Wicked Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “Damn it,” I huff and drop my head to the door in defeat.

  “Hey, don’t swear.” His tone is affronted with mock shock.

  “Fuck off!”

  “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he retorts.

  “I don’t kiss anyone with this mouth,” I mumble.

  “Well, that’s a crime right there.”

  “Cass, don’t be mean.”

  “I’m not being mean, Tia,” he replies with a stern tone, and I can just imagine the serious glare he would be giving me if the door wasn’t in the way. “Now open the door.” I can hear him move, shuffle to his feet, and my hand hovers on the handle, my fingers trembling. Why the hell am I nervous? This is Cass, for goodness sake. I swing the door wide, and my mouth goes dry, my breath just freezes halfway between my lungs and my throat.

  He’s so unbelievably beautiful. When did that happen?

  It takes all my effort for my jaw not to drop open. He must be nearly six feet, towering above me and blocking the natural sunlight from the hall window with his frame. He might only be fifteen, but he is easily the best looking man I have ever seen, and he’s not done growing yet. Holy hell, I swallow the lump and try and mask my awkwardness by coughing, not hugely subtle, and I doubt it’s gone unnoticed. I can’t stop staring. Get a grip, Tia.

  It’s just Cass. You’re best friends, remember? The boy you played hide and seek with, made mud pies with, built forts and castles with? The boy you got lost with from dawn till dusk? Only he doesn’t look like that boy anymore.

  My heart feels like it’s trying to replace the lump I just swallowed, or at the very least, it’s trying to escape from my body that way. I’d be surprised if he can’t hear it, it’s beating so damn loudly. He rests his arm on the doorframe, exposing a small patch of smooth tanned skin over his bony hip. His jeans are hanging off his narrow waist, and the button-down white shirt he’s wearing is a little too baggy for his slight frame; he’s all skin and bone. I think all that energy from the mountain of food he eats must’ve gone straight to his height. My eyes seem to take too long working their way up his lanky body, because by the time they reach his, he has a huge knowing grin plastered wide and wicked on his face.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He pulls his full soft bottom lip through his teeth. Oh god. My face must be able to generate its own electricity, it’s radiating so much heat.

  How do I know his lips are soft? I don’t. Only looking at him now, I realise I have imagined many, many times that they are, and judging by that look on his smug face, he knows the exact same thing.

  “Shut up!” I snap, mortified and flustered and I don’t know what, but I barge past him, take two steps, and I’m in the bathroom opposite my bedroom. I spin and slam a new door in his face. The handle starts to shake, and the familiar pounding resumes. I quickly relieve myself for fear he will actually break down this much flimsier door.

  “Aw, come on, Tia, I’m only teasing. God, I’ve missed you, your cute temper, and pouty mouth. Come on, Trouble, give me a hug?” he coaxes.

  “No!”

  “For fuck’s sake, what have I done?” The thud is much louder, and I imagine his head dropping against the door with frustration. His tone is more perplexed than angry, but it’s a fine line that I can’t seem to help myself crossing.

  “Stop swearing at me!” I bark.

  “Stop being a pain in my arse, and tell me what’s up.” I was expecting a flare-up of biblical proportions, but his tone is filled with sweet concern. I forget completely why I was so filled with rage and now just feel hugely embarrassed for acting out.

  “I…I…it’s nothing.” I open the door and try and shrug off my mood like I haven’t made a big ol’ fool of myself.

  “Oh, that’s all right, then.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into the warmest hug. Strong arms wrap around my body, and I take all the time in the world, breathing him in, before I speak. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

  “Cass.” I tilt my head back, but he hasn’t released his hold so I only meet his gaze when he drops his chin to look at me.

  “Tell me, please,” he implores. His crystal blue eyes glaze, and for a moment, he looks so tortured, as if I have already hurt him too much. I feel a deep ache in my chest, a similar pain I feel each day in his absence, but it is unbearable to me that I have caused him a fraction of that sadness.

