by L. J. Stock
Liam's Vauxhall wasn't that far ahead. Once I knew what I was looking for, it was a neon sign with flashing arrows. We were sat in the only car in Manchester that was more bloody obvious. Liam's car was a sickly brown, and the fucker had put lime green racing stripes along the side.
"Where is he going?"
"That's what we're going to find out. He does this like once a week, and it's bloody obvious, too. He checks himself out in the mirror at least three times before he leaves."
"He's probably going to see Amelia, mate."
Scott huffed indignantly, down shifting before he took a left. As soon as he was straightened out again, his eyes flickered to me. "You ever known him to make an effort with that tart?"
"Fair point."
Both of us laughed, and although it was genuine, the hollowness I was feeling settled in around midway, forcing me to trail off into a fake cough.
I hated these new stunted emotions I was forced to adjust to. I could be happy as bloody Larry one minute, and in the next breath, I was in my room, listening to some depressing shit because I was feeling guilty about laughing.
Grief was a nightmare. Some days it felt like some arsehole had a knife and was using it as a swizzle stick in my chest, mixing shit up. Other days, I didn't want to get out of bed. I never knew when it was going to happen either.
Scott hung at least three cars back, but I had to figure Liam was focused on whatever he was doing because he didn't notice us as he pulled up in front of a building. Scott was careful pulling in between a lorry and a transit before slipping out so he could see what was going on. I stayed inside, the window cranked as he looked around the edge of the lorry.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Nope. The fucker got out and is stood off to the side, staring at another building.”
“The mystery continues,” I said quietly before relenting and slipping out of the car. Pulling the hip flask that Scott gave me at the funeral from my pocket, I sipped from it. The burning was now a familiar friend in my endeavour to forget, or feel something, or keep up the numbness. I wasn’t certain what I wanted anymore, at least not until I saw her. When I saw her, I knew exactly what I was feeling.
Her was a beautiful blonde, her wayward hair flying around her as she linked her arm through another girl’s. Her was a beautiful smile, and an even more engaging laugh that involved every one of her teeth, her head thrown back, exposing the long, porcelain skin of her elegant neck. She didn’t dress like any of the girls I knew. The almost tomboyish appearance was alluring, the mystery of her covered by all those layers - a Foo Fighters One by One t-shirt and a pair of converse that looked well worn and well loved, calling to every sense I had.
She wasn't just out of my league; she was out of my solar system. A lass like that wouldn't so much as look at me, but that didn't stop me wanting a closer look.
I didn’t realise I’d stepped out until Scott grabbed me by the back of my shirt and tugged me back behind him. He didn’t even bother swearing at me, just chuckled and shook his head. “You got it bad, lad.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever, loser. You can lie to yourself but trying to lie to me is just useless.”
“Fucker.”
“Twat,” he laughed. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m bored.”
Leaning forward, I took another look at the smiling blonde before retreating to the car and slipping inside, rubbing the back of my neck as Scott pulled out and turned around before we were spotted by Liam. The moment Scott turned on the radio, I tuned out. The draw of the mystery blonde stayed with me for a while, but another swig of the flask and she started fading, while my eyes took in the shapes of the city around us.
This looking but not seeing shit was how it had been for the two weeks following Mum’s funeral. I moved around in a haze, going to work and operating like a robot. People spoke but I didn't listen at all. I was just a ghost, counting down to the moment I was out of there and could get a couple of bevvies in me. The alcohol was an enabler for the mental paralysis I was embracing. The only thing that gained even a spark of emotion was my kid brother, and he'd found a way to fill the void. He'd started working with Dad, continuing the education of family mechanics we'd been receiving most of our lives.
That night was the first time Scott succeeded in getting me out of the house, and even then it was under duress. I didn’t want to see all those faces I knew throughout my school career. The once respectful nods of acknowledgement would be replaced by pitied stares, and the whispered confirmations that I was the lad that just lost his mum. I could almost hear the echoes of them in the back of my mind.
