Too Good Girl

by Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

  Frustration poured itself all over me, fuelling my already anger-riddled temper to snap and react to her inability to respond—to fight back, to justify her despicable decisions.

  I paced.

  I was sick of pacing, but what else could I do? I needed answers. I needed her to tell me everything she’d kept from me for ten fucking years. Heading to the kitchen, I filled a glass of water, striding back to where she lay, comatose, on the sofa, and threw it at her.

  “Jesus, Syra.” She barely moved, but her arm came up slowly to wipe the cold liquid from her face.

  “Where is she? He? Jesus Christ, I don’t even know if it's a boy or a girl!” I laughed again. It seemed like the only appropriate response to this ludicrous situation I found myself in.

  Mum began to move, rising to a sitting position. Her eyes were bloodshot, her arms riddled with track-marks and her clothes filthy and creased. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.” The slur of her voice angered me more. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  Yanking the curtains open, I stared out of the window at the far end of the room, my arms folded over my chest and then spun around to glare at her. “Worried about me? Or worried because you didn’t have enough money for your next fucking hit?” I shook my head. She didn’t care what I was saying to her. She tried to stand, swaying and blinking as she attempted to gain some balance, and then headed out of the room. I wasn’t going to get any sense out of her, and unless she was willing to get help, there was nothing more I could do.

  I’d lost my father.

  I was losing my mother.

  But I’d gained a brother or sister…

  There were so many unanswered questions, ones I wasn’t going to get closure for in this house. Instead, I’d have to find the only other person who’d be able to answer them for me.

  Syra

  River Eyes by Makers

  I WALKED WITH purpose through the club, my eyes scanning the space to catch a glimpse of him. It was Friday evening, and it was unlikely he’d even be there for a good three hours. I walked past the bar where the odd early drinker was propped, chatting up the barmaids, and I caught Amber’s eye. She immediately stood straight, giving me a small smile and then turning to one of the others to whisper. God only knew what they’d heard, and God only knew what rumours they were spreading, but I had no time for that. My concerns were bigger than their tittle-tattle and speculations.

  Moving towards the dance floor and the DJ booth, I saw Freddie and picked up my pace to catch up with him, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Hey.”

  He turned around, his eyes widening before he pulled me into a hug. “Shit, Syra.”

  He held me too tightly, and I moved away, folding my arms across my chest and smiling a little, looking up at him.

  “You okay? Like really okay?

  I nodded. “I’m okay. Thanks. Um. Is Doug here?”

  “Sy. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just—”

  “Freddie, it’s fine. Okay? Where’s Doug? I need to speak to him.” My whole body was humming with nerves and anger, causing my fingers to shake and my heart to beat fast.

  “He’s not here.”

  I looked away from him, biting down on my lip to stop yet more tears from giving me away. “Do you know where he might be or when he might arrive?”

  Freddie shrugged. “I’ve not seen him for at least a week. He didn’t come to party last weekend, and he’s been managing the place from home as far as I know.”

  “Where does he live?”

  He frowned. “You need to speak to him that badly, huh?”

  Nodding I wiped under my nose and sniffed. “Kinda.”

  He watched me for a minute as if weighing up his options and then cocked his head, indicating that I should follow him, leading me out the back and through the staff entrance to the carpark. I climbed into his car beside him and glanced his way with questions in my eyes.

  “I’ll take you to his house.”

  We drove in silence through the streets of Faymere and along the cliff top where the rich people lived. My eyes scanned the rows of detached mansions that seemed to teeter on the edge, looking out across the sea.

  “I can’t be seen to be involved, so I’m going to drop you at the end here. He lives at number eight. It’s the one set back slightly with the gates. They won’t be locked so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting to the door.”

  I nodded, wondering how Freddie knew so much about Doug’s personal situation, let alone where he lived, and as he rolled to a stop at the side of the road, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek as the realisation that I had made a real friend dawned on me. “Thanks, Freddie.”

  He smiled back. “Ring me if you need picking up, okay?”

  Standing on the pavement and watching as he drove away, the nerves bounced back into my throat, and I remained, unmoving, trying to muster up the courage to do this. When I’d been riled up, the idea had seemed easy, but now, I was scared shitless. I glanced up and down the dark street. Not a soul was in sight; not one moving vehicle. I knew the full story and what Doug was capable of, and I began to second guess myself as Jack’s words rang around my head.

  But as much as I was terrified, my need for closure took charge. I was determined to get the answers I wanted, so taking a deep breath, I walked down the road towards the huge mansion-looking house with black, wrought-iron gates surrounding it, keeping people out. I peered up the driveway to the door and the windows that were lit up, indicating someone at least was home.

  Did he live in that big, old house alone?

  Was my brother or sister in there with him?

  Did they live together?

  The questions urged me forward, and I lifted the latch on the gate, letting it swing open before I began a tentative walk up the driveway to what I hoped would be the answers.

  The sound of the doorbell ringing inside the house seemed to echo around the property, feeding my fears and causing my legs to jig. I waited for a few seconds for someone to come to the door, and when they didn’t, impatience had me pressing it again, stepping back and surveying the place.