  “I missed you.” It’s all I can offer as way of an explanation. Luckily, it seems enough to lighten the darkness on his features and instantly lifts the mood that cloaked us both. His smile is brilliant, bright, and dazzling. It’s both infectious and breathtaking, or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at me. I hope it’s the latter.

  “And I’m here now.” He plants a light kiss on my forehead that I feel tingle from where he touches me to the tip of my toes.

  “But—” I want to at least try and explain my meltdown.

  “But nothing, princess. The way I see it, you have two choices. One, we can fight and argue, or two, we can spend every possible minute together having the best summer before I have to go back to school. Your choice, Tia, but I have to tell you, choose your answer wisely.” His arms drop their hold from around my body, only to hold my shoulders and pull my posture straight. Like he is trying to shake some sense into me. That is an almighty challenge from where I’m standing, as I’m still focused on the sudden loss of his body heat and how good his arms felt, how good I felt. It’s my turn to shake myself

  “That sounds like a threat.” I drop my hip and arch an accusatory eyebrow.

  “No, Tia, it sounds like a promise.” He bends so we are almost nose-to-nose and definitely eye-to-eye. His deep voice rumbles from his chest, and I feel a flash of gooseflesh strike across my entire body. This is going to be an exhausting summer if my body is going to react like this every time he looks my way. He interrupts my wayward thoughts. “I want to spend my summer with you, and you want to spend your summer with me. There is nothing stopping us doing exactly what we want to do, so come on, Tia, what’s it to be?”

  “Do you always get what to want?”

  “Without exception! Why?”

  “God, you’re an arrogant arse sometimes, you know that?”

  “And it’s taken you this long to come to this conclusion. And there was me thinking you were smart.” He ruffles my hair, and my stomach drops at the easy switch to playmate, from something to nothing. Oh, God, maybe this is nothing for him. “Now come on, princess, we’ve wasted enough time. I have so much to do.” He keeps hold of my shoulders and manoeuvres me back into my bedroom.

  “What have you got to do?” I frown, watching him try and gather things that he thinks I am likely to need: swimming costume, flip-flops, sketch pad, and sunblock. He grabs my baseball hat and slips it on his head, tugging the peak low so I can barely see his eyes, which, in my book, is a crime. He steps toward me slowly, with a hint of menace, making the most of his new intimidating height. I match his advancing steps with a backward one of my own, his grin bordering on nefarious. My breath catches when I hit the wall with my back. His hands press flat either side of my head, and he dips low. With his next words, he makes my life a whole lot more complicated.

  “I have to make you smile.”

  I let Tia have a few days, and in fairness, I needed the time to get over my jet lag, but a whole week was crazy. I should’ve broken down the damn door on the third day and dragged her up to the Hall. I didn’t believe for a second she was sick, but there’s something going on, and I didn’t give up summer camp and come all the way home to be shut out.

  She looked so pretty when she finally opened the door, and if her eyes hadn’t been so red and a little too swollen from recent tears, I would say she looked damn near perfect. Actually, she does look perfect; the sadness ghosting her complexion makes her all the more beautiful. Her hair has streaks lightened by the sunlight, and the deep chestnut colour is redder than the dark brown I remember. She
has a few pimples, but somehow that just makes her look more perfect, her imperfections make her more. However, her deep emerald green eyes are going to be my downfall. The way she looks into my eyes, unwavering, soul-searching, as if reading my every thought and my darkest secrets, and I really can’t have that. I don’t want to scare her away.

  She’s mine, always has been, always will be.

  Still, refusing to see me for seven days is a new tactic I wasn’t anticipating, not from the weekly letters she wrote or the infrequent phone calls. Nevertheless, it seems that my most recent absence has let her forget us, and I need to remind her.

