Soulmates

by Holly Bourne

  She blushed deeply. “Things with Johnno are going fine,” she stammered slightly. “We managed to kiss yesterday without bumping noses.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Well, baby steps, eh?”

  Lizzie linked her arms through mine and Ruth’s so we were all in a line.

  “Right, ladies,” she said. “I have a feeling tonight is going to be incredible.”

  “Yeah right,” I muttered.

  “Shut it. Seriously, I feel a burning in my loins that something is going to happen tonight.”

  “You can get a cream for that. You know, for the burning?”

  Ruth’s eyes brightened in recognition. “Oh yes, she’s right. I can recommend you one. Clears it up straight away.”

  “Silence,” Lizzie said and we dissolved into laughter. “Things are going to happen tonight. I can just feel it.” She paused. “It’s my news sense.”

  We all rolled our eyes.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I said.

  And we started walking towards the club.

  Band Night sounds much more exciting than it is. It’s basically a dilapidated club in the town centre that invites local bands to play every other weekend or so. The owner turns a blind eye to the fact that everyone is underage in return for bands bringing all their fans/friends along to fill the otherwise empty dance floor. We’d been going ever since Ruth grew her boobs and learned how to distract bouncers with them.

  It was getting dark as we reached the club entrance.

  “Oh no,” Lizzie said. “There’s a line. Everyone else must’ve heard about the fit guitarist too.”

  True enough, there was a queue stretching out around the club’s corner. Groups of girls gathered in shivering clumps, silently grading each other. The four of us shuffled to the end, watching other girls scowl at us and at Ruth’s blatant cleavage as we passed. Ruth smirked and stuck her chest out more.

  “I think we should have queue-jumped,” she said.

  “There’s no point,” Amanda said. “It’s moving quick enough.”

  Ruth stamped her foot in a mock tantrum. “But all these girls in front are getting to know fit-guitarist-man before I am.”

  I smiled. “Come on. He’s probably not even that fit. I’m sure he’s perfectly ordinary, but girls just think he’s fit because he plays the guitar onstage.”

  Lizzie let out a deep sigh. “Can you just imagine,” she asked, “how beautiful it would be to date a musician?”

  The other two sighed with her.

  “Imagine standing in a huge crowd, watching your boyfriend being worshipped by everyone around you, knowing you are the one to take him home,” Ruth said.

  “Or imagine him getting out his acoustic guitar to sing a love song and you know it’s written about you,” Lizzie added.

  “Or imagine getting to read his interviews in glossy mags about how much he adores you,” Amanda said.

  I raised an eyebrow as we moved forward in the queue.

  “Or…imagine feeling sick with paranoia whenever he’s on tour because it’s certain he’s cheating on you. Imagine only being known as so-and-so’s girlfriend and not for your own merits. Or imagine being stuck at home with his kids while he’s still off pretending to be a ‘rock star’ despite having a flabby old-man belly and a receding hairline. Or—” I broke off my rant when I realized they were all glaring at me.

  Lizzie let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, Poppy, why do we bother bringing you?”

  “Yeah, killjoy,” Ruth said. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fantasy.”

  We stepped forward again. We were getting near the front.

  “There’s nothing wrong with fantasies,” I said, defending myself. “But dating a musician? Come on, guys. It’s such a cliché.”

  They all groaned simultaneously.

  “You’re obsessed, woman!”

  “I’m not obsessed. I just don’t know why you’re all excited about potentially pulling some melancholic prick who writes songs about his ‘growing pains’.”

  Lizzie smirked. “Who knows? He might be amazingly talented but self-aware and fall madly in love with one of us.”

  “Lizzie. We don’t live in a romantic comedy.”

  “And by being friends with you, don’t I bloody well know it?” She linked arms with me as we entered the club.

  The influx of wannabe groupies made the place more crowded than normal. The usually half-empty wooden dance floor was jammed full of mascaraed girls with their elbows out. I checked my watch – it had just gone nine thirty. The band wouldn’t start for another half-hour but females were already fighting for prime front-row spots. Their desperation was so pungent you could almost bottle it and sell it as perfume.