  A click and a rattle startled me, and I spun back to face the door, my heart in my mouth, and no fucking idea what I was even going to say to whoever was beginning to pull it open.

  Doug stood there, his eyes boring holes in me and saying nothing. He stepped to the side by way of invitation, and I entered, my arms folded across my chest to protect me from the cool air and from his glare.

  The hallway was a huge, semi-circular space with polished marble floors and a grand staircase that swept up to the next floor. There were rooms off to the side, and Doug led the way into the kitchen where he slid onto a bar-stool and rested his elbow on the granite worktop. The silence between us was terrifying, so I blurted out the only thing that had been playing on repeat in my head since I’d heard the story of my past.

  “You killed my dad.”

  Doug sneered and laughed. “Your dad was weak. He killed himself.”

  I wanted to fly at him, to pummell him with my fists at his lacklustre response that only highlighted the kind of man he was. “Jack has told me everything. I know who you are, and I know what you do.”

  A flash of something terrifying crossed his features, but he didn’t voice his thoughts. “Jack needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Drink?” He hopped from the stool and poured two glasses of whiskey, sliding one across the counter to me. “So why are you here, princess?”

  “I think you know. I want answers; I want to see—” Who? I didn’t even know their name. “The child. My mother’s child. I want to know what happened back then and why all this shit has been kept from me.”

  He tipped his drink straight down his throat, slamming his glass down and making me jump. “Ask your damned mother. You are not my responsibility, Syra, and I owe you nothing.”

  “My mother doesn’t even know w
hat fucking day it is.”

  “Quite. You’re the daughter of a junkie and a coward.”

  My body was in control of its own movements, and the sound of skin on skin as I slapped him across the face echoed around the sparse room, quickly followed by my yelp as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.

  We were almost nose-to-nose, the look on his face making me want to spit in it.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why everything? How did you know who I was when Jack found me? Why help us get a place to live only to lure me to your drug den and almost get me killed?”

  He let me go, shoving me away from him and causing me to stumble. “Because I was attempting to keep a promise.”

  I blinked, unsure what he was saying to me. “What promise? To whom?”

  “To your mother.” Something passed over his expression that I couldn’t read, nor define. “I promised I’d see you right.”

  A courage I’d not felt before in his presence seemed to take control of me, and I began to clap. A slow, sarcastic clap that with every slap seemed to piss him off more. “Wow. Good job, Mr Patterson. You should be so goddamned proud of yourself because I feel so fucking loved and cared for.”

  He stalked towards me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking the confidence from me. “Go home, little girl, before you get wrapped up in shit you are not able to handle.”

  “What’s their name?”

  “What?”

  “The child. My mother’s child.” I paused. “Your child.”

  He dropped his hands and turned away from me, shoving them through his hair.

  “I have a right to know. They’re my… Doug, I don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.”

  He braced himself against the countertop and dropped his head between his shoulders. “Go home, Syra.”

  I stood my ground and refused to give in. “Tell me.”

  Twisting his head so he could look at me, he clenched his teeth, his jaw ticking as he was no doubt contemplating his reply. “Alice. She’s ten.”

  My heart stopped.

  I swallowed down a surge of emotion as this unknown entity transformed into a real person with just a few words—a real person who was my sister. I whispered her name to test how it sounded on my lips, tears welling in my eyes at the images it conjured up. “Is she—”

  “Here? No. She’s not here.”

  “What does she—”

  “Syra, I’m not the one you need to talk to about this. Go home. Speak to your mother.”

  “I want to meet her.”

  “Go. Home.”

  “No. Where is she? Does she live here?” I spun on my heel and began marching through the house, searching for signs of a young girl.

  The downstairs rooms were pristine, decorated in mute tones of beige and chocolate browns.

  Doug followed on my heel, and as I moved towards the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed me again, pulling me away and pushing me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. “Stay away from my daughter. Do you hear me? She has a life—a good life—and I don’t want her getting mixed up with the likes of you or your mother. Got it?” His arm was across my chest, making it hard for me to catch my breath, and looking up at his face that emanated anger and frustration, I blinked. I blinked over and over again because I didn’t know what else to do.

  “You’re nothing but scum, princess—just like your mother was always destined to be. Your father was weak, and you’re exactly the same. Look at you. Look how easy it was for me. You’re pathetic. Go home, and stay away from me. You can let yourself out.” He pushed himself off me and the wall, and walked away, leaving me sliding to the floor with my heart splintering, and when I finally mustered up the energy to pick myself up and leave, he shouted back through the kitchen.

  “And if the police come knocking on my door, you’d better sleep with one eye open.”

  ***

  I found myself on the beach, as always, staring out across the ocean as the rain beat down on me. It was such a contrast from the night Jack and I had spent exploring each other’s bodies, exchanging gifts of love and words full of promises. I longed to go back there—to a place where the colours were warm and inviting and the light had bathed us, keeping us safe. I yearned for the feeling of being protected from any storm that might hit me, and I longed to be drowning in his eyes.

