Mine

by S. A Partridge

  I’m in huge trouble, but all I can think about is my wrecked flute. It was expensive, and there’s no way Lorenda will have it fixed or replaced after this. I swallow and feel the room zoom in and out. Ms Bennett and Mr Emersen keep looking at me as if they don’t know me.

  Lorenda is on her way over here, apparently. In amongst Lucinda’s jumble of words, she calls me crazy for a fifth time.

  “Oh, I’m crazy? Please. You’re a psychopath in comparison.”

  Ms Bennett squeezes her lips together. “Kayla. Go and wait outside, now. I will not have this behaviour in my office.”

  I slip out silently, wishing I could blast her office to kingdom come, like Cyclops.

  So much for having my chance to speak. But I’ve never been good at articulating my thoughts. I lean back against the wall and smile to myself. My flute may be broken, but at least I stood up for myself for once. If only Fin could see me now.

  When Lorenda arrives to get me half an hour later, it’s all I can do to get through the “What the hell has been going on with you lately?” and “You’ve never been like this”. If eye-rolling were a school subject, I would ace it.

  We get home to more shouting from Jerome.

  Eventually Lorenda puts a hand on his arm to quieten him down.

  “Kayla, talk to us. What’s happened to you? All this sneaking out and reckless behaviour isn’t like you. And now fighting at school? What did we do? What did I do?”

  I don’t respond. How can I describe what’s going on inside me right now? I have nothing left. Their eyes are ringed with grey shadows.

  Jerome starts shouting again. “Do you want us to lock you up at night like a prisoner? Is that what you want?”

  “Oh, now you suddenly want to take an interest?” I retort.

  “You’re never leaving this house again, do you understand?”

  I shrug and walk to my room. Being alone with my thoughts is worse than any punishment they could give me.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, WEDNESDAY

  I stub out my cigarette and nod my head as the track I’m writing starts taking shape on Pro Tools. I’m not welcome at Brendan’s house anymore, but it’s okay. Since I fought back, the old man hasn’t smashed his way into my room again, so my equipment is safe for now.

  I light another cigarette and continue working on the beats. I’ve been focusing on my side project, Odin Son. I almost have an entire album. So far I’ve uploaded three tracks to SoundCloud, and people are digging it. I want to book a show as soon as possible so fans who still recognise me from Dark Father pull through to support me.

  I don’t need Brendan and Bones. I’ve outgrown them.

  I light a joint with the end of my cigarette and puff until it takes.

  Brendan’s a moron for throwing his toys. Kicking me out of Dark Father because I bailed on a couple of shows and practices. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown up to a gig drunk, but fuck it, I made that group. I wrote the songs. Without me, they’re going to die faster than a snail covered in salt.

  Odin Son – this feels real. This is what I’m supposed to be doing.

  I’m so deep in the music that it takes me a moment to realise my phone is ringing. It’s Jules, so I ignore it. The sooner that girl gives up on me, the better.

  Then a message comes through. Despite my better judgement, I open it.

  Your ex was expelled today. She attacked Lucinda with her flute like a psychopath.

  I toss down my phone and drag on the joint until there’s nothing left but a burnt bit of paper between my fingers.

  I don’t want to care what Kayla did.

  But expelled. Jesus.

  I know she’s not doing great. She keeps drunk-texting me, begging for my forgiveness. I can’t do it, can’t talk to her, can’t let her back in. What she did to me …

  I press my eyes closed with my fingers to keep the pain inside. I gave that girl everything. I showed her a part of me that no one has ever seen before. She took my hammer from my hand and smashed me to pieces with it. The worst part is that I handed it to her.

  There’s only one thing that kills the pain – getting trashed.

  I pick up my phone and message Monkey, a crazy scenester I’ve been clubbing with the last few weeks. Bit of an idiot, but always ready to help me out.

  Bunker 15 mins.

  MONKEY IS WAITING, wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He swivels his cap backwards as I approach. The guy is in permanent music-festival mode.