  Despite myself, I quite liked this place. The walls were bright purple and decorated with old black-and-white photos of famous musicians. The once-white ceiling was now off-yellow, stained by years of spent cigarettes. But what I loved most was the bar. The owner, in true rock-and-roll spirit, insisted everything that could be sold in optics must be sold in optics – even wine. He had even had optics specially made that delivered rosé in 250 ml quantities. It was a bit gross but the club had character – which was rarer than blue steak in this cookie-cutter town.

  The girls and I picked our way through the throngs of people to get to the bar. I elbowed my way to the front and leaned forward to attract the barman’s attention.

  “What do you want?” he yelled over the loud heavy metal pumping out of the speakers.

  I held up my fingers. “Four double dark rum and Diet Cokes please.” It was getting hot and I started fanning my face. “With ice,” I added.

  As I waited, I watched Lizzie mingle. The girl knew everyone. She was darting from one group to the next, like a hummingbird addicted to secrets instead of nectar. I guessed she was asking about the new band and their mysterious new guitarist. Lizzie liked to be in the know. She said it was her way of preparing for her future.

  The barman handed me the drinks and I chucked him a ten and a five before carefully scooping up the glasses. I pushed my way towards my friends, who had now grabbed a spot closer to the stage.

  “So what did I miss?” I shouted over the music, handing them each a drink.

  “Thanks,” Lizzie shouted back, taking a glass. “Guess what? I’ve got the best gossip about Noah.”

  “Who’s Noah?” I asked, taking a long gulp of my drink.

  She shouted something back but I couldn’t hear her.

  “What?!” I leaned in further.

  “I SAID NOAH IS THE FIT GUITARIST.”

  I nodded. So his name was Noah.

  Lizzie beckoned to us all to come in closer.

  “I heard…” Lizzie tried to whisper in a dramatic fashion but had to half-shout to be heard. “Rachel was telling me he lives alone after his parents chucked him out.”

  “Really?” Amanda asked, wide-eyed, as if Lizzie had revealed he was a merman or something.

  Lizzie nodded seriously. “Apparently he gave them a really rough time – he’s really screwed up. He moved here about two years ago and got diagnosed with depression,” she said. “But he refused to go to therapy and apparently turned to drink and girls. He’s a complete man-whore by the sounds of it. Proper bad boy.”

  The other two looked wistful as I sneered. Typical.

  “Anyway, apparently joining the band has really sorted him out. Music helps him…feel better apparently.”

  “Wow,” Amanda said. “He sounds so…tortured.”

  Ruth agreed. “I know. What a hard time he’s had. I bet all he wants is a proper girlfriend to ground him. A shoulder to cry on. Someone he can trust and depend on.”

  We stood in silence as the other three contemplated being this wonder girl to mend all his problems. Groan.

  We finished our drinks and Ruth went to get another round as we saved our viewing spot. It was getting really crowded now, and really hot. I could feel a thin film of sweat begin to collect u
nder my fringe. Lovely. Despite being at the back of the entrance queue, we’d actually got a pretty good view of the stage – a couple of lines from the front, dead centre. We defended our territory as more people began to squash in. Ruth arrived back with our drinks and I checked my watch again. Two minutes to ten. The band would start any moment. More spectators were jostling to get a better view and a few idiots started throwing their beer into the crowd. There was a Mexican wave of shrieks as girls’ carefully crafted hairdos were obliterated.

  The lights turned off and everyone began to whoop and scream. I could see the shadows of the band walk on and a huge surge came through the crowd from behind. My feet were swept off the floor and I was carried by my ribs half a metre forward. I clenched my feet in my ballet pumps to keep them on, and panicked slightly as I realized I’d been separated from the others. I twisted my head round to see Lizzie some way behind me. She smiled, excitedly waiting for the music to begin. I smiled back and then suddenly the stage lights came on, catapulting the band into a bright white light. Music erupted from the speakers…

  And then I couldn’t breathe.

