Not Enough

by Mia Hoddell

  She gives Blake a flirty, but brief, smile and wave before turning her attention to me. “Oh my God, what are you drinking?”

  “A milkshake.”

  “Then why is it the same colour as my face masks?” she cries, revolted.

  “It’s lime flavour.”

  “It’s disgusting.” Her face screws up, her eyes narrowing, and lines appear on the bridge of her nose. As she watches me, the familiar churning in my stomach starts to turn with the fear I’m not good enough once more. Like someone has tied a brick to my good mood and thrown it in a lake, it sinks through my body, only leaving behind a worry that I’m doing something wrong and weird.

  I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. It’s my favourite flavour, but I only order it when I’m around Blake or on my own, for reasons Cece just proved. I even like the colour, but that isn’t something she’d understand because it doesn’t conform to how she views things. Cece is a conventional banana, chocolate, or strawberry person.

  “Seriously, that’s gross and looks like something out of my beauty kit. Can you not see what you’re drinking?”

  I sigh. Cece is someone who’s moved up through high school, college, and uni with me. We’ve known each other a while and have become friends, but she has no filter when it comes to her opinions—especially about me—so I wouldn’t say we’re close. However, the fact that she is one of the few people who made the effort to stay in contact with me means I tolerate her attitude. Despite what people think of me, I do actually like some girl-time every now and then.

  “Did you want something, Cece?” Blake asks drawing her attention to him, and I send him a silent thank you for refocusing the conversation.

  “I was going out to buy a new dress and saw you here. Seeing as you haven’t replied to any of my texts, I thought I’d tell you in person.”

  “Tell me what?” I know exactly what she’s going to say. I’ve read all of the texts, but decided silence was the best response seeing as I have no plausible excuse. I shouldn’t need one, but ‘I don’t want to’ is hard to admit to someone as confident and boisterous as Cece. Regardless, Cece isn’t good at picking up on hints and she won’t take no for an answer … no matter what I say.

  “I’m going out clubbing tonight and you’re coming with me.”

  My heart starts to pound in my chest, and my brain begins overloading while trying to figure a way out of the situation. Cece knows I hate clubs—the loud noise, drunk people, and invasion of personal space, not to mention having to let go of all inhibitions and dance—but she proceeds to drag me to them at every opportunity because it is what she thinks I should be doing at the age of twenty-one. In fact, the whole of society is with her on that one.

  “I can’t, I’m busy. I have this family thing. Sorry.” I hate that I feel the need to make up an excuse, but it’s easier than admitting the truth and it generates less questions about my personality. Even if she doesn’t care about me when I’m there, guilt still chips away at me for not liking clubs. It’s one of the many things that are unacceptable about me. According to everyone but Blake I don’t socialise and have “fun” enough.

  “No you don’t, you’re coming with me. You can come, too, if you want, Blake,” she adds, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder to glance across at him.

  “Can’t, I’ve got a date.”

  Cece’s expression drops instantly and she doesn’t have time to cover the surprise or annoyance. Blake is the typical guy every girl wants, including Cece. At six foot three he is an attractive wall of muscle. He also has an endearing personality that draws everyone in. I wouldn’t say he was a player as he doesn’t do flings, but he’s never short of a date if he needs or wants one. “Oh well … have fun …” Cece mutters before turning back to me. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

  She doesn’t give me time to argue. Turning on her heels she sashays from the café, making sure to add a sway to her steps for what I assume is Blake’s sake. Not that he’s looking.

  “You know you don’t have to go, right? Just tell her no.”

  “Uh … have you met Cece? She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Just saying. It’s your choice, Neve; she can’t force you to go.”

