Under My Skin

by A. E. Dooland

  “So you just came because you felt guilty.”

  I groaned and leant my forehead against the door. It was true, but it was only a tiny part of the reason. “No, Bree,” I said. “That's not why. Look... I don't know why you asked them to call me. I did come, even though you—”

  “Yeah. I thought you wouldn't.”

  “Why did you ask, then?” I said through the door, wondering if I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Because I'm stupid,” she said. “Even though you think I'm this total screw-up who just follows you around and makes you buy me stuff, I don't know, I just kind of hoped...” She didn't finish the sentence. “I'm stupid.”

  I sighed. “I don't think those things, Bree.” I traced a pattern in the wood on the door with my fingernail. “I was just angry.”

  “I know, and it's because you're sick of me. And, like, I don't really blame you. You're this giant introvert and I've just kind of been forcing myself on you, it's no wonder you don't like it.”

  I shook my head against the wood, but then I remembered she couldn't see me. “I do like it, Bree,” I told her. “It's just... well... it takes me a while to get used to stuff.”

  “If you like it, why did you say those things?”

  Because there's huge consequences if I say anything else, I thought. I turned and slid my back against the door until I was sitting against it, too. “I don't know,” was all I told her.

  We sat there for a couple of minutes. I still had basically no idea what had happened today. “Did you really throw a flower pot at that guy's car?”

  “Yeah.”

  That was such a weird image. “Why?”

  “Because he keeps telling me to get my brother to call him about the money he owes, and my stupid fuck brother never does call. And so the guy was like, 'Even though he knows I'm following you around? Jesus, kid, normally when I lean on the little sister the big brother comes out of the woodwork, but not with you. He's still nowhere. He really must not give two shits about you'.”

  I winced. That was a sore point for her. “Your brother...” I exhaled, deciding not to push her for more information. She'd already ruled that topic off-limits.

  It was another minute or two before she spoke again. “I did want to tell you what was going on,” she said quietly. “I really did, but you already have so much to worry about with work and stuff, and I didn't want you to feel like I was just dumping my shit on you. I wanted us to have fun together, you know? But sometimes I just really, really wanted to say it all, and then you could hug me and tell me everything's going to be okay even though it's not. Like, some nights I'd be lying in my bed at home and everything would just be so awful and I'd have my phone and I'd be like, 'I'm going to call her and tell her', but I didn't.”

  “I wish you had called me, Bree.”

  I didn't really think this conversation was going to lead anywhere, because the cops had spent nearly half an hour trying to get to her to describe five minutes, and because I'd asked her so many times before and been told nothing. That's why when she said, “Ring, ring,” I sat straighter, surprised.

  “You're going to tell me?” I twisted towards the door.

  I could hear her swallow. “If you promise not to say 'oh, is that all'.”

  “You just threw a flower pot at a guy's car. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to say that.”

  The door rattled a little as she sat heavily against it. I could hear her inhale deeply, and then sigh. “It's so weird because Andrej used to be normal,” she said. “Like, I mean, he was always annoying because he's a dick, but everything was fine until he turned eighteen. Then he was out heaps but I didn't care because he was an annoying dick.” She paused. “Anyway one day this guy came to the door—”

  “--that flower pot guy?” I interrupted her.

  She made a noise that contradicted me. “Nah, just some guy. He looked like a courier and he had a big A4 envelope thing. I just thought it was something one of us had ordered off the internet so I opened the door and took it off him, and he said, 'Do Mr and Mrs Stefan Dejanovic live here?' and I was like, 'yeah' and he was like, 'You're being served with bankruptcy papers on their behalf. Do you understand?' and I was like, 'what the fuck, no? I don't understand! Why would you be serving us with bankruptcy papers, we have plenty of money!'. He didn't say anything else, though, he just left.”

  “Your brother did something,” I said, feeling rising dread.