  Instead, I was exposed to the elements, cold and frightened, and that feeling of utter dread was beginning to rise within me, from the tips of my toes. That need for a release was worming its way in through every pore, taunting me with whispered promises of peace and comfort, and as I walked back towards my home, rock bottom didn’t feel like I place I could ever escape from.

  Jack

  Start A Riot by BANNERS

  THE LIGHTS WERE on as I slid my key into the lock, and my heart sped up at the idea of seeing her. She’d been gone all day, and as much as I’d wanted to chase her, to follow her and protect her, I’d let her go. Had that been stupid? Perhaps, but that stubborn independence would have got its own way regardless, and arguing with her wasn’t something I’d been prepared to do.

  Hanging my coat on the banister, I moved quietly through the house to find her, expecting she might be asleep. I climbed the stairs quietly, knocking lightly on her bedroom door before pushing it open. The room was dark, aside from the moonlight that cast a glow across her empty and still-made bed, and I frowned, searching for signs of her having been home before backing out into the hallway.

  Walking the few short steps to my room, I saw the glow of light under the bathroom door and my heart resumed its steady beat. The fact she was there, in the house and not running away from me, gave me a surge of hope.

  We needed to talk.

  I’d hurt her.

  I’d kept her past from her and in doing so, I’d neglected to tell her that it linked with mine.

  I felt guilty, but had it really been my story to tell? I didn’t think so, and she needed to understand that.

  I kicked my boots off, shrugging out of my leather jacket, and untied my hair. I fully intended to wash the evening’s grease and grime from my skin, before reaching for a chance to work things out with her and then hopefully fall asleep with her in my arms.

  Grabbing my towel and clean clothes, I sauntered out of my room and towards the bathroom. The door was still closed, so I knocked. “Sy. Are you in there?” It hadn’t occurred to me that she might not be, that she may have forgotten to turn the light off, because where else would she be? I tried the handle and found it to be locked. “Syra?” Leaning my ear against the door, I listened for noises that would indicate she was behind it, and when I heard nothing, my whole body tensed. “Syra.” I rattled the handle again but to no avail, and with fear in my veins, shoved my shoulder against the wood.

  It didn’t budge, so I shoved again.

  And again.

  And again.

  For the second time in almost as many weeks, I found myself breaking a door down to get to her, and when it finally gave way, I stumbled into the tiny room, my eyes finding her immediately, her body slumped up against the bath, her eyes half-lidded.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Syra, no.” I was on my knees in front of her within seconds. “No, no, no. Not again.” Propping her up as I tried work out what she’d taken, I cupped her face. “Syra. Look at me.” She couldn’t. Her eyes wouldn't stay on my face, and my heart climbed from my chest, lodging itself in my throat as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and seethed through my teeth. “Goddamnit, Syra Johnson. Don’t you do this. Don’t you fucking do this. You’re too fucking good for this shit.” My arm flew out of its own accord, my fist smashing against the side of the bath in pure anger as tears sprang to life and realisation of what was at stake came crashing around me. My eyes were all over her face, my hands unsure what they were supposed to do. “Do not die on me, baby. I cannot lose you.” I sniffed and pressed my lips to her forehe
ad. “Jesus. I only just got you.”

  My brain switched on suddenly, and I fumbled around in my back pocket for my phone, dialling 999 and wedging it between my cheek and my shoulder. The operator answered quickly, and I gave her our address, explaining what I was faced with and urging them to be as fast as the could. It was then I saw deep, red blood oozing from her wrist and the razorblade in her hand. “Oh Jesus, she’s bleeding. She’s cut her wrist. You need to get here now. Why are you doing this to yourself, huh. You stupid girl? Why?” I clenched my teeth, dropping my phone to the floor and removing the blade from her hand, casting it aside. Sitting back on my heels, I ripped at my T-shirt, wrapping a scrap of cotton material tightly above the wound and putting pressure on the cut with another, lifting her arm in the air and waiting.

  Her eyes rolled and her lids fluttered.

  “No, no, no.” I cupped her cheeks, smoothing my hand over her face. “Breathe, Syra. Breathe.” Pressing my forehead to hers, I pleaded with her. “Open your eyes and see me.”

  It took thirteen minutes for the ambulance to arrive.

  The longest thirteen minutes of my life where she drifted in and out of consciousness, and I sat with my head back against the rim of the bath, talking to her, attempting to keep her awake, waiting, waiting, waiting...

  I’d left the front door unlocked, something Syra was always giving me grief about, but right then, I was so glad I’d never remembered to do it.

  I heard them knock and jumped to me feet to shout down the stairs. “Up here. In the bathroom.” My voice wobbled and cracked, the volume of it wavering as relief rushed over me like a tsunami at the arrival of the paramedics. They took charge of the scene, and I backed away to give them room, dropping to a crouch on the landing, watching and hoping, begging and praying that I’d found her in time.

  And that’s how an hour later, there we were again, Syra hooked up to an IV line in a hospital bed, me holding her hand and avoiding sleep in order to soak her up and be there when she woke.