I roll my eyes. Her trying to be serious is like a clown trying to tell you he’s just there to keep you company; I’m always on the lookout for her to jump out at me.
“Most Mums wouldn’t freak at being called ‘Mum’.”
“Your sarcasm is epic, daughter.”
“Mary?”
She turns, the slightest bit of concern in her lined forehead. “Mmm?”
“I keep my promises. Come back high off your rocker and fuck up again? I’m taking the boys for the night until you come to your senses.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mum.”
“Say you love us.”
She replies, “You know I do.”
That’s the problem. She is happy, fun, stupid, crazy, loud and boisterous. But not once, for weeks or months or maybe a year, have I heard her say “I love you” sober. I’m too worried about her coming back drunk and high to worry about that, though.
• • •
When I’m awoken by girly laughter at some point later, dread sinks my heart. Heavy after waking from sleep, I’m slow and out of it until I see the time: 1.00 am.
Fucking idiot.
I flick on the lights and walk with my forearm thrown over my eyes until it’s not blinding anymore and my vision adjusts. I pad up the carpeted hallway in my socks. At the doorway to the main area, I rest on the doorframe where I can see the front door, and Mum. I’m wary of Mary gone and Mary Jane here instead. This woman, who’s just walked into the house, she’s looked my way but in her current state, she hasn’t seen me.
“Mary Jane?”
Mum winks at me and says, “Just Mary, baby!”
“Shh,” I whisper through grit teeth. I grab her hand and go down to the basement where there is enough wall padding to dampen her shrill voice as it travels the house.
I sniff her breath. She isn’t lying. She reeks of everything—beer, scotch, Baileys. But not weed, and her slurry voice and swaying movements tell me she’s drunk, not high on anything else. It’s a good sign she kept her promise—or, the part where she said she wouldn’t do drugs, at least.
“You blew it,” I say. It’s harsh. I know it. She needs baby steps back to a normal life, but I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember and at nineteen, it’s years past too late to contain all my frustration.
“But I didn’t!” She blows a mouthful of her reeking breath in my face. “See?”
I scoff and sit her down on a ratty old sofa chair. I stand in front of her, arms crossed.
“Tell me why, Mum.”
“It’s Mary, excuse me. And stop being so whiney. It h … hurts my head.” She shows this by cradling her head in her hands, chin dropped to her chest.
“Why can’t I call you ‘Mum’? Why can’t you act like a mum?” I have at least a hundred other questions, but these’ll do for now.
“Darling Kalli, baby dear.” She’s off on a tangent, so I let that run its course. But when she actually replies, I’m so knocked from shock, my next planned questions disappears.
“Because,” she finally says, “that’s a story that will remain untold.”
She’s probably lying, spinning a story.
Remember the feeling of trying to have a serious conversation with a clown? That’s me now. If I fall for her poignant words, she’ll catch me unawares and make a fool of me, and I am not the fuck-up here. Plus, she’s told me she’d give me details about my dad on many of occasions and went on to tell me the story of the Lord Jesus Incarnate.
“Sleep it off down here, will ya?”
I decide to give her a chance. I specified not to come back high and she came home drunk. Not the solution I’d intended, but better than nothing.
The spot where I’d slept before was still warm when I get back. I turn and twist until I’m back in the warm spot and reach for my phone, scrolling aimlessly through apps. I’m bored when I start and uninterested when I plop my phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling in the dark and see no features.
After a time, my mobile beeps. I check who messaged me and it’s Nate. Can’t say I’m surprised. All day my phone burned a hole in my pocket. I checked it mid-practise. I checked it while trying to start a novel that probably wasn’t all too boring, but I haven’t read in a while and my head wasn’t in the right zone, what with me checking my phone more than I turned pages.
Nate’s all sorts of amazing. He texts his dates the same night they go out. He’s that kind of guy. He’ll skip a day of calling or texting, but he’ll be there and his girlfriends never come to me or Scout to try to find out if or why he lost interest. He just never played hard-to-get.
Now I’m the one on his radar, and I hope to God he doesn’t put me on the spot with what I’m thinking.
Nate: Eyy Kall Bell. How was ur day? ;)
Kalli: Some hot photographer got me off on his shoot.
Nate: Sounds like a lucky guy.
Kalli: Technically, I got lucky ;)
Nate: Trust me, he finally got lucky.
I hold my mobile out, re-reading those words with a gaping jaw. I didn’t just understand what I thought I did, surely? My fault for flirting, but I was just mucking around. I decide on calling him. He’ll reject the call if it’s too late to talk.
“Hey.” A muffled whisper comes through the line.
Crap. It’s too late for him to answer yet he did it anyway, for me.
“Hey.”
I gulp and so does he, just as loud. I never realised how direct I was about things that have happened between us until now. I’m stuck, and as awkward as him because I can’t ask if he feels that way since it’s quite possible that he does.
I settle for, “So.”
“So, I think you know I like you, Kall.”
“I know.” I shift the phone under my ear and flip to my side, bringing the sheets under my chin and tucking them in. “I know, I can tell.”
