The Beginning and End of Everything

by Stevie J. Cole

  Hope stood in front of my dresser, tugging at the short hem of her dress while shooting a judgmental glare at me through the mirror. “Tell me that’s not what you’re wearing to the party?”

  “I don’t know.” What I was wearing to the party was the least of my concerns. “So. I did something stupid.”

  Her chin dropped with a disappointed sigh. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. You banged the pikey, didn’t you?”

  “What?” I feigned disgust at the suggestion. “No. God, no!”

  Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “What other stupid thing is there then?”

  “I told the guys I had a date.”

  “Why?”

  I dropped my gaze to my bedspread, tracing my finger over the flower pattern. I wasn’t even sure why I had done it.

  “Well, you’re hot. It can’t be that hard to get a date.” She grabbed a tube of lipstick from the makeup caddy. “Darryl’s always had a thing for you. And Davie.”

  Darryl and Davie wouldn’t do at all. One, Brandon would never believe I chose to go out with either of those creeps and two, there was no way I would go anywhere with either of them. I wanted the male version of Lola Stevens. A guy that would make Brandon’s blood boil, and one that Brandon wouldn’t dare try to start a fight with. “Hope, I need a date. With a hot guy.” I chewed at my lip. “A really hot guy that could knock out Brandon.”

  A short-lived laugh bubbled from her lips. “First of all, no one can knock out Brandon.” She pulled a short, black skirt from her backpack and tossed it to me. “Secondly, since when did you stop pining after that dickhead long enough to look at another bloke.”

  Hope may have been my best friend that was a girl, but the way I felt about Brandon was a secret I hadn’t confessed to anyone. I feigned disgust. “I do not pine after him.”

  “You do, but so does every girl.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Hell, I might even give the pikey a crack if he wasn’t such a wanker. Probably had the clap more times than the circus.”

  Heat spread across my chest while I stared down at the skirt in my hands. I hated the way I felt about him. I hated that there was nothing he could do to make me feel differently.

  I chucked the miniskirt to my bed. “I’m not wearing that.”

  Hope snatched it up and threw it at me again. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t. Brandon would hate it because it shows to much skin.”

  I pulled off the modest skirt I had been wearing and slipped into the flimsy material. It clung to my hips, my butt, and it barely hit midthigh.

  “Now, back to this date. You’re trying to make the pikey jealous, aren’t you?” She tilted her head, her gaze locking with mine in the mirror before she spun around with an excited grin. “Or is it Connor?”

  “Hope…”

  With a roll of her eyes, she went back to touching up her already made-up face. “I’ll ask Silas if he has any friends.”

  “Silas? As in, Slutty Suzie’s older brother? The one that just got back from war? With the tattoos and scars!”

  “M-hmm.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Hot, isn’t he?”

  Silas looked the part of a cartel boss. Intimidating and bad—exactly Hope’s cup of tea. "Hope, he's twenty. Twenty!"

  "And?"

  There was no use debating the likely moral compromise that accompanied a twenty-year-old trying to date a sixteen-year-old. Besides, anything that compromised morals was right up Hope’s alley.

  “You want to make Brandon O’Kieffe jealous. One of Silas’ friends should do the trick.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to make him jealous!”

  “Didn’t have to.” She eyed the short skirt I’d put on with a smile, then plucked her cell phone from the bed and tapped the buttons. Barely a minute later, the device dinged. “You officially have a date with Liam Malley. You’re welcome.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “What?” she said, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror while she fluffed her hair. “He’s nineteen. Not twenty.”

  Brandon would absolutely lose it if, and when, he found out I was going on a date with a womanizer like Liam. But that was what I had wanted, wasn’t it? Even if I hadn’t admitted it to Hope.

  “Possuuuum!" Brandon’s head popped through the window before he tumbled over the ledge and toppled to the floor with a roll. The smell of whiskey permeated the room.

  "Only a pikey would crawl through a window like a stray cat,” Hope said.

  With a smirk, he sprawled out on his back. "Why are you friends with that ginger bitch? You know they have no souls and eat babies and shit."

