Everlong: (Book One of the Everlong Trilogy)

by Nikki Morgan

  My mind wandered back to that night, on the Old Bridge, but I resisted the temptation to linger there. Instead, I rejected those thoughts, forcing them back inside.

  All I could find was a strawberry pop tart a month out-of-date, but it looked half edible so I ate it, before gulping down my coffee. Then I turned my attention to cleaning. I pulled my hair into a pony-tail and opened the door to the living room.

  The stench of half-eaten pizza and stale beer was disgusting. I turned on my docked iPod and the Foo Fighters blasted out. Everlong, the last song I'd listened to before I...

  I switched it up loud and turned my attention to the bottles of Bud and Becks that decorated the coffee table.

  I shoved everything into bin liners and then vacuumed and dusted. By the time I had finished, the room was spotless, smelling only of polish and floral air freshener with no hint of whatever had happened in there. Not that I could remember any of it.

  I raced upstairs - trying to keep myself busy, trying to ignore the beast in my gut, poking at my insecurities and anxieties - and threw my bedroom windows open wide. I grabbed the dirty bed clothes and felt something small fall from the pile. It hit my foot and then rolled onto the floor. I dropped the washing down on the edge of the bed and picked it up. It was a diamond earring about the size of a pin head.

  I sat down on the edge of the mattress, twirling the square diamond in my hand. It wasn't mine, I knew that for sure, but whose was it?

  There was only one person I knew that wore earrings as big and expensive as this.

  Dexter.

  My heart jumped.

  Had he brought me back here?

  I pictured his big brown eyes shining before me, imagined him saving me, bringing me home. Maybe he was the reason I wasn't lying at the bottom of the river.

  Maybe he actually cared.

  And for the first time, in a very long time, I let myself believe.

  Evie

  The last few days of the Christmas holiday passed by without me even noticing. Time had a habit of doing that to me.

  The sun had disappeared again, eaten by the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, heavy with the promise of rain or snow.

  I left for school, freezing in my purple hoodie. I'd briefly thought about going back to the Old Bridge, to see if my coat was still there, but it seemed so sick and twisted, like going to visit the scene of a crime, so I dismissed the idea and decided to freeze instead. I'd just have to find my other one, which was probably screwed up somewhere at the bottom of my wardrobe.

  I boarded the number three bus clutching the diamond earring that I'd found in my room.

  I'd decided that when I got the first opportunity I was going to give it back to Dexter, and I was going to ask him all the questions that had been swimming around in my head since I'd found it.

  I needed to know why he'd saved me because it had to mean something. Didn't it?

  It had to mean my life meant something.

  I stepped off the bus holding the earring so tightly that I could feel it cutting into the palm of my hand, a perfect replica etched in red upon my skin. I wrapped my arms around my chest; the cold penetrated my bones far too easily these days, and it had only gotten worst since my dip in the river. I hurried across the staff car park towards the student entrance of Riverside Academy and the warmth of the Reception and cafeteria.

  As I walked through the automatic doors, a blast of heat from above showered me with warmth. If only I could've stayed in its comforting arms forever, but I had to see Dexter before Amber, his girlfriend, or his friends joined him. He went to the cafeteria every morning after swimming training for his breakfast, and he was usually on his own until the others got in.

  I turned the corner into the cafeteria. My heart thumped in my chest as I caught sight of him sitting alone in the corner, a Coke bottle in one hand, his iPhone in the other. I'd had a thing about him for, what seemed like, forever. We'd gone to the same primary school but it wasn't until my first year at Riverside that my stomach seemed to go weird and flutter whenever I was around him.

  I clasped the earring in my hand even tighter, feeling its edges cutting into the skin on my sweaty palm, and took a step forwards, even though my legs felt like jelly.

  And then I stopped.

  Tom and Kieran, Dexter's best friends, burst out of the toilet, laughing and shoving each other playfully. They went over to the table and slid into the chairs next to Dexter. Kieran flashed the screen of his mobile at him and Dexter smiled. My whole world seemed to light up.