"First person to act like I'm a fucking charity case and I'm out, Scott."
"E, mate, we're not going to a party with pensioners. Just a bunch of good, old-fashioned, selfish bastards, too caught up in their own shit to give a fuck about yours."
The two of us looked at one another and laughed, all of the tension rolling away as I relaxed and tapped out the beat of the song with my feet. I should have known better. The committee of neighbours had been parading through the house for the last two weeks, delivering casseroles and consolation for my loss. They made it sound as though I’d misplaced something rather than lost the one stable figure in my life. They were constantly inquiring as to how we were getting on, which was all well and good, but when you were trying to find normalcy, commiserations thoroughly threw a spanner in the works. Scott would never have put me in that position, and if I’d been thinking right, I’d have known it. I’d have seen the act of kindness for what it was: a distraction. How was he supposed to know I was excelling at feeling lonely in a crowded room at that point?
I don’t know what I expected to feel when we finally made it to the party. A mere three weeks earlier, I would have felt a buzz of adrenaline for what the night was going to hold for me, a quiet anticipation that manifested itself in the pit of my stomach. If that’s what I expected that night, I was completely wrong. I just found myself irritated that we had to park so far away, oddly lethargic as we walked up the hill, and mildly annoyed at the trashy people lingering around, ruining the beats of the music pouring from the house that flashed like a paddy wagon. My only motivation to keep going was to not let Scott down.
Inside the house was just as disappointing as outside. There were bodies packed into the place, making the air humid and oppressive. The smell of sweat, cigarettes, alcohol and faint traces of pot lingered in the air around us until I felt claustrophobic. All four walls inched closer together the deeper we explored. The air was stifling. It was the middle of bloody August and there was nothing but open windows for circulation.
The music was the only thing the party had going for it, the drum and bass making it impossible to think, mainly because I couldn't hear my internal monologue, let alone focus on anything for too long. The shit I’d been listening to for the past few weeks had been what Scott would call “loner music.”
He shoved me towards the kitchen, with a grin and a nod of his head answering the glare I aimed at him. Scott let it slide like water from a duck’s back, his laughter so loud it was drowning out the shouted conversation going on next to us. When I didn’t move, he rolled his eyes and slipped in front of me, walking backward, his arms spread wide.
"Let's get a couple of bevvies, mate."
It was the best idea he'd had yet, so I pushed past him and took point, shoving bodies aside to get in there faster, needing something to take the edge off. My flask was for emergencies only, and with all the alcohol lingering around that house, it wasn’t needed at all. A hop, skip and a jump, and I found myself through the arch and inside what was supposed to be the holy land for teenage drinkers.
It was falsely advertised.
I regretted the moment I stepped into the quaint, country themed room.
Jessica Gregory was sat on the tiled kitchen island, her short skirt looking more like a belt around her crossed legs as she drank in the attention of
the lads sniffing around her. My body turned automatically, but before I could leave and escape her attention, she called out, having already seen me.
"Ethan Walker?" she purred, pushing the two lads to the side, sliding from the counter and slithering toward me like the snake she was. "How are you, babe?"
The girl made my skin crawl. She was a parasite and I wanted nothing to do with her. I could have handled her myself, but with my lack of filter it was probably best I didn't. Thankfully, Scott came to the rescue, his hand on my shoulder as he stepped in front of me and turned her around.
"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Jess. The answer is still no."
"Fuck off, Scott. What are you, his conscience?"
"No, I'm his friend, and he doesn't need the likes of you sniffing around."
I shrugged at her, a sardonic smile plastered on my face as I turned to grab a couple of beers. This was a battle Scott and I had fought since she'd shown up at school in year eight. She'd been up on my balls since, but I stayed well away. She would fuck anything that could give her free drugs, and I wasn't that hard up.
We left the kitchen as soon as humanly possible, leaving her and her whining voice as she started chatting up the boys that had been panting over her. Poor lads didn’t know what they were doing, but that wasn’t our problem. She’d been notorious in school. After the rounds of the party circuit, she’d be just as disreputable with the rest of Manchester, too.
