Mine

by S. A Partridge

  “What happened to your arm?” I ask, scratching my nose.

  She doesn’t look away. “I broke it on purpose.”

  The pain jolts through me and I harden my expression. I start to sweat. I need to get away from her. I should start running in the opposite direction, as fast as possible. But my feet stay rooted. Only my eyes flit left and right under my sunglasses.

  “So, that last song. Was that about me? I have a heart, by the way. But people keep breaking it.”

  I exhale through my nose. “Kinda like you broke mine.”

  Her cheeks flush red. “Well, you got me back, didn’t you? After everything you said. After all those times you swore you loved me, begged me to never leave you. Told me you would never abandon me. You dropped me like it was the easiest thing in the world. So we’re even.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “I’m not trying to get even, Kayla. You hurt me badly. I couldn’t see you after that. I’m done.”

  She looks away and gasps, like I’ve struck her. “It was so easy for you, but I can’t … I can’t switch off my feelings. I still love you.”

  “And I trusted you.” My words come out as a bark and she flinches again.

  I want to tell her that it’s been hard for me too. But I’m still too angry.

  She chews on her bottom lip and swallows. “I’m sorry. I’ve tried so many times to explain.”

  “No, you didn’t. Do you know what hard work it was trying to get you to say anything? How difficult it is to have a reasonable conversation with you?”

  She stares at me, eyes glistening. “That’s cold.”

  “So are you!”

  The jab hits home. She turns her face away. “See you around, Fin.”

  In my head I fall to the ground, clutching my chest. I crawl into the foetal position and die slowly as the party carries on around me. Every part of me wants to reach out to her, pull her back and crawl into her like that famous photograph of Joko Ono and John Lennon.

  In reality I carry on walking, the fires of Asgard burning inside me.

  Kayla

  RONDEBOSCH, MONDAY

  Some idiot recorded that song from the weekend and posted the video on YouTube. Not any other song. That song. So now the whole world can share my humiliation. He hates me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. I knew that already, but now it’s there on the Internet, where I can replay it to remind myself again and again what the love of my life thinks of me. What was I thinking going to his stupid show? The memory burns a hole right through my chest.

  But maybe I needed him to be cruel, needed to hear him say that it’s really over. Maybe now I can have closure. I feel empty, like nothing matters anymore.

  It’s my interview at the college in Harfield Village today, and Lorenda thinks there’s a good chance they’ll let me finish matric there. As we park on the street, I notice a couple of punky-looking kids hanging outside smoking. The college is a bleak building on the main road with a high wall and electric fencing.

  Lorenda pulls up her nose.

  “I think I’m going to fit in here just fine,” I say for her benefit.

  We don’t tell the principal the exact circumstances of my expulsion. Lorenda uses phrases like “discrimination against teenagers showing any hint of creativity or individuality”, “white-privileged thinking” and “draconian viewpoints”. I’m actually pretty impressed. She makes it sound like I’m not the crazy person who attacked another student with a sharp instrument.

  The principal, Mrs Mdode, shows us around, but a school is a school is a school. I can’t imagine being happy here or anywhere else.

  Some guy in a black leather jacket and Doc Martens smiles at me as we pass in the passage. Apparently with a face full of scratches and a body covered in scars, I’m still attractive. The thought doesn’t thrill me. Guys should come with warning labels – it would have saved me a lot of heartache.

  A guy will either break your heart or have his heart broken – that’s all there is to it.

  Afterwards, Lorenda and I walk to a Portuguese fish shop and share a chip parcel.

  “I think everything is going to work out,” she says.

  I look at my ma for a long time. I know I’ve been an absolute nightmare to her, and she’s given me just as much grief right back. I’ve hated her for the longest time. But now I can’t help but feel sorry for her. What is she going to do when I’m gone? This world is too cruel for me. I’m tired of the constant misery and the cold, wet sadness that never dries. I feel like I really did fall into that well when I was ten, and all this time I’ve just been trying to claw my way out.