  I pick up my rucksack with the day’s supplies, and we head down to the boathouse. The sun is reaching its highest point, but I know we have all day and into the evening to cross the lake and chill. It is one of the perks of living on such a vast estate: there’s always somewhere to go and get lost, and no one is going to worry, as apart from the odd insect bite, nothing bad happens here. We cut across the lawns at the back of the Hall, and I sprint off to get changed into some shorts and a t-shirt. It’s too hot already, and I know I will be doing the lion’s share of rowing. Tia has absolutely no co-ordination and as funny as it is spinning in circles and confusing the fish, I do actually have to check the island’s wildfowl shelter. The river runs for about a mile before it widens into the lake, and it’s a farther half-mile until you reach the island. It’s part nature reserve, and I offered to check for any repair work that might be due. Colin, our old gamekeeper, is never one to turn down an extra pair of hands, and it makes a change from schoolwork or TV.

  I run back to Tia and notice she’s shed one more layer too. Her loose scoop-neck blouse is hanging off her shoulder, and her jeans shorts couldn’t be any shorter. Damn. I guess we’ve both grown a little since Christmas. I take her bag, too, and slip my hand into hers. It’s not the first time I’ve held her hand, yet it feels odd, natural and good, but strange at the same time. She seems happy enough, and even if she did try and tug it away, I have a pretty good grip. We fall into an easy silence, shoulders touching and perfectly in step, striding down the unmade part of the gravel drive that leads to the timber boarded boathouse.

  We have a speed boat and some canoes, but I want to take my time, so I untie the two-man rowing boat, and Tia hands me our supplies before stepping on board and taking the seat nowhere near the oars. I cast off and start to row us up-steam, setting a good pace and quickly working up a sweat in the midday summer heat. We are nearing the mouth of the river when I pull the oars off the water a little and catch my breath. Tia hands me a bottle of water, and after downing half, I pour some over my face to try and cool down. Her pink cheeks darken, and she averts her eyes when I catch her starring.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s hot. I think I’m catching too much sun.” She rummages in her bag and pulls the sun block free. Smearing her face and any bare skin she can reach, she hands the tube of cream to me, but I shake my head.

  “You wanna tell me what’s really up?” I rest my elbows on the oars, keeping the tip just dipping in the water, but I’m able to link my fingers into a bridge I can rest my head on and hold her gaze.

  “Where do you want me to start?” She sighs heavily, quirking her lips with a sad resignation that I don’t quite understand.

  “I want you to start with school, and then we can work our way to why this is all kinds of awkward between us now.” I address at least one issue I am certain is causing her concern. The other, I am just taking a wild guess at.

  “Oh my god! Cass!” She buries her head in her hands. Yes! Nail on the head. I decide to take pity on her, chuckling lightly, and probe the easier of the two topics.

  “So what’s so bad about school?”

  “School’s just school. It’s fine.” She always avoids eye contact when she’s lying, that and she tucks her hands away, usually under her arm pits but this time under her bottom.

  “Sure it is. Tell me another lie, Tia, and I’ll capsize us,” I state calmly, and her eyes widen with worry. Her hands quickly shift to grip the edge of the boat on both sides.

  “You’d lose all the food.” She’s quick to argue, her eyes darting from the boat, over the distance to the riverbank, and back to me. My face is impassive, but she should know by now I don’t make idle threats. “Cass, we’d have to go all the way back and get changed. You’ve rowed for ages upstream… you’re not gonna capsize us. Stop being an arse.” She rushes her justifications and lets out a nervous laugh, her bravado wavering when she see my smile. I drop the oars and pitch all my weight heavily to one side and then the other, flipping me, the boat, and her into the river.

  “Oh, my God, Cass!” She screams in a gasp of horror, her arms flailing as she surfaces in a spectacular splash of water. She reaches for the overturned boat with one hand while slicking back her river-matted hair out of her face. The water is crystal clear and icy cold. The gentle current has the two of us, the boat, and all its contents drifting back the way we came. I swim to each side of the riverbank, grabbing any debris from our ruined picnic, trying to contain the flotsam as we glide back to the boathouse. My hair is much longer than normal and is heavy with water, I flick it clear of my face with a swift jerk of my head and flash my widest smile at Tia, who is still spluttering, gasping, and looking very much like a drowned rat.

  “When are you going to learn, Tia, I don’t take kindly to being told what I can and can’t do?” I pull through the water to get closer. There is a flash of fear in her eyes, and her voice is pitched with panic.