Scott and I made circuits through the house, the people I knew raising a bottle and offering a nod to say, "get shitfaced and have fun, mate." I planned on doing exactly that, because sobriety wasn't all it was cracked up to be these days. It also didn’t help that the cloying smoke that was starting to gather in the room was being a killjoy, making my head thud dully. Scott, however, was just getting warmed up.
"Fuck me, mate. Look at her," he stage whispered, pointing out a brunette with huge tits, surrounded by her entourage of wannabes. "I'll be right back."
He gave me a look that asked if I was going to be alright without him, and I pushed him away with a wooden laugh and told him I didn't need a babysitter. His sudden look of concern made me dig deep for a smile that looked genuine. I didn’t need anything but the exit, but he needed the added encouragement, so I gave it to him. I managed to pull it off. He gave me a grin and a nod before cutting through the crowd to the growing posse around the chippie.
Scott was my biggest contender for the ladies. He was a smooth bastard that could make a girl feel like the only person in the room, and as I watched, he did exactly that, her body leaning and her eyelashes fluttering. Her easy laughter meant she was his, and he knew it, too. I gave him a raise of my beer in congratulations before looking for anything that would hold my attention long enough to give me a reprieve.
It’s funny, but I’d like to think that if I'd been paying attention that night, I probably would have noticed the bottomless beer I was sucking on.
I didn’t go back to the kitchen once, but my bottle seemed constantly full. Maybe I didn’t notice because I was distracted, or drunk. Maybe I was too fucking lost in my own head to take in my surroundings, but none of that shit mattered. By that point, it was too late. The damage was done.
It wasn't until I found myself swaying to the music and felt the unnatural tingle in my body as people shoved past me that I realized something wasn't right. Surely I should be feeling claustrophobic stood here like this, bodies writhing around me like a pit of snakes. Yet, I felt lost in the friction, a warm feeling running from my toes and spreading through my body until I was reaching out and physically seeking interactions with complete strangers. Everything was a little brighter and more intense, and my cheeks hurt from the smile that was plastered to my face. Part of me thought it was weird, but I couldn’t grasp the thought long enough to follow it through.
I don't know how long I was stood there, sucking on my never-ending beer, but Scott was nowhere in sight. I’d lost him somewhere in the crowd that looked like an ebbing tide of multi colours working to the beat of the music.
"Feeling better, Walker?" Jessica asked, appearing in front of me. She materialised out of nowhere, her hands sliding up my chest, sending little sparks through my body until I shuddered and leaned closer. "You feel good, don't you?"
My head seemed to bob on my shoulders without permission. The touch did feel good, like a thousand hands all working over me in unison, coaxing my body into a state of relaxation I wasn’t entirely sure I was ever going to find again. I probably should have questioned why I didn't expect those emotions again, but the thought was gone as her hands moved up over my shoulders and into my hair. When her blunt nails scratched at my scalp, I was hard enough to have to readjust my jeans. I’d never felt anything like it in my life, and I just wanted more.
"That's it. Just go with it." She giggled, pulling my head down to meet hers.
The kiss was like petrol to an open flame, little pulse points dancing all over my body until I was practically dry humping her right there in the middle of the room. I was oblivious to pretty much everything but the sensations that were making me feel so euphoric. She was a sloppy kisser, but it didn't matter all that much to me in that moment.
"I can help you forget. Do you want to forget?"
I nodded automatically, clinging to the first tendrils of life I'd felt inside myself since Mum died. Her clammy hand slid into mine and tugged me from the spot I'd been occupying, and I felt the sudden need to plant my hands in her frizzy hair, grinning as it felt like pure silk against the tips of my fingers.
Her responding giggle had me pressed against her back, my hips thrusting slowly as we both groaned and hummed out in pleasure.