  I don’t tell her any of this. Faced with this challenge, she’s finally trying to be a good mom. A bit too late, but I let her have it. That and some nice memories to hold onto for a change.

  As soon as we get home, I pick up my board and head out and she doesn’t try to stop me.

  I WANT TO skate hard and fast. Want to feel that rush – the only thing that makes me feel alive.

  I attempt one downhill after another and bail several times, hitting my head quite hard on the last fall. I sit on the pavement with my head between my knees and wait for the stars to stop flashing in front of my eyes. The world lurches dangerously. Still, it feels good.

  I pull out my phone and call his number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. I sniff loudly and redial.

  This time he answers.

  My mouth is open but I don’t say anything. I blink back tears and keep the phone next to my ear. I imagine I can hear him breathing. I want to tell him how much I love him, that I’m sorry, that I’m in pain and need help, that I’m heading down a path with a very definite end. But I don’t.

  After about a minute of mutual silence, he hangs up. I don’t call back.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, WEDNESDAY

  Some asshole posted the video of me wailing at Kayla on YouTube, and now everyone’s seen it. Luckily the only person who knows what the lyrics mean is, well, Kayla. I wish I could go back in time and take it all back. I was such a dick. The last thing I want to do is humiliate her. But the damage has been done.

  Marshall thinks I’m a legend. The guy won’t leave me alone. He’s always throwing his arm around my shoulders, telling people we’re going to start our own rap crew. He insists on listening to track after track on my phone.

  “This is dope, my friend. We need to get this on Good Hope FM.”

  I don’t care. Since our altercation at Electro Fest, I’ve been missing Kayla’s ghost. In a weird way, before, it felt like she had never actually left my life. But something has shifted, and it’s left me feeling empty and afraid.

  “I’ll show this to my friend who DJs at Galaxy. He’ll dig it.” It’s breaktime, and Marshall’s talking with an unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, although technically he’s not really smoking.

  No one dares tell him to remove it, including me – but then, I’m not suicidal.

  “So what does Odin Son mean?” he asks.

  I stare at him. “Uh, you know anything about Norse mythology?”

  He scowls. “Norse what?”

  “You know in The Avengers, the blonde guy with the hammer, Thor?”

  “Ja.”

  “Well, Odin was his father.”

  He frowns like he doesn’t understand. “It’s a cool name.”

  I sigh. We both have detention after school. I might follow Marshall’s lead and ditch – he never goes, and nothing ever happens to him. But then I run the risk of Marshall wanting to hang out more.

  I sniff and look the other way. “So, I’m gonna stick around later. I have another detention from Reynolds.”

  He laughs. “Pussy. He won’t do anything to you.”

  I shrug. “I need to get out this place. Can’t repeat again.”

  Marshall laughs. “If I fail, I’m not coming back. Fuck that.”

  I nod. I could so easily become Marshall. There’s nothing I care about anymore
. I was an idiot for thinking music could fill the gaping Kayla-shaped hole in my life.

  We spend the last period talking about all the gigs Marshall is going to organise for this imaginary hip-hop outfit he’s created in his head. I barely hear a word of it – my head keeps replaying that moment on the field when I said I was done and she said she still loved me. And I hit it back to her, and walked away …

  When the bell rings we shake hands and Marshall leaves with all my music copied over to his phone.

  I head to detention and wait out the hour, grateful for the quiet. After a while I close my eyes and see her standing on that field looking at me with that sad expression. I hate myself for causing her so much pain.

  After what I said, I’ll probably never see her again.

  I DON’T GO home after detention. I walk all the way to Kenilworth station and catch a train going in the opposite direction.

  The Company Gardens has a sinister vibe in the afternoon. The homeless and no-goods creep in with the shadows. I obviously fit right in, because no one looks at me twice.

  It seems so long ago since we had that perfect day. I was so happy. The sun doesn’t shine as brightly anymore. I sit on a bench, my hands wedged between my knees, and watch people hurry past.