  “Whazzup, Thor?” he says.

  “You know you’re white, right?” I say, clasping his hand.

  “Don’t be a hater.”

  I push past him through the entrance and slap my hands onto the bar counter. “Two Black Labels and two Jägers,” I tell the barman. “This fool’s buying.”

  Monkey shakes his head and pulls out his wallet. He has his uses – he’s also let me borrow his MacBook to lay down my tracks. It makes him feel like part of Odin Son. I finish my beer before he’s even touched his and he motions to the barman for another one.

  We drink a couple of rounds as fast as possible. When Monkey runs out of cash, we go in search of girls drunk enough to buy us more. I spot one of the scene girls who always comes to our shows and start making my moves. I swerve my head to the left and right, snapping my fingers.

  She laughs and bites her lip. So easy.

  She buys two rounds of tequilas and I thank her by nearly gnawing her bottom lip off.

  The hours spin past before we stagger out, falling over each other’s feet to get to the car. While Monkey fumbles with his keys, I slam back against the graffiti-covered wall and wait for the world to stop tilting. I’m looking towards the street as a group of skaters sails by.

  Blue flames flick the sky, and I sink to my knees.

  Kayla doesn’t see me – I don’t think she knows that I see her everywhere. That I look for her.

  I vomit into the gutter.

  Monkey hauls me up. “C’mon, man, what if people see you like this?”

  “So what? I’m a dead man walking.” Only an idiot like Monkey can’t see it. If I’m not working or trashed, I can’t cope.

  I stumble a few steps and face-plant into the car door.

  “Dude, are you okay?”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. “Take this. Whatever you do, don’t let me have it back. Give it to me tomorrow or something.”

  Monkey lifts up his hands. “What are you doing, man? I don’t want your phone.”

  “Take it, Monkey. I don’t want to drunk-text anyone.”

  “Okay, dude. I get it.”

  I have to be strong.

  Kayla

  RONDEBOSCH, THURSDAY

  Fin has pretty much deleted his entire online presence except for his new tracks on SoundCloud. I Google every variation of his name, but no new images pop up. I check out the scene blogs and study the galleries of recent parties, but he isn’t in any of them.

  He hasn’t responded to any of my messages. I only have the courage to send them when I’m drunk.

  This doesn’t feel real. He used to message me at least twenty times a day. He acted like I was the most important person in the entire world, that going a single hour without talking to me was impossible.

  Now I don’t exist.

  How could I be The One when it was so easy to throw me away like I never even mattered?

  The little voice in my head reminds me of what I did, how I sabotaged the only good thing in my life.

  Shut up.

  It’s too painful. I fold my hands over my face.

  Lorenda chooses this moment to storm into my room and ask me if I’ve done any studying. I drop my hands and glare at her.

  “Studying for what? I don’t even have a school!”

  “Well, pick up a book, please. Don’t think you’re going to have a holiday while we sort out this mess. At least pretend that you care about your future.”

  I hate her so much. She t
hinks she’s going to homeschool me for the rest of the year until we can find another school that will take me. She’s about as qualified as a lobotomised budgie.

  “Leave me alone, Lorenda. Just for once. Go. Away.”

  She snorts and slams the door after her. I can’t talk to her – she doesn’t understand that there’s something broken inside me. A month ago, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life, and that’s been taken from me. Being alive hurts.

  She wants me to pick up a book, so I’ll pick up a book. I yank open my bedside table and grab my diary. I start ripping out the pages, tearing them to shreds.

  If only it was so simple to destroy my past.

  When I’m done scattering paper all over the bed and the floor like confetti (hah!), I pull on my Vans and escape through my window. I need to get out, need to blow off steam, rage against the injustices of my life.

  I message Louis to meet me at the park.

  He throws me a smile as I approach, but it disappears when he sees my expression.

  “Enough with the enthusiasm, okay? I have a lot on my mind,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Whatever you say, Kay.”