  The loud music became tinny and my head filled with fug. I tried to inhale but no oxygen entered my lungs. My legs buckled and I felt the crowd push me forward. I could hardly stand. I relied completely on other bodies to keep me upright as I tried to practise my techniques from therapy.

  You are not dying, I told myself. You’re just having a panic attack. You’re not going to die.

  But I didn’t believe myself. This was worse than anything I’d experienced before. My lungs burned and the edges of my vision went hazy.

  “Help,” I rasped pathetically, hoping someone would hear. But no help came.

  I tried to breathe again. Nothing. Panic rippled through my body like a tsunami.

  I have to get out. I’m going to die.

  With my remaining strength, I tried to stumble out of the crowd, vaguely aware that people were yelling at me. I couldn’t see my friends. I couldn’t see anything. It was all going dark.

  JUST BREATHE, I instructed myself. But I couldn’t. I kept taking empty gasps. My lungs felt like they were going to explode.

  I’m drowning, I thought. I’m drowning in no water.

  I felt my feet slipping on the beer-covered floor and the burning in my lungs began scorching through my insides. I let my body buckle. I could vaguely hear the dim sounds of loud chords echoing from the speakers. And then everything went black and it was finally quiet.

  Pain.

  Burning.

  It was still black but the serene silence had gone.

  “Her eyes are flickering,” I heard. It sounded far away, like I was underwater.

  The scorching filled my lungs again. It hurt so much. I had to get rid of it. My eyes blinked open. I was on my back. That wouldn’t do. Using all my strength, I flung myself over onto my side as vomit bucketed out of me. I retched. I gagged. The sour taste of regurgitated rum and Coke burned up my throat. I lay on my side, being generally disgusting, for a few minutes. I kept spitting, wiping my mouth, retching again. I didn’t care who was watching. I needed to get whatever poison there was out of me. When I finally finished, I rolled onto my back and wiped my hair. It was slick with sweat.

  “Well look who’s bringing sexy back,” someone said sarcastically.

  It was Lizzie’s voice. I concentrated on focusing and her face became clear beside me. We were outside the club, on a small piece of grubby grass round the side. Lizzie and Amanda looked concerned. Well, Lizzie looked a bit more disgusted than concerned.

  I took a deep breath. “What the hell happened?” I tried to lift my head but Lizzie firmly pushed it onto her lap.

  “Not so soon. You’re staying put for a few minutes.” She looked at me in a motherly way. “You had one of your attacks. Scared the crap out of me and Amanda.”

  Amanda was sitting cross-legged on the grass, a respectful distance away from my puddle. She looked terrified. I remembered she’d never seen me have a panic attack before.

  “How long have I been out?” I always lost track of time when this happened.

  “Just a few minutes. You’ve not missed anything, don’t worry.”

  “Where’s Ruth?” I asked.

  A look of irritation crossed Lizzie’s face before she composed a smile.

  “She’s saving our spaces for us. I told her it wasn’t worth bothering as you’re obviously going straight home, but she stayed inside anyway.”

  “Home? I’m not going home.”

  “Yes you are. Poppy, I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, I’ve seen you collapse before, but not like this. I thought you were dead.”

  I could see that she was genuinely concerned behind her forced grin. “Was I that bad?” I asked. “It felt worse than the others.”

  “You were terrifying. I was trying to keep an eye on you because I know crowds can sometimes set you off. You seemed fine, even though it’s absolutely mental inside. My fringe is completely ruined…” She stopped herself and started again. “Anyway, as soon as the band came on you started twitching. I tried to get to you but the crowd was too solid. You were staggering around like your feet weren’t working. And then you just went down. I managed to reach you, and you were unconscious but shuddering, like an electric current was surging through you. It was seriously messed up. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were having an epileptic fit or something.”

  I lay silent for a moment, taking in everything she’d told me.

  “So I made a complete idiot out of myself then?”