  "Brandon O'Kieffe, you know you're a cunt!" Hope chucked a hairbrush at him, and he gave a drunken salute.

  "That I am."

  His jaw was red and swollen. Knuckles bloody. With a sigh, I scooted off the bed and crouched beside him, softly gripping his chin to survey the damage. "What were you doing?"

  "Well, I was drinking my whiskey."

  "Standard." Hope snickered, and Brandon attempted a glare.

  "And then I thought: I should share with my possum. Sharing is caring." He brandished the whiskey bottle. When he waved it around, the hem of his shirt inched up his stomach. On instinct, my gaze went to the deep-cut V that dipped below the waist of his jeans. I swallowed before tugging it down.

  "He wouldn’t use the door,” Connor’s voice came from the open doorway. “I tried.”

  Laughing, Brandon guzzled back a few shots worth of whiskey. I snatched away the bottle when amber liquid began to trickle from the corners of his lips. There was no way he could go to a party. He’d either end up in another fight or with alcohol poisoning. Or both.

  When Brandon got to this state, he was trying to forget. And trying to forget was a dangerous place to be.

  "You two go ahead,” I said, brushing a hand over Brandon’s jaw. “We'll catch up with you."

  Connor rubbed over the back of his neck, his gaze drifting from me to Brandon and back. "We can wait."

  "Nope." Hope linked her arm through Connor's. "I'm not waiting around on that drunk twat. Come on, Milkybar, let's get there before all the wine coolers are gone."

  "Stop calling me that, would you? I haven't had a damn Milkybar in two years."

  Hope grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks. "But it's so cute."

  With a roll of his eyes, Connor flashed me a pleading look while she dragged him from the room.

  Seconds later, the front door shut, and I managed to sit Brandon up, inspecting his scrapes and bruises again. "How bad this time?"

  "Well, I managed to duck. And then—” A lazy, drunk smile crossed his face. "I knocked his arse clean out."

  "You knocked your dad out. Again?” I sighed. “Brandon.”

  He reached for the bottle still in my hand, and I yanked it away. "It's fine, poss." His eyelids lulled shut, but he pulled himself up enough to rest his head in my lap. "It's fine," he said again, moving my hand to his head and forcing my fingers through his thick hair while he fiddled with the hem of my short skirt. His warm skin brushed my mine, the touch creating a pull between my legs only he could.

  “I know I'm not good enough for you.” He took an uneven breath. “But…”

  He was drunk, and when Brandon was drunk, he said all kinds of things. But this…what I thought it might mean that he wanted more—I wanted so badly to believe it did. “Brandon, what are you talking about?”

  Seconds passed before his fingers brushed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His jade green eyes touched every inch of my face, as though he were committing me to memory, then his rough fingers trailed my cheekbone, and he smiled. "I love you, possum."

  His gaze fixed on my lips, and the air seemed to still. Each heavy beat of my heart counted down the seconds. The pull that danced between us, I wanted it. God, I so desperately wanted to know what his lips would feel like on mine, even if it were just one time. Then his eyes closed and his fingers tightened into fists. "Don't worry…” His chest fell into a heavy rhyt
hm. “Con’s good enough."

  That night I realized just how hopelessly in love I was with Brandon. I told myself that I would rather be the girl he leaned on than the girl who ended up with him between her legs; I would rather keep his respect than lose it. Still, had Brandon let me, I would have loved him and given him every piece of my heart to destroy.

  But instead, I was just his possum. Always and forever.

  20

  Brandon

  I’d spent days trying to find out what bellend Poppy had a date with, but it was none of the guys at our school. Or at the townie school.

  Then I realized—girls usually set their friends up with their boyfriend’s friends, and Hope was dating Suzie’s brother, Silas. Which was why I paid Slutty Suzie twenty quid to nick her brother’s phone. And it was worth it. Low and behold, some guy called Liam was going on a date with Poppy tonight at the local Sprinkles.