  We drive to the skatepark in the city.

  I want to hurt myself. I want to skate so hard that I break a limb. Not something necessary like a leg. An arm – I can still skate with one arm. I hit the half pipe again and again, faster and faster, harder and harder until Louis starts shouting at me to lay off.

  “Not yet!” I shout back.

  A couple of the other skaters are watching me. I can’t tell if they’re impressed or finding my display hilarious. After a particularly unsteady jump, I fall and land hard on my elbow.

  I’m screaming bloody blue murder as Louis and a couple of the others rush over to help me. Whenever someone tries to touch me, the pain reverberates through every bone. I wave everyone away. And then burst out laughing.

  Louis’s face creases in confusion. “Why are you laughing? Are you okay?”

  I smile through the tears streaming down my face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I need to go to the hospital though.”

  “I’ll take you. Can I phone anyone? Your parents?”

  I shake my head. “No. Never, ever, ever phone my parents, no matter what.”

  I’M HALF LAUGHING, half crying as Louis drives us to the Groote Schuur emergency room. He insists on staying with me. We sit side by side on the plastic-covered chairs, surrounded by sniffing, bleeding and sleeping people.

  “That was really stupid of you,” he says, eyebrows raised.

  It hurts to shrug. “Like I said, I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  He nods, rolling his knuckles on his lap. I feel a little bad for him. But I force myself to remember that guys only care when they think you don’t care about them. As soon as I show even the smallest bit of weakness, Louis could go full- Craig on me.

  I look away. It’s a relief when my name is called. Jean Grey. Not even Louis gets the reference.

  LORENDA NEARLY DIES when I come home with my arm in a plaster cast.

  “What happened to you? Where did you go? I said you weren’t allowed to go out.”

  I wave my hand and flinch. “I broke my wrist boarding. I’m fine, by the way. If you’ll excuse me, Louis here is going to help me study.”

  Lorenda shakes her head and sinks into the couch. She looks like she’s about to have a heart attack.

  “Kayla, when are you going to stop punishing us? Enough is enough.”

  “I’m not doing anything to you!”

  I kick my bedroom door closed after Louis. He stands there awkwardly, wringing his hands. “Kay, I don’t know if I should be here. Your mom …”

  “Don’t worry about Ma. What’s she going to do, put bars on my windows? She’s just being passive aggressive. We’re safe in here.” I flash him a grin and flop down on my bed. I feel great. Pumped. “Tell me about my bail. Was it as spectacular as yours? Was it worthy of YouTube?”

  He laughs and sinks down next to me. “You are one crazy girl, Kay. I’ve never met anyone like you.” He gives me a look that says one thing. He’s totally into me. But I knew that already.

  “Thank your lucky stars you only know one of me,” I say, turning my face away so he can’t try anything. All I want is to go out and skate some more. But it’s late and I’ve taken too many pain meds. I’ll have to wait until the morning.

  Louis leans forward and opens his lips a fraction.

  “Whoa,” I say, sitting up. “That’s not why I invited you in here.”

  He strokes his dreads and gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, it’s just … you’re so awesome. I can’t help it.”

  “Well, keep it together. This isn’t a great time.”

  I lean across to my laptop and put on some music. I’ve deleted all my classical music. The bass hums through the tiny speakers.

  “This is cool. What is it?” asks Louis.

  “Just some local hip-hop group,” I say, twirling my hair.

  I won’t ever admit out loud that I’ve been listening to nothing but Fin’s new tracks for the last three and a half weeks. Some things are better left unsaid.

  I could never kiss Louis. The way I’m feeling right now, I could never let anyone touch me again. I don’t want to love anyone. I don’t want to have any sort of emotional attachment at all. I just want to figure out who I am and work through all these emotions blasting me from all sides.

  We sit cross-legged on my bed, facing each other, playing old-school Battleship while Fin’s voice raps around us. I still can’t stop grinning.