You’re a bitch. I can’t help but think it, since he just laid his feelings out there and this isn’t a throwaway relationship. This is life-changing since my fuck up will end up costing us so much more. I should have been responsible, but in my drunken state I was hot for him and in that crazy place where I need to get what I want: control.
“I’m just a little on the spot right now. Don’t know what to say,” I reply.
That’s my first lie. I do know what I think and what to say, it’s just definitely not the right thing. I have a huge heart for Nate and I’ll protect him at all costs, but what I feel for him has always been friendship. He can’t expect me just to fall in love with him, something I haven’t felt for any other guy, ever, including him.
“It’s all good. I just wanted to tell you. I’m not confessing crazy stupid love for you, Kall. But you’re something else, and you’re this magnetic force. I just …”
His laboured breathing comes through the phone line. Typical me is thinking about where we can duck out to, so we can meet and fuck. I’ve made up my mind. I need to fuck him, so he realises, like I do, that what’s going on is just physical. That way, this “he likes me” mess will go away once the confusion is sorted. I want to bend over and let him have me, and end this crazy turn of events. I want to make him happy and I’m more interested in this fuck than any that I’ve had before. I’ll make it his best time.
That I can do. But letting someone else own me, losing what I have of me is something I squirm away from. I’ve seen it in others. I’ve already given that part of me. I’m not available.
“I love hearing your voice.”
What I catch in that is love.
“I might be addicted to you,” he adds.
I play cool. This doesn’t have to be the start of The End. “You’re quite addictive yourself.”
We hang up and the sound of his voice carries me to sleep, along with the thought that we’re on two different levels, going opposite directions, happening to cross over for a moment. But the moment’s over and tomorrow and every day after we’ll be heading further apart in what we want.
> I have a feeling it will be the start of The End.
8
When Mum leaves me alone with her boyfriend, I want to cuddle my violin case. I can’t explain why, but I need to hold the hard case in my arms, knowing that a shiny, beautiful thing is inside. I’ve never been much of a teddy hugger.
Tonight when Mum says she needs to go shopping I wonder why we need bread and milk if it’s too late to eat them anyway. But her finger shook when she pointed it at me and said she had to go for both of us anyway.
“Plus,” she told me. “He is here anyway.”
I look to Him and would rather be scared and alone than scared and with him.
He says Mum will be gone for long enough so as soon as she leaves, he invites me into their bedroom to finish watching a movie, Killing Me Softly. It’s sorta scary in lots of ways! Not just the normal scary, but there’s lots of kissing and I’m too embarrassed to say how close they get. Even though I’m at the end of the fifth grade, our teacher still won’t let us watch movies if they kiss for more than a second, and boy, they kiss lots here.
“Do you like this sort of movie?”
“No,” I reply. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Kallisto, there’s no need to be embarrassed about these.”
He says “these” as he shows me my little, flat nipples and with his other hand he touches two fingers over the fly of my jeans.
I jerk back, and say, “Don’t touch me there! I do not like this movie or you at all!”
What does he think I am? I won’t make this stupid man happy. I hate him with my mum, I hate him and I hate being with him alone. He stinks like a sweet tobacco smell when he kisses me.
Then next thing I know, he’s whipped up his hand from under the mattress and clicks one side of a pair of handcuffs over my wrists. In the next moment I stare at my wrist in shock and yank, but he’s thrust me closer to the metal headboard and clicks the other side in place there.
I have many questions for why he does this.
Why are you doing this to me?
Why do you like me? Or hate me?
Why not cuff my other hand so I don’t cat claw you down your bare chest?
Why does that thing suddenly spring up after you take it out of your pants and get long and hard?
Many things start to happen but they’re all sort of hazy after. Except that door. That door is shut and locked and my prison. I look at that closed door and think, If Mum was here or anyone else, this wouldn’t happen because I know they’d get this stinky man off me.
Then I just count.
9
“Hoes and bros party!” I tell Scout, speaking into her ear.
It’s not too loud but she jumps back and rubs the side of her head. “You’re the hoe. What was that for?”
Maybe I’m more excited than I realise. But I need a distraction from everything, and parties always help.
I settle down in the dorm on her roomie’s bed and cross my legs. Her roommate either thinks I’m contagious or is one of the many who steer clear from my path. I have a “stay away” vibe. Today Scout’s roomie took one look at me as I appeared at their door, then she gathered whatever was in front of her into her shoulder bag and darted out.
The room is tight, but cosy with just the two of us when we have a bed to ourselves. I drop my hands on my lap and wait with expectant eyes.
Scout eyes me back warily but I start explaining. “To help you get excited with me.”
Scout chews on her lip, digesting this. “Yeah, but don’t we have more than enough parties at uni? I’m falling behind on an assignment. I’ve got two due early next week, and I’ve only started one.”
Deciding I’m too far, I grab three pillows and stuff them on the floor a couple of feet from Scout and sit in position. Reaching out to grab her leg, I say, “We can use that as an incentive! You help me with my assignment and I’ll help you with yours, then we part-ay.”
The one good thing about Scout and I is we are as dedicated to rocking out at parties as we are at the serious issues. I play mum often enough to realise nothing comes easy or free. And when you get it, it’s only after pushing yourself further than you thought you could.