  I sat at the bus stop across the road, watching through the shop window. One of Hope’s dresses clung to Poppy’s tiny frame, leaving nothing to the imagination, which pissed me off a treat. Not to mention, the arsehole who bought her ice cream looked like a fully-grown man and was clearly a pervert.

  She sat across from him, twirling the friendship bracelet I’d given her years ago—fidgeting the way she did whenever she was nervous or uncomfortable. With each passing second, my pulse rose until I was certain I was about to have a heart attack.

  After about an hour, they left, and I followed, trying to remain rational while telling myself that I was only making sure she was safe.

  Halfway down the block, his hand came around her waist, and he pulled her close. That was all it took.

  In an instant, I was right behind them, grabbing Liam and shoving him against the glass front of a shop that was locked up for the night.

  A moment of shock flashed over his face before his brows pulled together. His frame tightened, and he swung. He may have been bigger than me—probably stronger—but not faster. I dodged—the movement now second nature—before my fist met his nose. Blood splattered the dark shop window.

  “Aw. Shit!” He doubled over and clutched his face.

  “Brandon!” Poppy grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled until the fabric ripped. “Stop it!”

  “You stay the fuck away from her!” I spat, jabbing a finger into his chest.

  He tried to shove me away, but I punched him in the gut, forcing him to double over on a cough. Poppy tugged me harder this time, but I couldn’t tear myself from the red mist descending over me. In a fight, it helped, but it wasn’t until I took a step back and Liam staggered away, that I realized the damage I’d just done.

  “I can’t believe you.” Poppy’s arms came around her body like she was shielding herself from the cold, even though it was sweltering hot outside. A look of disappointment fell over her face, and my shoulders fell. “Just tell me why, Brandon.”

  “You’re sixteen. The guy was a pervert.”

  She took a step toward me, anger ticcing in her jaw. “Lisa Swinson, Slutty Suzie.” She jabbed a finger at my chest. “Brenda O’Malley, Nieve Kirkpatrick. Lola Stevens.” Each name was a bullet through my heart, and with each one, her finger dug deeper into my skin. “And you don’t date them. You just screw them. So who’s the pervert, Brandon? Huh?”

  “It’s different.”

  The sarcastic laugh echoed from the vacant buildings cut me deep. “Of course it is.” She went to turn, then froze. Her gaze swung right back to me, jaw tense. “I guess you can parade however many girls around in front of me, and I just have to take it. Huh?”

  Frustration tightened my chest. Years of unspoken words lingered between us, just waiting to bubble over. “You’re good, Poppy. Too good for Liam, and sure as hell too good for someone like me. All those girls. They’re just…” I threw my hands into the air.

  “Just what, Brandon?”

  There was a beat of silence, a moment where I almost swallowed the words, but unlike every other time, I didn’t.

  “Not you,” I confessed.

  Her expression fell blank. Tears swam in her eyes, and I hated myself for doing this to her, but it was for the best.

  “I love you, poss,” I said, and her breath hitched. No matter how badly it sucked right now. It was so for the best. I had to kill any chance there was for us to be anything more than we were right now. “You’re my best friend.”

  Her lips parted like she was going to speak, but instead, she shook her head again and walked off.

  I fell forward a step, wanting to follow her, but I knew I’d just screwed up. I saw exactly how this would go. It was all mapped out in front of me.

  We weren’t kids anymore, and one way or another, I was about to lose Poppy. And I knew it. I could choose to be with her and drag her right down to my level. Ruin her. Or I could watch her be with someone else. The idea killed me, but if I kept doing this, she would end up hating me, and I needed her. More than she could ever know.

  There was only one person who I could stomach her being with. One person who was good enough for her—Connor, and he was already in love with her.

  It was all so simple. They would be happy together, and I would always choose their happiness over mine.

  Later that same evening, I sat at the table with Connor’s family, my stomach churning as we ate Mrs. Blaine’s bacon and cabbage stew.

  After dinner, we went to Connor’s room to play video games, but my mind was on other things. The game was nothing but a blur in the background, which meant I kept losing to Con.