  I’m sorry for what I said on stage, Kayla. You deserved it, but it wasn’t the right place. You’ve made me so angry. You had my heart and you crushed it.

  I lift my head and chew on my cheek. My eyes are getting wet.

  Damn it, Kayla. Why did you do that to us? We were doing so great. I should have been the one to screw up. It was my biggest fear, like it was inevitable. I knew I was going to break your heart somehow. I never thought you would be the one to …

  I hold my hand over my face and wait for the sobbing to subside. When I move my hand away, there’s a squirrel looking at me sideways.

  “I’ve never felt so close to someone before,” I say out loud.

  The squirrel waits a few seconds to see if I’m going to throw it a peanut. When I don’t, it darts away into a fern.

  I pull out my phone and look at Kayla’s photo. “Hey, baby. Wanna hear about my day?” I miss her smile so much. “I never told you why I wanted to bring you here for our second date. My mom and I came here to feed the squirrels once when I was small. It was just the two of us. She made sandwiches that we ate on the train before we even got here. It’s one of the only happy memories I have of her. I wanted my second happy memory of this place to be with you.”

  I sit with my head bowed, my heart bleeding, trapped in the past.

  Kayla

  CITY CENTRE, SATURDAY

  Dexter has started acting really weirdly towards me. So have Ayanda and Louis. And they’re definitely not as loved up as they used to be. Whoops. I wonder if Dexter told them that we made out. Or some skewed version of the truth, where I seduced him the moment Ayanda was not around. As far as I remember, it was mutual.

  We’re at The Bunker. Again. I’m throwing back shooters, trying not to pay too much attention to the frosty stares directed at me. Ayanda isn’t talking to me at all. She isn’t even looking at me. So she does know. Instead of sitting by my side like he always does, Louis is right at the end of the table. So he knows too, or at least suspects. I am so tired of being the villain.

  Whatever. It was only a matter of time before he gave up on me for good. And it doesn’t matter now. My soul has been pulling me down and I’d rather not drag others down with me.

  Eventually I get up and go hang out by the bar by myself. I thought that having friends would fill the gap and bring me the happiness I wanted. But it didn’t.

  I want Fin. And I can’t have him. Life just isn’t fun anymore.

  I aim a false smile at the barman and pull out a note I stole from Jerome’s wallet. “Shot of Jäger, please.”

  “Can I have some ID?”

  Damn it. “Ah, man, don’t be like that. I didn’t bring it with me. The last time I was mugged and it took ages to get a new one.”

  He gives me a long look. “There’s no way you’re eighteen,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and slide off the barstool. I’ll try the upstairs bar.

  I head up the staircase, sidestepping all the couples, and turn towards the bar. The DJs mostly play drum and bass up here, and the lights create an eerie time-lapse effect. The walls are covered in graffiti-style murals. I follow them with my eyes and spot a slumped figure on the ground leaning against the corner. My whole body seizes, like it’s been hit by a freeze ray.

  I know by the worn soles of his shoes that it’s Fin.

  And I can tell that something’s wrong. He’s clearly wasted. His eyes are barely open; he’s too trashed to even move.

  I crouch down on my haunches. “Hey, wake up, Fin. You don’t look so good.”

  His head slowly rises. He looks at me through slits. “My ghost is back,” he mumbles.

  He’s clearly out of his mind. I only have one good arm so I grab hold of his wrist and try to pull him up. “Dude, can you try to stand?”

  Miraculously, he listens to me, but he doesn’t react to how I addressed him. He gets to his feet with effort and lurches unsteadily.

  “Come on,” I say, tugging his arm. I lead him to the bar and order a bottle of water. I unscrew the lid and hand it to him. “Drink this.”

  He takes it and sways before putting it to his lips, spilling water all down his front.

  The waitress slides over my change. “I’d get him outside if I were you, before the bouncers find him. He picked a fight with one of them earlier.”