Scout’s parents were rich enough to pay for all Scout’s university needs. That said, her dad’s had two affairs, her mum had one afterwards out of spite, and her sister overcame a near drowning as a toddler. Her family hasn’t always been happy or privileged.
Suddenly, Scout’s stiff facial features crack and a smile peeks at the corner of her mouth. I always know how to convince my best friend.
“No, no, missy. I know exactly why you’re doing this. It makes complete sense now.”
Uh-oh. What have I done to myself?
“You want an excuse to shake your slutty ass at that Donovan guy again! I saw him watching you on campus this week.”
I realise my first response shouldn’t have been, “He did?” but rather, “No, I have forgotten about him.” Oops! Too late now.
“Oh, yeah. You know when you had that tight miniskirt on? Man, I think he dialled ninety degrees and watched you until you became a haze in the distance. I literally could have sat on him like he was a bench.”
Since I have her leg, I yank and she comes tumbling to the floor with all her limbs flailing everywhere. She gets on her knees and starts punching me, but her arms are the size of Heidi Klum’s so I assume a Barbie would hurt more if it were thrown at me. My spaghetti arms are no different so we slap around on the floor, cracking jokes, each a lower blow than the last.
“You want Donovan hard.”
“You want that chick you licked up at that last party.”
“You want to taste Donovan’s sweaty, hairy balls!”
“You’re a lesbo who wants to lick that chick’s—”
At that, Scout comes flying over me and clamps a hand to my mouth, which I lick at. This removes her fast and effectively.
She’s strangely quiet after this. She offers me a smile, which I’m as likely to accept as her choosing a silver ring over a gold one. She mumbles something and starts fixing up the sheets and clothes and objects strewn everywhere.
“Hey, Scout,” I say tenderly, stopping her from spring-cleaning her already clean room. “I’m sorry if I took the joke too far. I haven’t met her, and if you like her it doesn’t bother me one bit. In fact, I’m happy because I think it’s time you had another partner. That Jack guy wasn’t worth your time or this nine-month abstinence from relationships.”
Just weird that she got so defensive like that.
“Come on, I don’t like her, Kalli. Ack. I’m not a lesbian.”
I wink. Good point. Now I feel bad for insinuating she wasn’t straight. “Touché.”
Scout winks back.
We sit on the bed and talk. Donovan, Nate, Mum, her sister, Steph.
“Hey, I need to know about Nate. Has he said anything to you about me?”
“Did you fuck it up?”
“Scout, I’m great at fucking things up. It’s so weird between us.”
“I won’t say I told you so.”
I feign anger and slap a fist to her mattress. “You just did!”
“Anyway, what I meant to say before we got sidetracked is I do not want Donovan. He’s so great at kissing, so I’m sure it’s all he can do.”
“Ahh, so quick to judge.”
We chat some more until I get back to the party topic. The truth is, I’m not put off by Nate’s interest in me. I’m just keen to show him how wild I can get. I get a kick from the sickest things: the thought of him trying to hide an erection in public, or his flustered face when he sees a part of my body that should be covered.
I’m determined to keep him as my friend. I know my other uni friends bag me out about my latest hook ups, but Scout and Nate never talk about me behind their backs, and it’s little things like that that show true friendship.
I tell myself this change in where we stand doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I like change, I l
ike being on my toes and not knowing what comes next. Once I thought so long and hard about that night Mum went to get groceries and He was with me in their room that my nausea tortured me. For a whole day at school I couldn’t eat a thing—not even breakfast that morning—I wasn’t hungry, but knew I should eat.
That night, I got on my knees in front of the toilet and shoved my fingers down my throat. I’m not sure why not much vomit came up because surely I had some food in me, and when I panicked I was hollow inside and scratched until I bled. Red, watery bile spewed from my mouth.
I know I shouldn’t have felt satisfied, but for once after so much obsessing and thinking and hurting, it was over.
Let me tell you, nothing—nothing—will ever feel better than release.
The power.
The satisfaction.
It’s a dangerous addiction.
10
Later that week, Mum says she needs a fun day for us as a family. She starts the day by bringing a cup of steaming tea to the coffee table in front of my seat, and we watch TV together. Cool outside but toasty in here with the heater on, morning rays stream from the decking and through the glass sliding door, spilling over the tiles. It’s like someone has brought the sun too close, especially since we’re in autumn, but then I realise Mum’s gone to the effort of drawing back the curtains and I love it.
She asks if I want to come to the pools with her and the boys and it takes me a few seconds to answer, hindered by my shock. Only Mum can allow herself to want to get better, and I’m all for fun if it includes wild waves at the water centre with the twins, her and I.
When we arrive, Seth writhes in my hands, his shoulders slipping free first, and he waves his arms toward the water he’s so desperate for. Since it’s the baby pool he’s headed for and we’re only several feet away, I let him go, and drop my pants, button-down sweater and tank top into my bag while keeping an eye on him then join in.
Tristan? He’s always been an ass to get in water. Baths are now tolerable.
“Noo,” he shrieks. “Please Mummy!”
Being Kalli Page 6