  “You okay?” Connor finally asked, pausing the game.

  With a deep sigh, I put my controller down. “Con, be honest. Do you love Poppy?”

  “What?” His brow wrinkled. “Of course, I do. What kind of stupid question is—”

  “No, like, do you love her?”

  He sank into the beanbag and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “She’s Poppy, Brandon. Of course, I do.”

  “Jesus. Do you want to bang her, Con?”

  That got his cheeks red. His gaze fell to his lap, and he pretended to fiddle with an imaginary string. “You don’t bang a girl like Poppy, Bran.”

  “Fine.” I clenched my fist and thumped my thigh. “Do you want to marry her and have babies and shit?”

  “I’m sixteen…” He was still messing with the imaginary string.

  I exhaled a long breath, then closed my eyes because damn, I didn’t want to do this, but I had to. “Look, I need you to kiss her.”

  “What is going on? I can’t kiss her. She’s our friend and—”

  I looked at him. “I punched Poppy’s date tonight. Like, beat the shit out of him.”

  The beanbag rustled when he fell back into it, his palm to his forehead. “Now you’ve done it, Bran. Now you’ve really done it.”

  “And don’t give me that bullshit about her being a friend. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a giant Milkybar for years.”

  He frowned.

  “Look, no one is ever going to be good enough for her. Agreed?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Except you, Con. You’re the best person I know. She loves you. You love her…” I spread my hands in a ta-dah motion, forcing a smile while a part of me died.

  The next weekend rolled around, and Poppy still hadn’t talked to me. I guessed I’d finally pushed her too far.

  I skipped a fight to go to Hope’s party with the sole purpose of talking to Poppy, but instead, when she walked into the room, I just stared at her until I couldn’t any longer.

  With my head down, sipping beer, I spent the better half of that party in the corner of the room. Then Lola perched on the arm of the chair, I pushed to my feet and walked away without acknowledging her. I grabbed a beer from the cooler, then hopped the gate at the back of the McGrath’s property and headed to the lake to clear my head. I didn’t even pop the tab on that beer, just chucked the can into the woods surrounding the property. If tossing alcohol didn’t say something…
>
  Halfway between the house and lake, my steps faltered. Poppy sat at the end of the pier, her legs dangling over the edge with her back to the party. The clouds parted, letting the silver moonlight slip through. The way it bathed Poppy made her seem otherworldly, untouchable. And really, she was.

  She didn’t look up when I started down the wooden walkway, and she didn’t say a word when I moved her shoes out of the way to take a seat beside her.

  "Why you out here all by yourself, possum?" I folded my knees to my chest.

  "Don't know." She dipped her toes beneath the dark water. The motion sent ripples across the surface, the movement catching the reflection of the moon. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but instead, I said, "Connor was looking for you.”

  "And Lola was looking for you.”

  As selfish as it made me, I couldn't pretend that her jealousy didn't make me happy. Even though I would never be good enough for Poppy, she thought I was, and that was everything to me simply because I loved her.

  "Well, she can keep looking," I said.

  A slight smile worked over Poppy’s lips, catching my attention before I tore my gaze away. It was getting harder and harder with her.

  "Wouldn't be jealous, would you, poss?" I scooted a little closer and wrapped an arm around her, drawing circles over her bare arm with my fingertip. I should drop it, but before I let go of that fantasy completely…

  “I hate you,” she whispered, and I moved closer.

  “Nah, I think you love me.”

  “You wish.”

  She was so damned close. Her lips inches from mine. Out of all the times I’d wondered whether Poppy would taste sweet like candy, I’d almost given in a handful. But this time, when she closed her eyes and leaned in ever so slightly, I couldn't talk myself out of wanting her. I just couldn’t, so I brushed her thick hair away from her neck. Before I gave her to Connor, before I lost any chance I had, I wanted to know what it was like to kiss her.

  Just one time.

  I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck. My thumb swept her jaw, and when I so damn slowly pressed my lips to hers, the world stopped. For one second, all the noise and pain subsided.