  I almost danced on the spot as a battle raged in me, pulling me in two different directions; did I listen to my head and run away, as fast, and as far, as I could? Or did I act on my heart's desire and speak to him? But his friends? Why were they there? They weren't supposed to be there, not yet.

  No. I couldn't do it. Talking to him in front of his friends? What was I thinking? The library seemed like an excellent place to run to. I could hide at the back in the section no one ever went in. I spun around and collided with a tall brunette. Amber.

  Amber jumped backwards, her arms spreading wide, her hands up in the air, as if she was trying to avoid touching something disgusting, and her face was screwed up, like a Pug. To think, in year 7, we'd actually been friends. That seemed such a long time ago. Another lifetime even.

  ‘Why don’t you just look where you’re going?’

  I froze. A rabbit caught in headlights, knowing that any moment I was going to be crushed under the wheels of a truck. I felt sick, wanting to spew it all over her nice cream jacket.

  ‘I…I…’ I couldn't finish the sentence. It clung to my mouth like a bad taste.

  'What do you think you're...' Amber's eyes traced the path of my previous gaze. ‘Ha!’ she guffawed.

  My face blazed crimson.

  ‘Were you spying on Dexter?’ Amber looked at me, her head cocked to one side. She put her manicured hands on her hips, and smiled.

  I hated that look. The pity. It stripped the warmth from my face and robbed me of any shred of dignity I had left. ‘No, I-‘

  ‘Don’t!’ commanded Amber, ‘Don’t even try to lie about what you were doing!’

  'I-'

  ‘As if,’ she said, biting out each word as if it were poison, ‘he would be interested in a freak like you.' She shook her perfectly coiffured head.

  I hated her.

  I wanted to be her.

  Her expensive perfume was strong, making the urge to vomit even stronger. ‘I just wanted to give this back to Dexter,’ I said, my voice strangled as I held out my hand, allowing Amber to see the diamond stud that had almost become embedded into my skin.

  Amber’s eyes narrowed. ‘And where did you find that?’

  ‘My place-‘ I said, looking up to see a flash of anger fly across her face.

  ‘Well,’ said Amber, grabbing me by the shoulders, 'don't just stand there!'

  She dug her long finger nails into my shoulders, forcing me to turn around. 'Go and give it back to him then,' she said, pushing me in Dexter's direction.

  I stumbled forward, struggling to hold back the tears. I wasn't going to cry here, not in front of her, and not in front of them. I held the tears down and pretended I was lying dead at the bottom of the river, free of pain and despair.

  Like I said, no one was ever going to see me cry.

  I was getting good at playing dead.

  Dexter's eyes were fixed on me. I looked away, but I could still see the sneering faces of his friends staring back at me, their eyes full of amusement, waiting for me to slip up, to do something stupid.

  ‘She's got something for you,’ said Amber, pushing past me, almost knocking me over. Sniggers bounced around the cafeteria.

  'Yeah?' he said, in a sceptical tone. He looked away and began to play with the lid of his Coke bottle.

  I slowly shuffled forwards and placed the stud on the table. I would not look up, I would not look at him, and I would not cry, even if that's what I wanted to do m
ore than anything.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, not taking his eyes off his Coke. He made no attempt to retrieve the stud.

  Tom Baker, the guy sitting next to Dexter, grabbed his Diesel bag off the table and slid out. 'Love to stay and watch the show but I need to pee. See you guys later,' he said.

  Amber slid elegantly into the freshly vacated chair, her hand glancing across Dexter’s shoulder. ‘She said she found it at her place,’ she said, in an almost accusatory tone, but I couldn't quite tell if that was for my benefit, or Dexter's.

  Dexter took hold of his bottle and pushed his chair back. He grabbed his bag off the floor and stood up. ‘Got to see Mr Charles,’ he said to Amber, 'see you English.' Kieran stood up with him.

  ‘Don’t forget your stud,’ said Amber, holding the sparkling gem up to him, ‘although you’ll need to give it a good clean before you wear it again.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ replied Dexter, ‘throw it, I’ve got a million other pairs.’ He turned and strode off with Kieran.

