Mine

by S. A Partridge

  “Tell me what to do, Fin.”

  I look up, dazed, and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Everything is falling apart.”

  “Nothing is falling apart.”

  I rest my forehead against hers. “Don’t ever leave me,” I say. “People are always leaving me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone before. I know a lot of guys say that, but I mean it. You’re the only girl I’ve ever met worth loving. The only one I’ve ever wanted to be worth loving for.”

  “I love you too.”

  I shake my head. “Say it like you mean it.”

  “I do mean it. I love you. Why are you acting so crazy?”

  I look up. Her expression is a mixture of fright and confusion. “Say it without the rest of it.”

  She relaxes and the frightened look disappears. “I love you.”

  I nod. “Good.”

  She smiles. “You’re so intense. It’s like you’re trying to cram every feeling you’ve ever had into this one moment.”

  “I’m not joking, Kayla. I mean it.”

  “I know you –”

  I cut off her words by kissing her so deeply that the whole club disappears around us.

  “Just talk. Please,” I say, opening my eyes and burrowing my face into her hair, taking deep breaths. “Tell me anything.”

  “I feel like I don’t have a reason to be sad anymore. Being with you means all my wishes have come true. My life can only get better.”

  We press our foreheads together and swop smiles as my heartbeat returns to normal.

  Kayla

  RONDEBOSCH, SATURDAY

  Fin loves me. Me.

  It’s still dark outside, but I haven’t fallen asleep yet. My ears are still buzzing from the loud music. I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling, reliving last night. It can’t be true. I’m too screwed up, not right for him and a hundred other things. He’s too cool for me.

  A rapping on my window makes me get up and peek through the curtain, thinking it’s a bird or something. But it’s Fin. Fin in a pair of blue jeans and a Marvel T-shirt with Thor, god of thunder, over the words “Hammer Time”.

  I wrap my arms over my chest and open the window. My Muppet Show pyjama top is practically see-through.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

  He laughs. “I wanted to see you. Move aside.” He scrambles inside and I shut the curtains quickly.

  “What’s the time?” I ask, fiddling with my hair while still trying to cover myself. At least I didn’t wear the bottoms with all the holes in them.

  “Early,” he says. “As soon as I got home I realised I wanted to be here. I wanted to crawl into bed with you before your folks wake up.”

  Grinning, I race to lock the door before creeping back into bed. Fin kicks off his shoes and gets under the covers fully clothed behind me. He curls his arm around me and I immediately feel the pull of disappointment that he hasn’t kissed me. Or said he loves me.

  Doubt gnaws at me. I bite my lip and wait, but I can already feel his breathing growing deeper.

  Thoughts whirl around my head. Was he just drunk or high when he said that he loved me? If he meant it, surely he would have repeated it this morning? Maybe he doesn’t even remember saying it. Or making me say it back.

  He’s actually sleeping.

  Now I’m wide awake. I can’t deal with this.

  I sniff loudly and turn on to my side. His eye creaks open. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nah, it’s not nothing. Come here.” He pulls me back into his arms.

  “I love you.” He whispers into my hair.

  And the world rights itself again.

  FIN WANTS TO get away from everything. We disappear as soon as the sun is bright enough to wake up the rest of the house.

  We take a taxi to Rhodes Memorial, and the higher the crammed minibus climbs, the more it feels like we’re running away. Trees fill the view from the tiny windows, with gaps of sunlight peeking through.

  When the door of the taxi slides open, we squeeze past the other passengers and jump out into the tarred parking lot, laughing for no reason.

  He pulls me into a hug, replacing the smell of pine needles with the smell of Fin.

  “What now?” I ask, even though I’m perfectly happy just standing there with him.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  We walk towards a huge stone monument and enter a large circular area. I don’t know who Rhodes was, except that his statue was removed from the university. I was very young the last time we visited the Memorial with my class. We pass his massive statue and the lions that guard the steps, and walk over the wide stone floor to the very edge.

  The whole of Cape Town is spread out before us. A crescent of silver ocean shimmers on the left. The wind plays with my hair, and I pull my ponytail over my shoulder.

  “It’s pretty here, but we should have asked the taxi to just keep going.”

  “It doesn’t matter where we go as long as I’m with you,” he says.

  We sit on the stone wall, our legs hanging over the edge. Tourists come and go to take peace-sign selfies or pictures of the view. We ignore them and carry on pretending we’re all alone up here at the edge of the world.

  Fin detangles the earphone cords of his MP3 player and passes one to me. “I’m going to play you something powerful,” he says.

  “Your stuff?” I ask.

  “Nah. It’s another local outfit called Dookoom, Isaac Mutant’s grime project.”

  “What the hell is grime?”

  “Just listen.”

  I immediately start moving my head to the hip-hop beat. It’s similar to the backtracks Dark Father uses, except this music is darker. Angrier. I can’t stop moving, but Fin is as still as the verdigris lions behind us.

  “Why have you gone so serious all of a sudden?” I ask.

  He frowns. “It’s hard to say. I wish I could make music like this. There’s truth in it. Politics. History. My songs seem so … stupid in comparison. I’m not writing about anything relevant.”