  “I’m worried about you,” says Louis.

  “Why?”

  “Because you got hurt today. We were at the hospital. You know how scary that was?”

  “You’re making it sound way worse than it was,” I say. “C4.”

  “Miss,” he says with a sigh.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” He pushes the board aside and reaches for my knee.

  I quickly pull away my legs. “Don’t touch me.”

  Once the words are out, it’s too late to take them back. Louis shoots me a hurt look and slides off the bed.

  “I should go. I’ll see you around, crazy girl. WhatsApp me if you need anything.”

  I don’t try to stop him or even apologise. I turn up the music, and sway my head from side to side in time to the beat. If I’m honest, it feels good to hurt him. It’s a power I’ve never had before.

  It’s better than being the one who gets hurt.

  Finlay

  CITY CENTRE, FRIDAY

  I never thought the guy had it in him, but Monkey managed to book us a show tonight at the Sky Club in town. I’m nervous as hell, but this was meant to be.

  I smoke a spliff in the car while Monkey drives like an idiot. He parks like one too.

  I fall out of the passenger door and right myself before a group of girls strolls past, filling my nose with perfume. I want to zombie-lurch after them but Monkey throws his arm around my neck and they get away.

  We hit the club and I head straight for the bar. Some Dark Father fans come over and insist on buying me a drink. And then another. And another. I shouldn’t be partying on a gig night but I don’t want to listen to that tiny whisper of reason. I don’t even know what I’m drinking or how much time passes. I just pick up each glass and knock it back.

  Monkey grabs me by the shoulders. “It’s time, dude. They’re calling us to go on.”

  Jesus, I can’t even see properly. I follow him to the artists’ area and lean on a chair so I don’t fall over.

  “Is he okay to go on?” I hear one of the sound guys say to Monkey. “Dude looks pretty wasted.”

  “He’s fine – it’s all part of the persona. Trust me.”

  Heavy hands push me onto the stage. I look down and realise I’m holding a mic. Fuzzy, expectant faces watch me from the dance floor.
/>   I look back at Monkey on the decks and nod. Or I think I do. The beat starts to play and I lift the mic.

  “I’m Odin Son, assholes.”

  The crowd screams, which is all the encouragement I need.

  “Hey, bitch. Know what you did to me?

  You destroyed me. Broke me.

  Don’ wanna live no more.

  Know what? Who gives a damn?

  You a heartbreaker. Deal breaker.

  Good-for-nothin’ nobody who don’t deserve me.

  I’m better now you’re gone.”

  I look up to see a sea of confused faces staring at me. I stand there, holding the mic, trying to remember the actual words of the song. What did I just say anyway? I turn back to Monkey, who’s raising his arms in question.

  I shrug. “What track is this?” I ask into the mic.

  Feedback screeches through the speakers.

  That’s when the first boo sounds. It’s all spinning. I look at the crowd and realise that half of the people have already walked away. Some of them are still standing hopefully at the front, thinking this is all part of the act. I stagger forward, thinking I can say something to bring the rest back, but I trip over the mic cord and fall on my face. When I open my eyes again, I’m being hauled off the stage covered in vomit.

  Angry faces swim before me. I throw back my head and close my eyelids.

  WHEN I WAKE up I’m in the passenger seat of Monkey’s car. He’s standing outside the club arguing into his phone.

  I rub my eyes and realise I can see in single vision again. While Monkey’s back is still turned, I open the door and slip out. Maybe some chick will buy me another drink. Oh wait, I’m not supposed to call them chicks because they’re not livestock.

  Fuck you, Kayla.

  The bouncer holds out his steel beam of an arm to stop me. I stumble away – I’m in no state for a fight. I walk a couple of blocks up Roeland Street and hear a familiar thump-thump beat. My feet have taken me to The Bunker all on their own.

  “Good job, guys,” I say to my kicks.

  I follow the sound of voices and spot the crowds lining the outside tables.