  Amber stayed seated, and placed the earring in the middle of the table.

  ‘Sit down!’ she commanded, as I turned to leave.

  I slumped into the chair opposite her, and looked at my hands cupped in front of me.

  ‘Don’t think,’ said Amber, spitting out the words, ‘that just because he took you home, he actually cares about you. He doesn’t. You’re a freak. No one cares about you, so next time you want to get pissed and fall in the river make sure you never come back out, okay?’ She pushed the diamond stud towards me, ‘ You may as well keep that now you’ve contaminated it with freakiness. Besides, it’s the closest you’re ever going to get to him.’ Amber’s phone began to ring. She slipped her hand into her jacket and pulled out her phone.‘Hi-ya!’ she sang into it, ‘How’re you doing?‘ Amber rose from her chair and swept out of the cafeteria, not even looking back once.

  I remained seated, listening to the quiet after the storm, the sound of a distant hoover, the discordant clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. My eyes were fixed on the diamond earring in front of me. Its beauty mocked me, its coldness, like ice, spoke to me. I felt so small, like I was the earring lying alone on the table with so much air floating around me. A lone satellite floating in space, feeling nothing but the turning of time, drowning in the emptiness.

  An eternity of emptiness. Rolling out like a never-ending ocean.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’

  ‘Sam? What?’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sam's face was tilted, his heavily lined eyes narrowed with concern. 'Heavy Christmas?'

  ‘Yeah, yeah,' I said, brushing the earring onto the floor like a bit of dust, 'I'm fine. Just a bit flat now, need another holiday!’ I smiled weakly. So weak that I wasn't convincing anyone, least of all myself.

  'What did Amber want?' asked Sam, my best friend. He slid into the chair opposite, plonking his art folder on the table, his fabulous charcoal sketches for our Manga coursework showing through the shiny plastic.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Wow, they’re brilliant!’ I said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible whilst steering the conversation away from what had just happened.

  ‘Thanks. Let’s see yours.’

  ‘Shit!’ I replied, hitting my head hard with the heel of my hand.

  ‘You've forgotten?’

  ‘No, not exactly,’ I replied clasping my hands in front of me. There hadn’t seemed much point when I was going to throw myself off the bridge.

  'But we've had weeks-'

  ‘I forgot,' I said, shrugging.

  Sam clucked. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when we get to class. Miss Powell is going to eat you alive.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she’ll soon spit me back out again. I think my piercings will give her indigestion.’

  Sam laughed and shook his head as the bell for Registration rang out. ‘You coming?’ he said, grabbing his folder and sliding himself out from under the table.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Need the toilet first.’

  ‘Okay, see you in a mo.’ And with a couple of strides Sam had disappeared around the corner. My beautiful, dependable Sam.

  I grabbed my bag off the floor, slid out from under the table, and made my way to the washroom. I threw my bag onto the worktop and looked at myself in the mirror.

  I didn't recognise the person staring back at me anymore. Who was I? Where had the girl that I had once known, gone?

  Looking at my reflection was like when you lie on your arm in the night and it stops the blood flow, so, when you wake up, your arm is still there but doesn't feel like it's yours.

  I pulled out my make-up bag and rummaged through it until I found my favourite Archangel-Red lip gloss. I opened the bottle and rubbed the applicator over my lips. The colour was vibrant, like blood when it first oozes from a fresh wound. Words formed in my head, a poem made like magic. I grabbed my moleskin notebook out of my bag - a birthday present to myself - and began to write:

  Knife.

  Cold, sharp.

  Running across skin,

  Makes me feel alive.

  Red.

  I shoved the notebook and make-up back into my bag and made my way to Registration.

  When I eventually got there, the rest of the class were already filing out, their faces sullen and grey as the reality of cold January mornings and A-levels bit deep.

  Mr Kirkwood looked up from his computer, and over his thick black glasses perched at the end of his nose. ‘You okay now?’ he asked, his eyebrows knitted together.

  ‘Er?’

  ‘Sam said you were feeling sick.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just feeling a bit rough after Christmas.’