  “But it’s your music. It’s what important to you.”

  “I guess.”

  From up here, the city looks like an ant farm, everyone small and insignificant. After a while the tourists slip away, leaving just us, the wind, the view and the raw lyrics of “The Worst Thing” piercing our ears. Fin is right – this music is powerful. The raw lyrics open up all the old wounds of our country’s horrible past and leave them exposed. Slavery. Apartheid. The pain that remains. Everything that’s been left unresolved.

  I never really think about the past much, but there’s a lot of anger in this country. I see it right now in Fin. Everything he’s done, he’s done for himself. He doesn’t go to a nice school or come from a wealthy family like the rest of his crew. I don’t either, but I guess I have it a lot better than him. Ma might not be able to buy me the best clothes, but music lessons and school fees don’t come cheap. Even if I hate that place.

  “How did you and Brendan meet?”

  “You’ll probably laugh, but we were in Scouts together when we were kids. That was when my mom was still around. We stayed friends, learned how to play guitar together. We lived closer then, till his family decided to move to Newlands.” He shrugs. “It’s not really the same anymore.”

  I’m so happy we can share our music with each other – it’s who we both are. It gives us a better understanding of what the other person is about.

  Our fingers lock in place. Slowly, he starts nodding his head in time to mine.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, WEDNESDAY

  The rush from a good show lasts for a few days. That, and the natural high of being in love. Kayla has no idea how gorgeous she is. Or the effect she has on me. The memory of the weekend shines inside me like a shard of starlight. She makes me feel like the luckiest guy alive. I think I want to take her to Kalk Bay on Sunday. She s
ays she’s never been. It’ll be a nice surprise.

  I score some more cash from Kelwyn at school after selling him another bankie of skunk. I didn’t even take that much for myself this time. I have a meeting with Reynolds at second break. He doesn’t even have the right to call meetings – he’s not the principal. Maybe he’s found a new way to punish me other than endless detentions that make zero difference.

  When it’s time, I walk in and slump down in a chair before he even asks me to. It’s not really an office, just an open cupboard at the back of the class, where he keeps his books and equipment. The desk is jammed into a corner under a dusty window.

  The guy is one big nicotine stain. Even his shirt collar is faded and yellow.

  He steeples his fingers. “This isn’t a formal hearing.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  I throw back my head and sigh loudly. “Okay, what is this about then?” I spread my arms across the armrests. I’m not going to let this joker intimidate me.

  “I want you out my class. You’re bringing my average down. Not that any of my matrics are Albert Einstein, but you in particular, Mr September, are that one piece of popcorn stuck behind the tooth that rots and makes everything taste bad.”

  I scratch my nose. “There are only a few months left, then I’m gone. You won’t see me again.”

  He leans back. “I know that. You know that. But getting rid of you isn’t so simple, is it? The rate you’re going, we’re going to be sitting here next year having the same conversation. Your marks haven’t improved, which baffles me, considering you’re repeating every class. This should be déjà vu to you.”

  “Maybe you’re just a kak teacher.”

  His moustache twitches. “The problem with you, Mr September, is that you’re a lost cause. No matter how easy I make it for you, you still won’t get it.” He taps his head. “You have nothing up here.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know everything about you, and I see a future of failure, a pregnant girlfriend, substance abuse and jail.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. “You’re wrong.”

  He leans back and mirrors my posture. “I’m never wrong.”

  I stand up. Suck in my cheeks. Ball my fists. My knuckles crackle. “I’ll be more than you ever were.”

  Once I’m out his office, I fall against the grimy wall and exhale. Hitting the bastard would finish it for me, and it’s all I could do to walk away.

  He’s dead wrong, but he’s right too. I come from nothing, with nothing to look forward to, but Kayla still has a future. I should leave her alone. Pregnant girlfriend, he said. God, what if I destroy her whole life?

  I kick at the air. Every good memory from the weekend has evaporated.

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” KAYLA asks as soon as I get to her place after school.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Did I do something?”

  “No, it’s not about you. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  We lie on her bed and watch old South Park episodes on YouTube. This stuff is so dated it’s not even funny anymore, but it’s good to see her smile, hear her laugh. I feel bad for being in a mood. Fucking Reynolds.

  “I love this one,” I say, trying to lighten up. “Randy buys a Blockbusters and everyone thinks it’s haunted.”

  She swings her legs in the air. She’s wearing her white school socks, rolled down to her ankles. I grab one and squeeze her toes. Tickle the underside of her foot.

  “Stop it, Fin. Stop it, I’ll scream.” She rolls away from me, her hair around her face. Her laughter is infectious. It breaks through my skin.

  My electric angel.

  “Where are you today? Come back to me.”

  I sigh. “Sorry, baby. I’m here.”

  I lie down again and pull her close. We watch in silence – she always goes quiet when she thinks something’s wrong.

  I can see why she likes this episode. The kids dress up like The Avengers for Halloween, and Kyle is Thor. I’m a much better Thor.

  She looks up at me, her eyes shining with the reflection of the screen, but I look away. I need to prove Reynolds wrong. I am worth something.

