognise my name. Some may call it self-pity. I, on the other hand, call it exhaustion. I’m too tired to fight anymore, and the motivation of not failing my dad has fast become a distant one.
Twenty-One
15th July 2003
Graduation day has finally arrived. Three years of blood, sweat and tears. Three years of a rollercoaster ride with my best friend, Izzy, and three years of constant partying with Lori. Three years I have been working towards this day, one that should be filled with excitement, smiles and happy tears… So why am I not feeling that way?
As I look out over the abundance of black caps from my uncomfortable, plastic chair, I feel totally lost in the crowd. Just another name passing through the gates of Leeds University. What have I achieved while I’ve been here? A fucked up relationship with a tutor, a barely scraped together degree and countless nights lain awake feeling lonely, thanks to screwing up my friendship with Izzy. I had the perfect opportunity here to make something of myself. I could have got involved in all sorts of clubs; I could have branched out and made other friends; I could have got my head down and worked really hard, but all I’ve done is make mistake after mistake. All I’ve done is allow myself to blend into the crowd, instead of shining like the bright star my dad always told me I could be.
I feel suffocated in this dark, dismal room. It’s supposed to be a happy, joyous day, yet they stick everyone in sodding black? It’s more like a funeral than a graduation and all I can think about is the day we buried my dad. I was the only one brave enough to take a stand that day and wear pink. Where the hell did that girl go? Even in one of my darkest hours, I still managed to remain true to myself. University has turned me into a sheep. I’ve lost myself to this place. I’ve lost myself to these people.
*******
As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I can’t help but still be amused by this graduation gown. Whoever designed them clearly had no taste in fashion. One thing I can’t stop staring at is the tassel dangling from the cap. The more I study it, the more I realise it’s like a piece of rope – exactly how I’ve been hanging for a long time now. On a thread. On the edge. Lost in my thoughts, I become agitated at just how shit today was for me. Mum and John barely spoke to me, Izzy was awkward and the one important person that should have been there was missing. I felt his absence today more than I have ever done. I needed him by my side. My dad should have been there.
With every passing second of focusing so intently on the rope, the sound of the clock becomes pronounced like a deafening thump in my head… Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The small tremble throughout my body warns me it’s coming; the temper I try so hard to suppress is fighting its way to the surface and my state of my mind is no longer going to be a match for it. I can’t hold it off.
The snap is sudden. The snap is quick.
In a fit of rage, I grab at the stupid hanging thread and sling the cap across the room. I’m desperate to be free of this ugly gown and the constant reminder of how shit my life is. Frantically pulling at the cape, I tear it free and swipe the scissors from my dressing table. In a moment of complete madness, I ball my knuckles so tightly they feel like they’re going to pop from their sockets, and start digging the sharp blade into the fabric. Shred after shred, the noise of the silk ripping spurs me on.
Once it’s over and there’s nothing left to ruin, the satisfaction is gone until all I’m left with is a heavy pant to my breath, a sweaty red face and an overwhelming need to escape my world forever. Tossing the torn up remnants to one side, I rush around my bedroom to get changed. I only take ten minutes to throw on a little black dress, skyscraper heels and my leather jacket. I trowel on some makeup and tousle my hair. The one place I can rely on for an escape is at the bottom of a bottle and that’s what
I intend to go find.
Flying through the streets of Manchester on my bike eases the pent up tension in my muscles, but only slightly. The thrill isn’t enough of a hit anymore and I know I need more. As I wheel spin into a car park outside a club, I coast into a spot and tease the helmet from my head. It’s not one of my local haunts, but that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? I want somewhere different, somewhere where no one knows my name or who I am. I should take my helmet with me inside, but in the face of not being me, I take a chance and leave it hanging from the handle bar. Making my way towards the entrance, I’m all too aware of the cobbles beneath my stilettos. The adrenalin pumping through my body wants me to sexily saunter into this place, but the shortness of this dress and the unsteadiness of my feet only allow me to clip clop my way in, like the true novice I am.
When I eventually step inside, I soon realise just how different this place is to my regular drinking spots. It’s small and dark, and the air carries a sickly scent of sweat to it. The pink, green and blue strobes are flashing all around me and the vibrating bass of the music is rattling through my bones. I make a beeline for the bar, in need a couple of shots to loosen up. Catching the eye of the girl serving, I order three – one for me, one for Izzy and one for Dad. Might as well have a drink to them in their absence since it’s never going to happen in reality. I quickly throw all three back and lean against the bar, scanning my surroundings properly for the first time.
There are people in every dingy corner. The dance floor is rammed and for some reason, most of the girls here are wearing next to nothing. It suddenly makes my dress seem like too much. A group of girls pass me by, their cheeks covered in neon face paint, and it falls into place that I’m in a rave club. I’ve heard people talk about them before, but it’s never interested me to try one out. Not until now. My eyes follow them with intrigue and that’s when I notice a group of guys stood near the toilets. One of them is staring directly at me. An awful wave of Déjà vu washes over me and I quickly divert my eyes away, turning my attention to the dance floor instead.
Paris Hemsworth's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 2) Page 14