  Lizzie let out a low whistle. “Jeeeee-sus. Why would you even care about that, Poppy? You’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

  I ignored her and looked up at Amanda. “Amanda?” I asked.

  She looked nervous, probably because Lizzie had put her death-glare on.

  “No one really noticed,” Amanda reassured me. “Everyone was too involved with the band. They’re actually surprisingly good.”

  I lifted myself so I was sitting. The evening summer breeze felt good on my clammy face.

  “Well if that’s the case,” I said, slowly standing up, “then we’d better go in and see them.”

  Lizzie was shocked. “Poppy, no. Come on. We need to take you home.”

  “I’m fine. Please, just let me be normal.”

  “But you might have another attack.”

  “I won’t. It’s passed now. Come on, let’s go find Ruth.”

  Lizzie looked desperately at Amanda. “We can’t let her go back in.”

  Amanda shrugged. “Do you really want to try and stop her?”

  “Ha ha, victory.” I punched my fist in the air, immediately felt woozy and stumbled. Lizzie steadied me just in time and glared.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll stay right at the back like a saddo. Just in case it happens again. Which it won’t.”

  We walked slowly to the doors of the club, showing our stamped hands to the bouncers as we passed. They clocked Lizzie and Amanda supporting the majority of my body weight and one of them raised an eyebrow.

  “Your mate alright?” he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “She’s fine,” Lizzie answered, before turning to me. “Aren’t you, Poppy?”

  “Me? I’m high on life.”

  They laughed as we entered the club, where we were immediately blasted by loud music. We stood at the back and within ten seconds I decided I liked the band. They were amazing. Different. My heart thudded madly to the music and I clutched at my chest to steady myself. Steam was rising off the crowd in giant clouds.

  “THEY’RE INCREDIBLE,” I shouted over to Lizzie and Amanda, who both smiled in return.

  “DIDN’T I SAY SO?” Lizzie screamed back. “AND CHECK OUT THE GUITARIST.”

  My eye followed Lizzie’s finger through the crammed room as she pointed out Noah.

  I’ve never run smack bang into a brick wall before but I imagine it would feel a bit like how I felt
then. Time slowed down – like in a really cheesy movie. I felt my breath catching as I studied him. Lizzie was right – he was beautiful.

  He stood at the left of the stage, his guitar resting lazily on his lower hip. His face was focused, concentrating on his chords. Sweaty dark hair fell into his black eyes, framing his perfectly angular face. A green T-shirt was sticking to his thin but muscular frame and his jeans were slung low across his waist. I quickly scanned his legs and sighed in relief – his jeans weren’t skinny. It was a miracle! I licked my lips involuntarily. I wanted to turn and discuss his fitness in detail but couldn’t tear my eyes from his face.

  Bloody hell, what was happening to me? I forced my gaze off him. Lizzie was smiling.

  “Fit much?” she said.

  “Very fit.” I nodded furiously. “You were right.”

  She put her arms around Amanda and me, pulling us into her.

  “One day, my little munchkins, you will realize I’m always right. Fancy him then?”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “What?” I spluttered. “No!”

  Lizzie nudged me in the ribs. “Only winding you up, don’t worry. Anyway…” She pointed to the crowd. “Looks like you’d have competition on your hands and I, for one, wouldn’t fancy taking on Ruth.”

  I followed her finger again. It led me to Ruth, who had somehow managed to wiggle her way to the front row. She was standing directly below Noah, staring at him intently, a determined look on her face. My stomach sank and I tried to gauge why. This was standard Ruth behaviour, but tonight it bothered me.

  “What’s she playing at?” I hissed at Lizzie. “She looks well desperate.”

  “Never put anyone off before.”

  It was true.

  I turned back and watched Ruth at work. She was right under Noah’s eyeline, eye-flirting the hell outta him. For some inexplicable reason her hair hadn’t succumbed to the heat like everyone else’s, and she’d probably employed her fail-safe method of undoing another button on her top.