  “Yeah, she can. The only thing she can’t force me to do is have a good time.” I let out a deep sigh and pick at the ends of my hair, not wanting to be around anyone anymore. If I’m going to be dragged out I need time to myself first to prepare. I also need to warn my mum not to lock the door when she goes to bed. The thought causes me to sigh again, imagining that she’ll be all too pleased that ‘her baby is finally going out and acting like a normal person she doesn’t have to be ashamed of’.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  I hum in acceptance. I would have said more, but that would only confirm what he was thinking and I hate that he can read me so well. Instead, leaving the half-drunk milkshake on the table—it no longer has the same appeal after Cece—we both stand and leave the building.

  “So are you going to answer my question about moving in?” Blake asks as we walk down the street.

  “I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for the offer. But won’t it be weird?”

  “Only if you make it. It’ll just be like hanging out.”

  “When do you need an answer by?”

  “Whenever you decide. Seriously, whenever you need a room it’s there.”

  I stop in front of my house and turn to face him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, my head resting against his chest, I hug him hard. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

  He squeezes me back just as tightly but I break it before my eyes start to tear up, the familiar burning and blurring already encroaching on my sight. “I mean it, all right? Any time.”

  I nod, yet refuse to meet his eyes which I know are full of sincerity. “Promise me, Neve. Promise that you’ll consider my offer if things get too bad. You don’t have to put up with this, you deserve to be happy.”

  I nod again, but I can hear that Blake isn’t going to drop it without an answer, so in a whisper the words slip out. “I promise.”

  “Good.” He pulls me in for one last crushing hug before letting me go so I can walk to the house I hate returning to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Blake

  I don’t think Neve knows I always stay to watch her walk slowly up to her front door. Not once does she look back, and I don’t need to ask why. The knowledge I have of what awaits her behind the cherry red door causes my heart to constrict in pain. It is the sole reason I want to help her escape … well, sort of. There is one other.

  Neve has become a different person over the last year or two, and become worse in the last few months. She puts up a good front and pretends to be happy, but I can see through it. She’s quieter, frowns more, and her posture is hunched. Her eyes are drawn like she hasn’t slept in days and a smile hardly graces her face any longer. Even when it does it isn’t the smile that used to melt my heart. Of course there are a few occasions where I can see her happiness is genuine, and I’m glad I can bring that out in her, but most of the time it’s as if she’s been broken.

  It’s like she has nothing left to live for. There’s something she’s holding back and keeping from me, I know it.

  No matter how much I wish she’d let me in, I won’t pressure her. If Neve wants to share with me, she will when it’s right for her.

  That’s one of the things most people don’t understand about Neve. They criticise her silence, thinking she’s abnormal and unable to communicate properly, but they’re all wrong. Neve is a private person who is capable of talking when needed, but not for the sake of it. She’s happy with her thoughts, and for that reason I won’t force the issue. She has enough people telling her who she should and shouldn’t be. That is a list I never want to find myself on.

  Yes Neve is different—unconventional in a society of extroverts—but that isn’t a bad thing in my eyes. Just because she do
esn’t conform to the standard image of what people our age should be doing, it doesn’t make her a freak, depressed, or weird. Neve is one of the nicest people I know, and it kills me that she’s suffering for being who she really is.

  It is one of the main reasons that made me lie about the room being available. I knew Neve would never accept straight away, so it gives me time to let Robbie know things aren’t working out and that he needs to find a new place. He isn’t really a drug dealer, but Neve would never consider my offer if I admit the truth: she needs to escape and she deserves to be free.

  I want her to be the Neve I knew and fell in love with once more; for her true colours to shine. Yet I know that can never happen if she stays where she is. Her mum is strangling her emotionally, slowly cutting off her air so that she is sucked into this black void of despair when she’s home. Her mum has grown comfortable enough with me to reveal her true self and how she treats Neve so I’ve seen it first-hand. It’s why I’ve decided to leave the spare room available for as long as it takes. I know one day Neve will break and something will drive her to the extreme. I hope it won’t, but it’s inevitable. The cracks are already beginning to show. When that time comes she’ll need me more than ever. She’ll need options and I want to give them to her.