  She didn't answer that directly. “Mum and Dad went crazy and phoned all the banks. They found out they had something like a hundred thousand dollars in credit cards in their name, and someone had signed to withdraw another two hundred grand against the house. And then Dad completely tore both our rooms apart, and found like seven credit cards in my bookcase. And then he just pushed me against the wall and started screaming at me.”

  She was saying all of it so mechanically, as if she was telling me someone else's story. It was hard to listen to. I didn't know which part of what she was saying alarmed me more. Credit cards? Someone trapping and screaming at little Bree? “Your brother put them in your bookcase?” I asked for confirmation. I could hardly fucking believe a brother would frame his sister like that.

  “Yeah, and when Dad was going nuts at me, Andrej didn't even try to tell him the truth. He just let Dad keep screaming at me about what a useless, stupid, life-ruining brat I was.” Her throat was getting tighter, now. I could hear it. “When the statements came in they could see the withdrawals had been while I was at school or at home, Andrej even said, 'Oh, maybe Bree's got some boyfriend she's giving money to' and Mum and Dad believed him at first, they believed him, even though I've never had a boyfriend. But all the withdrawals were from pubs Mum had picked Andrej up from before, and it ended up being obvious he'd done it. He still says it wasn't him though, even though we all know it was.”

  It was just so much to process. “What did he need all that money for? What does anyone need that much money for?”

  I heard her draw a ragged breath. “I don't know,” she said in this tiny voice. “I don't know. Three hundred thousand dollars, he took. Three hundred thousand. I can't even imagine that much money, but it's probably all gone now.” Her voice was so quiet. “And when Dad called the bank and told them what had happened, the banks all said, 'You need to press charges against him or there's nothing we could do'. And, like, my parents were angry with him and everything, but Mum was like, 'Well, my precious Andrej will have a really hard life if he has a criminal record,' and Dad was all like 'everyone will know, it will be on the news if we press charges'. So they didn't. They just took extra jobs to pay the arrears. And now no one is home ever, and when they are they're really angry, and Mum and Dad fight all the time.”

  I didn't think she'd been crying until that point, but I could hear from how much she was struggling to talk that she was now. The door was even bulging against my back every time she drew an uneven breath.

  “And it's just fucking awful there, Min. It's awful. Andrej always goes through my room and pinches things to sell and Mum and Dad are so sick of dealing with it that they don't even do anything. Sometimes he even just comes into my room and takes things in front of me if I don't hide them. And I'd only taken off your bracelet for a couple of minutes while I got changed so I didn't think I needed to hide it...”

  The bracelet she'd loved so much...

  “I'm so stupid, I know what he's like. I should have hidden it. He steals everything, even my mail. And we're always getting final bills in the post and the phone never stops ringing because of debt collectors and Dad constantly yells at me that I'm really expensive and that I'm stupid and useless and sending me to private school is a waste of money because I'm dumb and I just hate it,” she said. “I hate it, and it's not fair. It's so not fair, because none of it's my fault.”

  I had my shoulder against the door, she was sobbing just on the other side of it. “It isn't your fault,” I told her quietly. “Bree, god, I wish you'd just told me.”


  “I don't really tell people, anymore. They always think I'm going to say that I'm being abused or something and then when I say what it is, they're always like, 'Oh, is that all?' Even Courtney thinks I'm being a drama queen. I don't even think she actually believes me.”

  I felt really guilty, because abuse had been my first guess, too, and I'd been relieved when I found out it wasn't that. I wasn't relieved now. I was anything but relieved now. Bree was sitting two inches away from me, crying against the door. It was such a lost, despairing sound. I didn't know what to say.

  I didn't think there was anything to say. “Please, Bree, please let me hug you.”

  She was silent for a moment, and then I heard fabric switch and the latch click. The door opened slowly with me still sitting against it, revealing Bree in her clean clothes. Her cheeks were wet, and her hair was a bit wet, too.

  I'd been about to stand up, but she got down next to me before I was able to and just crawled under my arm and cuddled up against my side. I let her; of course I did. I just shifted so I was sitting against the door frame instead.