  ‘Not too much partying I hope?’

  I smiled weakly.

  ‘Well, if it gets worse just go and see the nurse. We need you fit.’

  I nodded back.

  ‘Go on then, off you go to your first class before you get a late mark,’ said Mr Kirkwood shooing me out of the room as though I were a fly.

  I was the last to arrive in English so I slunk to the back of the room and sat at a spare table at the back, under the great arch window. Mrs Jones stumbled in, hidden under a tower of paper and books. ‘Okay. Good morning class,’ she said, letting everything tumble out from her arms and onto the table, ‘we’re going to be looking at the stories of Angela Carter this term. If you’d like to pass the books around.’ She grabbed small piles of the books and began feeding them around the class.

  ‘Today we're going to read Bloody Chambers, the first story of the collection, before we do an initial discussion on gender roles, sexuality and the objectification of women in preparation for a presentation, due the first Monday back after half-term. For that, I thought it would be a good idea to put you in mixed pairs-'

  A collective groan rumbled around the classroom.

  'Okay, okay, settle down,' said Mrs Jones, fanning her hands in the air. 'Mike, sit by Suzy, Taylor by Sarah, Sam by Grace, Dexter, you can go over to Evelyn-'

  What?! I looked up, my heart stilled for a moment. I couldn't breathe.

  ‘Evelyn?' asked Dexter, his voice sulky and defiant.

  ‘That’s what I said Mr Sullivan,' said Mrs Jones, one hand firmly on her hip, the other pointing at the seat next to me. I felt the warmth of humiliation as it crawled up my neck and onto my face. I stared at her finger still pointing at the chair next to me.

  I tuned out, deafened by the blood rushing to my head, a strange mixture of horror and delight pulsing through me as Dexter flopped into the chair and tossed his bag noisily onto the table.

  My heart rolled over in my chest. My mouth had dried up like a pool of water in the Sahara. I realised I was kneading my sweaty hands together under the table. How the hell was I supposed to work with him? I Couldn't even speak to him properly. I fixed my eyes on the table in front of me, too afraid to look up in case I looked at him, or, even worse, Amber.

  Without even searching her out, I knew she wa
s looking, I felt her blazing fury scorching my skin.

  Dexter snatched the book up from the table and opened it to the first page, his body leaning as far away from me as possible.

  Was I really that bad?

  I cast a furtive glance out of the corner of my eye; his hate for me was written all over his face like the words in a text book. Not that I couldn't blame him. I hated myself more.

  But why had he saved me then? Why wasn't I rotting at the bottom of the river?

  I took my book off the table, opened it and began to read the first sentence.

  And then I read it again.

  And again.

  But the words didn't make any sense. My head was pounding, my heart quivering in my chest as it struggled to beat.

  An image of the Old Bridge flashed before my eyes, I couldn't get it out of my head, it was so clean and crisp, the dank smell of the water so real that I could've been there. And then the feeling of freedom as I plunged into the dark forgiving water.

  He should have left me there. He should have let me die.

  What a beautiful lie I had believed in.

  I stood up, the chair scraping across the wooden floor as I pushed it back. ‘I don’t feel very well,’ I said, my eyes struggling to focus, my heart banging in my chest. Panic was taking flight inside me and I didn't know if I had the strength to fight it. I didn't want to have a crazy, stupid meltdown there.

  ‘What’s a matter?’ asked Mrs Jones, looking out from under a pile of paperwork.

  ‘I think I’m going to be-‘But I didn’t finish. I grabbed my book, stuffed it into my bag and ran out of class.

  I fled down the stairs and out of the school before anyone had the chance to stop me. All I could picture was the edge of the bridge. The demonic beast wanted to drag me back down into the water. I had to lock the beast down, like Chronos in Tartarus, I had to chain it up, not let it escape until I got home.

  In case I did something stupid again.

  I didn't stop running until I was safely in the Town Centre, just one girl in a sea of people that no one would take any notice of. Like an automaton, I boarded the number three bus, trying to hold onto the desperation welling up inside of me.