  As I watch the door click shut I promise Neve that I’ll be there no matter what she needs from me. I’ve been there through it all so far, but things will only really begin when she cuts herself free. She’s in a viscous cycle at the moment where no one can reach her. She needs to decide for herself what she wants, but I’ll root for her every step of the way because she’d do the same for me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Neve

  I head straight to my room as soon as the front door clicks shut, and that’s where I stay—for five hours to be exact. I listen to Mum arrive home from work, probably cursing the fact I never greet her to ask how her day has been, but it is what it is. If I so much as hint at the subject I’ll be cornered for hours, listening to how her boss is a useless excuse of a human being and had her run ragged all day. It’s not that I don’t care about her, but I learnt early on it’s best not to say anything. On the rare occasions I do, she’ll always turn the questions around on me with a patronising tone that’s meant to belittle me. She doesn’t really care what I’ve done; she expects me to have stayed in the house and asking the question is her way of letting me know she disapproves.

  Any normal person would think that because I in fact left the house for a solid six hours to spend time with Blake would make the cause better. It doesn’t. It actually makes things worse. She takes the patronisation to extremes if I tell her the truth, using sarcasm to laugh at me and make jokes when she can’t be bothered to hide her surprise. Not saying anything is the best and safest option.

  It is five to nine when I realise I’m going to have to emerge or risk Cece banging down my front door. I would rather cut her off on the drive than have her talking to my mum so they can both gang up on me for not going out often enough. I’ve heard all of their comments before: “You’re unhealthy, Neve,” “You should socialise more,” “It’s not good for you staying in the house all day, you need to experience new things,” and my all-time favourite, “You’re turning into a recluse, Neve. You’re going to grow up depressed with no friends and no life.” Yep, that killer line was thanks to my mum on my last birthday when I wanted to spend it watching a DVD and eating fish and chips rather than clubbing, so you can probably see why I avoid her.

  I run my fingers quickly through the roots of my natural brunette hair to give it more volume, check my subtle—but pretty—make-up, and tug at the bottom of my black, skin-tight dress so it reaches the middle of my thighs. Slipping my feet into my heels, I give myself a final glance in the mirror, pleased my appearance is sexy but not too eye catching, and let out a deep breath to calm myself. When I hurry to the bed, I throw my phone and some money into a clutch then turn to head downstairs.

  My shoes give me away as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I try to place them as gently as possible on the wooden floor, but they clack against it anyway.

  “Is that you, Neve?” Mum calls, locking on to the sound and stopping whatever she’s doing in the kitchen.

  No, Mum, it’s a burglar in heels. Who else would be walking around the house? I think, rolling my eyes at her inquisitive voice.

  She appears at the end of the hall, creases marring her forehead in annoyance to show her age. Her harsh bob of black hair frames the expression perfectly with its rigid angles. She’s still wearing her office clothes—a grey knee-length skirt, blazer, and white blouse—meaning she hasn’t recovered from work yet, even though she has a glass of red wine in her hand already. The shock at the sight of my outfit momentarily registers on her face, before it transforms back into suspicious irritation. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t want to respond, but there’s no way to get around her question. “I’m going out clubbing with Cece. I don’t know what time I’ll be back.” I glance at the clock, wary she’ll be here any moment.

  “And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me this first?”

  “I was going to tell you before I left. Anyway, I thought you’d be happy I’m going out.”

  She hums disapprovingly. “You know I don’t like leaving the door unlocked. You should have cleared it with me first.”

  “Mum, I’m twenty-one, I don’t have to clear things with you. I have a key, so you don’t need to worry.”

  She grumbles and it makes me want to groan. Clearly I can’t do anything right, but footsteps on the gravelled path stop me from voicing my frustration.