  She rested her head against my collarbone, and I rested my cheek against the top of her damp curls and just hugged her. She cried a little bit more into me and her tears soaked through my hoodie and through my t-shirt and through my binder. It was different crying now, though, not the helpless, inconsolable sobs from earlier. She was just sad. She was just so sad.

  “Don't ever cry without me, okay?” I murmured into her damp hair. “Even if it's my fault.”

  “The problem is that when it's your fault I still don't want to do it without you.”

  Fuck, Bree, I thought, I don't want to do anything without you, not ever. I didn't say it, but I did hug her fiercely against me. She was so tiny and she fit right there, under my arm. I wasn't just tall and awkward for once. Everything just felt so right.

  “Can I just stay here forever?” she asked me quietly, tracing the pattern on the front of my hoodie with her fingers.

  I didn't think she meant it seriously, but I responded anyway. “Here, as in my-apartment-here?” I asked her, looking out towards my bedroom. “Well, I don't like the idea of you staying with your family at all, but with the way things are going at work I'm probably going to move out of here soon...”

  “Why would you have to move out because of work?”

  “This place belongs to Frost, it's part of my package. If I get fired I have to move out.” She looked up at me from my chest, eyes wide, so I explained, “Things haven't been going so well at work. It's complicated.”

  “Oh,” she said, and then thought about that. “No wonder you look like you're about to die. Did you even sleep in the past four days?”

  I laughed bleakly. “Not really. But that's partly your fault, too.” She looked surprised, so I explained, “I was feeling awful about Friday, and then I was worried about you when you disconnected your phone and disappeared.”

  She put her head back against me. “I didn't disconnect it. Fucking Andrej took it, and there aren't any computers left at home now. He pawned Dad’s last week. Besides, after what happened, I didn't think you'd want me to bother you.”

  I grimaced, remembering what I'd said to her.

  She saw my expression. “It was kind of my fault, too. You were right, you can kiss whoever you want. I just thought that...” She sighed. “I don't know, that it was leading somewhere even though you're with Henry. I'm just stupid like that, I guess.”

  It is leading somewhere, I thought, peering down at her snuggled up against me. Look at us. Tell me it's completely platonic when two people end up cuddling with each other in the bathroom doorway after a fight. And that wasn't all, I'd missed her like fucking crazy over the weekend. I'd been wanting to hug her all day. I think I was maybe even about to leave someone who was potentially the most wonderful, perfect man in the world to be with her. The only problem was that I was still in a relationship with that wonderful, perfect man, and he didn't deserve to keep being cheated on. She was wrong about what she said.

  “I can't kiss whoever I want,” I said cryptically. She lifted her head from my shoulder, and with the way I was looking at her, she understood.

  Her lips parted, and she took a hushed breath. “No, you can,” she murmured. “If you want to...”

  “Wanting to isn't the issue,” I told her. “Or maybe it is the issue.” Her face was so close, and her lips were so pink from how much she'd been crying. “I shouldn't, Bree.”

  She wet them with the tip of her tongue. “I know,” she said, her breath warming my lips. “I'm just saying you can if you want to.”

  Fuck, I did want to. Especially after all that stuff she'd told me. She was gorgeous and sweet and fun and she just had this lovely gentle heart and I wanted to kiss her. And when she looked up at me with those big blue eyes that were puffy from how much she'd been crying... god. She deserved so much more than the way her life was right now.

  She could see the conflict on my face, and her eyebrows met. “Please, Min,” she whispered. “Please, even just once. Just once...”

  That sealed it. I was going to make another bad decision. I bent my neck and touched my lips to hers, so lightly at first. I think that was only because Bree was too shocked to respond straight away. It didn't last long. She exhaled and reached up to me, slipping her arms around my neck and just pressing her mouth so desperately against mine. I don't think she'd kissed many people before, because it took a couple of seconds to negotiate a rhythm with her. She settled into it quickly, relaxing peacefully against me with a happy sigh.