  Kayla

  KALK BAY, SUNDAY

  Another Sunday. My least favourite day. Every moment with Fin seems stolen, fleeting. Like it’s going to be over any minute, and then it’s back to school again. I can’t bear it.

  We catch the train to Kalk Bay and walk along the harbour wall. It’s windy and my hair swats my face. Seagulls hover noiselessly above us. Fin jumps around on the wall, taking pictures of me with his phone.

  I smile when he tells me to, but deep inside I’m dying from a thousand stab wounds. On any other day, the bright little boats would have seemed cute. Now they just looked shabby and too small.

  He hasn’t said he loves me in eight days. Not a peep. He obviously regrets it and wants to take it back. I sit next to him on the harbour wall and stare down at the uneasy water. It’s dark blue. Uninviting. Even the seagulls whip past, rushing to get away.

  “It’s too cold here. Let’s go to your place or something.”

  He coughs into his fist. “Uh, no. Not going to happen.”

  I look up in surprise. “Why?”

  He looks uncomfortable. “It’s just a bad idea. I don’t want you there. Let’s leave it at that.”

  It’s like he’s just slapped me. I am obviously the world’s biggest sucker. Did I really think that this was for real? That it was actually humanly possible for him to love me? I wish I could jump in the water and disappear beneath the choppy surface. Sink to the bottom and stretch out my arms, waiting for the air to stream out my lungs forever.

  When I feel I can look at him again, I search his features. He’s too good-looking for me. Cute guys can have any girl – he’s obviously just keeping me around till someone better comes along. I imagine him at all those gigs and music festivals, all the screaming girls, the way they look at him.

  Fin pulls me close and holds me tightly. “Hey, you’ve gone all quiet.”

  I shrug. “It’s nothing.” Why is he doing this to me?

  The wind makes him cuddle closer to me, but he’s probably wishing he was sitting here with Julia instead. I’m sure he’s still hung up on her. And from the lies she’s been telling, he probably thinks I’m tainted. Something else must have happened between those two that I don’t know about. I’m sure of it.

  We walk down Kalk Bay Main Road hand in hand, but I feel like a zombie being pulled along.

  I wish I didn’t feel these things. Wish that I could just open my mouth and say something.

  Eight whole days.

  Just say it, Fin. Put me out of my misery and end this winter that has settled on me like snow.

  Tell me you love me.

  He turns and smiles at me. Pops me a wink. “You okay, kid?”

  My heart shatters into a hundred thousand fragments.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, MONDAY

  Brendan WhatsApps me after school saying we need to talk about “the band”. Like anyone’s going to take us seriously if we keep calling ourselves a band. Something is definitely up. He’s been avoiding eye contact at every practice. I bet he wants to throw me out. I’d like to see him try.

  When I get home from school, I blast music so loud that the speakers bounce on the floor. Then I light a joint, clicking my jaw to make thick smoke circles drift through the air.

  The fug fills my brain, making everything better. All that’s left is the throbbing bass. I move my head in time to the beat, the lyrics forming on my lips. I pace the small space between my bed and my equipment, and imagine I’m on stage, free-rhyming. I don’t need an audience. I just need to rap.

  I’m concentrating so hard on the music that I don’t see the beat-down coming. Next thing I know, pain explodes behind my eye sockets.

  “How many times must I shout for you turn the bloody music down?”
roars my father.

  I’m on the ground, holding the back of my head to stop my brain from rattling when the second blow comes. Then the third. I’m powerless to fight him off. All I can do is wait until he’s done kicking me. When he’s finished, he lunges at my sound system, tearing the wires from the wall and throwing it on top of me.

  His chest heaves with destruction as he stands over me.

  “Do you think I enjoy this? You made me do this. You and your bloody music. How many times do I have to tell you to shut up!” He kicks me again. My lower back. “You bum!” he screams. “You think I don’t know what that smell is? What did I do to deserve a rubbish like you in my life?”

  After he leaves, I lie on my back while my chest rises up and down. My breathing becomes heavier, faster. I manage to crawl onto my knees. I lurch upright and stagger forward, reaching out to the wall for support. I’m walking towards another beating, but I don’t care. I’m angrier than I’ve been in a long time.

  He’s done this too many times. Broken my stuff. Broken me. I’ve let it happen for too long.

  He’s in the lounge going full Hulk – I lean against the doorframe and watch him kick a pine chair to splinters. I’m sober now – the beat-down saw to that.

  He turns around to face me. “Get back in your room.”

  I’m not a little kid.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.”

  He marches towards me, his features contorted in an ugly sneer.

  My first instinct is to raise my hands to cover my face, but instead I step forward to meet him, my fists rising. Our bodies collide, and I punch him squarely on the jaw.

  The sound is loud and ugly. He falls back; collapses in a pathetic heap on the ground. I didn’t even hit him that hard. He clutches his chest and grunts like an old man. I watch him like it’s happening on TV.

  “Ambulance,” he croaks.

  My chest tightens, but it passes quickly. I don’t buy it – he’s acting.

  Still, I back away, grab my phone and start messaging Kayla to meet me at her place. I need to see her. Need her to tell me it’s all going to be alright.