  “I won’t be out too late. Bye!” I call over my shoulder as I pull the door open. Cece greets me with her hand poised to knock, and before she can say anything, I’m pushing her off the porch to a safe distance. She looks striking in her cherry red dress that barely covers her body. She has styled her hair to be as big as possible and her make-up is just as eye-catching with dark, smoky eyes and red lipstick.

  “Cheer up! You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

  “I feel like it,” I murmur, ignoring the snide comment Mum has called out behind me.

  “Neve, this will be fun, you’ll see.”

  Maybe for you, but this is not my idea of fun and you know it. Why can’t anyone want to do things I like? I keep the thoughts to myself as we head over to the waiting taxi, not thinking it wise to start a fight at the beginning of the night.

  * * *

  The club is exactly the same as the last time Cece dragged me out. We live in a small, rural, English town where nothing changes, and therefore it doesn’t come as a surprise. A few months ago someone built a shed, and it was such a change it made front page news—that’s how little happens here. Anyway, there are four clubs within a few hundred metres and that is it for the towns ‘entertainment’. I think it’s overkill if I’m honest. However, the queue of people who are waiting to be carded and allowed in says otherwise.

  The music is blaring through the walls and filling the street with a steady thumping of bass as we wait along with everyone else, but it doubles in intensity once inside. Generic chart music and pop remixes are playing one after the other. People gyrate on the dance floor to them under the oscillating lights while they slowly—or in most cases rapidly—get themselves drunk. I take in the sea of bodies, really questioning my decision not to bail.

  Cece grabs my wrist, pulling me over to the bar where she orders two shots. When the bartender places them in front of us, my nose crinkles in contempt.

  “Drink up! It’ll make you feel better,” Cece shouts over the music, her lips almost touching my ear so she can be heard. Because it’s easier than arguing, I pick up the tiny glass and throw the burning liquid back, swearing that it’ll be the only one I have tonight.

  “Good girl. Now another!” She slams her own glass back down on to the bar, signalling for another even when I shake my head.

  “I’m
not having any more, Cece. Forget it.”

  She pouts, her bottom lip jutting out, then scowls when I only shake my head. “You’re no fun. I don’t even know why I wanted you to come.”

  I sigh—not that it can be heard over the music—because obviously we’ve reached Cece’s bitchy stage earlier than normal. I’m about to get a lecture.

  “Why did you even agree to come if you aren’t going to let your hair down? If I knew you’d be like this I would have invited someone else who actually wanted to be here and wasn’t going to spoil my evening. What’s wrong with you anyway? This is what everyone enjoys so just suck it up and go dance. You look okay, so go see if you can find a hook-up like every other normal female in this room.”

  I bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping back at her. The last thing I want is a confrontation, and considering she ignored me when I declined, she should have anticipated my less than enthusiastic persona. There’s nothing I can say without blaming her and therefore nothing I can say that will go down well. Instead, I throw back the second shot.

  “Happy now?” I raise my eyebrows, holding my arms out wide—at least as wide as I can in the cramped space.

  She throws her gaze to the ceiling in exasperation. “Just let yourself go, Neve. For one night don’t be this stuck up, fun sucker who ruins things for everyone.”

  Involuntarily, I flinch at her words. I know they aren’t true, that we’re just two different people who don’t like the same things, but it seems that the criticism always falls on my shoulders. Not once have I ever criticised Cece for being too loud and out-going, yet she constantly reminds me that there’s something wrong with who I am because I’d rather stay in.

  “Just go and do what you want, Cece. I’ll stay over in the corner until we go home.” I shake my head in despair and move towards the darkest corner I can find. Sitting on one of the stools that have been placed around a high table, I watch the room. Observing is more my thing because you see stuff you don’t notice when involved. For example, I see the guy leading Cece—no surprise there—into the sea of sweaty bodies with lust in his eyes, and a small amount of tension in his arm as he shields her from the dancers. When they disappear from sight, my gaze scans the crowd to watch the people in various stages of drunkenness laugh, let loose, and have a good time.