  “I can’t touch the bottom, Cass!” she yells. Her arm is half on the belly of the boat but it’s too slimy for her to grip onto the wood. She loses what hold she has and slips right underneath the surface. The boat drifts off, but Tia is still struggling to keep her head above the water. I can’t see what the problem is, but from her impossibly wide eyes, I know there is a serious problem. The reeds must be wrapping around her legs. She hasn’t moved an inch since she let go of the boat, and I’m still not close enough to help.

  “Swim, Tia, you do know how to swim, or have you forgotten that too?” I shout out, my attempt at humour sounds more angry than I hoped but at least it masks what I’m really feeling, fear.

  “Fuck, I can’t… I can’t move my legs…my foot’s stuck, Cass!” she cries out, and then she’s gone.

  I don’t know how we drifted so far apart, but with two long strokes through the water I am right where she is…was. All I can see is darkness below me. Sunlight bounces off the ripples as the surface settles where there’s no more splashing. I dive under. The river’s deep, thirty feet, maybe more, and swimming into the icy darkness, it feels much deeper, but it’s clear, and I can see her. Her hair fans out with the swirling water, her skin has an ethereal pallor; her eyes are pitch black and wide with terror. The moment feels surreal, almost magical, the way the particles of light dance in slow motion and at the same time cloaked in darkness, calm and silent; so close to death I can feel it at my fingertips.

  I grab her hand and use it to pull myself down her body. My hands feel their way down the leg that isn’t moving. The other is still fruitlessly kicking. Her leg has a mass of reeds wrapping around her ankle and her foot seems to be wedged under something metal. I quickly pull the reeds free but her shoe is stuck. My fingers pull and tear at the laces, which just tighten. I yank the back of the trainer off her ankle, and her knee jolts past my head as she fights to get to the surface. I’m right with her, pushing her arse with the palm of my hand. We reach the surface, and I drag her to the riverbank. There’s a part where it’s not so high, and the edge has eroded to a dip low enough I can push her to safety. She flops down, not making a sound, and I am instantly on my hands and knees beside her. My lungs are burning, but the pain in my chest is fucking killing me. No!

  I flip her on her back, she has mud from the bank smeared all over her face, down her arms, and her clothes are caked. She’s not breathing; she’s still
not breathing. I clear her airway, tilt her head, and listen for any sign of breath escaping her mouth, nothing. She looks so damn pale. My hands are shaking when I place them on her chest, one over the other and pump. I can’t remember what else I’m supposed to do. Do I breathe in her mouth or is that just something in the movies, fuck, why don’t I know this? I pinch her nose and place my mouth over hers, blowing oxygen in three times, and when I release, she coughs. My head is so close I get a face full of river water, but that gut-wrenching, throat-clearing noise she’s making is music to my ears. I pull her tight against my chest, and I have no intention of ever letting go.

  “I’m okay, Cass. You can let go now.” She lifts her head up and clears her throat, her mouth settling on a soft smile.

  “Not likely, you scared the crap out of me. You stopped fucking breathing, Tia.” My grip tightens around her. It’s involuntary and entirely due to the fear still coursing through my bloodstream. I can feel her bones creak with the force of my hold.

  “And I kinda can’t breathe now.” She groans and lets out a light mocking laugh.

  “Oh, sorry.” I jerk my arms to momentarily snap away at the notion I might be hurting her, but I can see that’s not the case, so I quickly resume my position. Lifting my hand to lightly stroke her face, I close my eyes and relish the weight of her head when she leans into my touch, no longer a dead weight.

  “So I really stopped breathing, hmm?” she whispers with a tremor in her voice.

  “Yeah. I think your heart stopped for a moment too.”

  “My throat feels like I’ve swallowed the riverbed.” She tries again to clear her throat, coughing from the bottom of her belly, purging whatever is left in her lungs. I gently rub her back until she finally draws in some clean, full breaths.

  “You did,” I quip, scooping a handful of mud from her neck and slopping it to the ground to highlight her observation.