  I nod and manage to get Fin onto his feet. I lead him downstairs and into the quiet courtyard behind the stage, where couples usually go to make out undisturbed. He collides with a barrel filled with sand where people throw their cigarettes, and vomits inside it. I don’t look. It takes a while for him to get it all out. I catch him as he staggers back and lead him to a bench to sit him down. I press the water bottle back into his hands.

  “Drink,” I say.

  He nods and swallows a few mouthfuls. He looks at me blearily. “Why are you doing this?” he asks.

  “Because you did it for me once.”

  I look away and sigh. Any minute he’s going to be sober enough to tell me which cliff to jump off.

  But he doesn’t. He leans over and I sit watching over him silently. He might have abandoned me, but I couldn’t just leave him upstairs in this state. After a while he throws his arms around my neck and rests his head on my shoulder. His smell is like an unexpected stab in the dark. When he passes out I don’t push him away but let him sleep it off, knowing that when he wakes up he’ll probably be okay to get home.

  My friends don’t come looking for me. But it’s okay. There’s nowhere else I want to be right now and no one else I want to be with. I’ve missed his smell so much. I close my eyes and remember what it was like when he used to hold me like this because he loved me. I know I’m stealing this moment – he doesn’t want me anymore.

  “I have to tell you something, Fin,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond.

  “I need to say goodbye. Properly, because I know you don’t want to speak to me anymore.” I wipe away a tear. “But I want you to know that what we had meant everything to me. I know you think I’m cold and detached, but I’m not. There’s so much more to me than that, but I don’t trust people. It’s … it’s hard for me to let go of that. I think I thought that if I sabotaged things, I would save myself from getting hurt. I was afraid. But I’m finally going to take control of my own happiness. I’m going to take the leap I should have taken ages ago.

  “Try not to hate me forever. We had some good times. The best times, actually. Our love was crazy, but it was real. Hold on to that and remember me. Because I love you, and I’m never going to love anyone else again.”

  Funny how I can only tell him how I’m feeling when I know he can’t hear me. We sit side by side as the courtyard empties out and the sky turns pink.
/>   I steal one last kiss before I leave him.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, SUNDAY

  I open my eyes and wish to God I was still asleep. My head is throbbing like there’s molten lava inside it. I roll on my side so I can throw up onto the carpet, but nothing comes out. My throat is raw. It takes a moment for the memories of last night to filter through to my brain.

  I was at The Bunker running away from the bouncers. Some of the guys from a ska band that was at Electro Fest bought me drinks. And then it all goes blank. Except that I know Kayla was there.

  I breathe heavily, trying to remember if it was real or a dream that she took me outside and sobered me up. I vaguely remember messaging Monkey to come get me.

  I wish it was just a dream. I wish I could have stayed oblivious. But at the same time I’m relieved that her ghost is back, that she hasn’t left me, even after I told her to get out of my life.

  I groan and roll onto my back, covering my eyes with my hands to keep out the harsh light that is streaming through the windows.

  It takes a long time for me to get out of bed. The old man is in his usual position in the lounge, sitting in front of the TV wearing a dirty pair of jeans and nothing else. The room smells like stale beer and sweat. He looks up at me and doesn’t say anything. Just turns his gaze back to the wrestling.

  I continue to stare at him. He hasn’t hit me again. I don’t think he wants to, knowing I can hurt him right back. That was my rebellion, but I should never have stooped to his level. I crossed a line and now I hate myself for it – I don’t want to be the guy who kicked the crap out of his own father. I don’t think he realises just how much this has changed me. That I’ve become just like him.

  But I’m not afraid of him anymore.

  I leave the house and wander the streets, burned up. Inside I’m lost, but I follow the highway to Access Park and walk past the ice-cream shop six times before psyching myself to go inside. There’s a kid with glasses and a long fringe behind the counter. He looks up in fright as I approach.