  I could feel her smiling. There was nothing like that feeling. She was smiling, and I was smiling, too. And, god, it... well, it wasn't hot like Gemma's kiss had been, but it was something. It was warm, and she was soft, and I could feel with each kiss how much she wanted me and how much she cared about me. She was making these little sounds, and when she did, fuck. It was working. She was making me breathless. I had no idea what to do about it because of my stupid body, but, fuck, I wanted to try and figure it out. She was so gorgeous.

  The only thing that stopped me from doing anything else was that I tasted salt. She was crying? I pulled away from her immediately, even though she didn't want to let me go.

  When she took my face in both hands, I thought she was just going to kiss me again. She didn't. “I know I said just once,” she whispered. “But please don't marry Henry. Please don't marry him. Please, I'll be so good to you. I'll make you happy, I'll try really, really hard...”

  She was upset, and I wanted to pay attention to that, but I was confused. “Huh?” I said, “Bree, I'm not marrying Henry.”

  She stopped pleading with me, looking as confused as I was. “Yes, you are,” she said, sounding uncertain.

  I squinted. “I'm pretty sure I need to agree to that,” I said. “I mean, Mum's traditional, but she's not that traditional, and I haven't agreed to anything.”

  Bree sat back on her heels beside me, her hands dropping from my face. “But Sean said...” Sean said? “He was just talking to me to try and make me feel better, and he asked if I'd picked out something nice to wear to your wedding, because he said that he thought talking about all that pretty stuff would cheer me up.”

  “And it didn't,” I said, for confirmation.

  “I kind of ran off.”

  “I see,” I said, and groaned. No wonder Sean had figured out about us. But why did he think I was marrying Henry? I didn't know anything about that, and it wasn't the type of thing Henry would just spring on me. He knew what I was like. Besides, how would Sean know before me? Henry hated him, and I couldn't imagine Henry confiding in him. Unless... Henry had needed something from Sean. But the only thing Henry could need from Sean that would have anything to do with proposals and weddings was time off work. Then again, Sean had been talking about us taking time off, hadn't he...? But, fuck. Fuck! Henry wanted to propose to me?

  I leant heavily against the door frame and squeezed my eyes shut.
My wonderful boyfriend was going about his day imagining marriage and kids and growing old together with me... And I was up here dressed as a guy and getting it on with a teenage girl. Ouch.

  I stood up so I wasn't tempted to keep going with Bree. “We can't do this anymore until I have everything sorted out,” I told her. “It's messed up, and I've messed up enough already.”

  She didn't seem upset by that. The opposite. “'Until you get everything sorted out'?” she queried. “You mean Henry?”

  I gave her a look, straightening slowly because the position had made my back stiff. Yes, 'Henry', I thought, and then grimaced again.

  “Maybe you're getting old,” she told me, thinking my expression was to do with my back as I stretched.

  “You watch it,” I told her, helping her up. She giggled and followed me out into the living room as I added, “Don't think I won't smother you just because things suck for you at the moment. So, are you hungry?

  “Things are looking unbelievably fantastic, actually,” she corrected me. It seemed a bit ironic she was saying that because she still looked like she'd been crying for four days straight. “And yeah, I totally am hungry. You want pasta? I'll cook it for you.” She stopped for a moment and shifted her weight a little uncomfortably, making a face. “Um. In a second, anyway. I just need to fix something. Be right back.” She rushed off into the bathroom. When I realised what she was planning on fixing... I could have given Gemma's deep blushes a run for their money.

  I was busy trying to ignore everything beneath my bellybutton as I got myself a glass of water when there was a knock on the door. I swallowed my mouthful, frowning at it. It was the middle of the day, who'd want anything right now? I went over to take a look through the peephole; it was just room service. I opened the door.

  “Hi, Miss Lee,” the attendant greeted me, and then gave me a strange look as soon as she'd said that. She was holding my handbag which she passed over. “Someone left this for you at reception.”