I felt like I floated up the stairs, the altitude making me giddy as we stumbled together, hands roaming over bare spots of skin, the ghostly fingers continuing to where she hadn't reached yet. It was like there were a thousand of the damn things, groping and massaging until I was so horny I could have fucked anything just to get rid of the ache in my dick.
Jessica led us into a room, both of us falling over one another, peeling each other's tops off so we could rub our chests together as we lay on the bed. Our laughter rang out and reverberated from the walls to add to the gentle stroking on the, now naked, flesh of our bodies. The feeling gave me life in a way I hadn't expected it to, and I wanted more and none of it all at the same time.
"Open up, Walker." Jess cooed, placing something on my tongue and pushing up my jaw. "That's a good boy. You just needed a little help."
Through the haze of feeling and every touch and stroke of her hand against my naked chest, my rationality finally questioned what I'd just done.
"What…?" The words trailed off into nothing as I became fascinated with the glorious explosion in my mouth at the formation of speech. Vibrations tingled through me, convincing me I needed more. Slowly, as she took control, the sensations strengthened once again and I was kissing her back, my hands running over her soft skin until there wasn't air between us.
"Just a little pick-me-up. You've been rolling most of the night." She giggled again, the sound adding to my distracted fascination. "Hope you don't mind."
In that moment, I didn't. I'm not sure why every one of my morals was flushed down the toilet, but all I could think about was how alive my body was - how I was feeling everything and actually enjoying it. There was only one inkling of doubt in my mind, but it lasted all of a second as she unbuttoned my jeans, sending another flare of vibrations through my body.
Maybe if I'd had a choice, I would never have done it. I'd like to think I'd have turned her down and found a way to cope. I wasn’t given a choice though, not really, and that night was a catalyst to a path full of heartache that I could only blame myself for.
Hangovers I could handle. Hangovers were easy in comparison to what I felt when my eyelids tore themselves apart so I could peer around the room and answer the question as to where the fuck I was. I had some brief flashes of the night befor
e, and my head almost twisted right off my neck as I turned to look at the source of warmth draped over my chest.
Jessica fucking Gregory.
Jessica, drugs, the touching and sex, all flooded back into my consciousness at the same time and made my stomach lurch. Of all the fucked up situations to find myself in, this wasn’t one I’d anticipated. Prison was actually higher on the list than this scenario. It was actually preferable, too.
Whatever I’d taken was still in my system, lingering around the edges, contradicting the thoughts of disgust when I looked at the pale flesh draped across mine. My body was accepting the warmth, processing it into some crazy comfortable feeling and begging me not to move yet, while my head was reminding me just who was in the bed with me.
My head eventually won, and my body seemed to catch up with the logic, all the warm fuzziness curling into something cold and nefarious. The chilling numbness finally settled around me again so not even the disgust made an appearance.
Unable to stay where I was much longer, I rolled the source of heat away from me, half pushing and half sliding out from under her. I must have stood by the bed scratching the back of my head for a full minute before stumbling around the room, trying to find my clothes in the right order. I’d only just pulled my jeans on when I heard the rustle of the sheets in the bed behind me. I should have known I didn’t have any luck. If she was going to wake up, it was inevitably going to be with me in the room so she could brag about it.
“I hate to see you covering up that arse, Walker. Leaving so soon?”
“I’d say I’ve been here too long already.”
She laughed, the cackle grating on my nerves as I dropped to the bed to pull on my t-shirt, revealing my socks in the folds of material. The sense of suffocation surrounded me so quickly that my lungs started to ache with the mild panic that seized me. I could do this. I could get out of here and scrub my memory. It was a mistake, just like the drugs I’d let her give me.
Arranging my features into a polite smile, I looked at her over my shoulder and pulled on my boot with both hands before grabbing the next one. I tried to find words, but my brain went on shutdown as my eyes met hers, and I swear I felt my balls shrivel up inside of me. It wasn’t her fault, not this time. I’d let myself get trapped. I should have known better, and I should have left when I had the chance.
