by Olivia White
"Come on, don't chicken out on me now," my best friend whispers in my ear.
"Hmm, okay, alright I'll play," I tell her, my heart beating slightly faster. I am nervous.
We are standing in the kitchen. Abby Callahan is standing next to me, sipping a glass of vodka and coke. It is her house. It is her party. She can cry if she wants to, like the song goes. But Abby Callahan doesn't cry, she makes other people cry. It's her specialty She is the most notorious bitch in the whole of Lower Sixth. And she's my best friend.
I pick up my drink and casually take a sip from it, trying not to grimace at the taste of the alcohol. Abby barely notices, she barely notices me anyway, even though I'm supposed to be her best friend. She's too busy looking at her reflection in the glass door, checking that her makeup is perfect and her long blonde hair isn't out of place. Even for a seventeen year old, Abby is overly obsessed with her appearance. She reaches and pulls her top downwards, tightening it, accentuating her already generous breasts. She smoothes her shorter than short skirt and turns to me. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I'm sure I see her cast a critical eye over my body, lingering on my considerably smaller chest, my clothes that aren't quite as designer as hers. Sometimes I wonder if she just hangs around with me out of pity. I'm not as pretty as Abby. Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm unattractive, but I just can't match up to the daughter of the town's richest man, or at least a pretty well-off one. My short brown hair never looks as beautiful as her golden locks, my face always looks false in makeup, I don't look anywhere near as good in a bikini. Sometimes I wonder if I'm jealous.
"Right, come on stupid, lets go," Abby says snidely. "We'd better go back to the party for a while before we go upstairs."
She grabs my wrist and pulls me from the kitchen. I barely have time to slide my glass onto the counter.
We walk onto the patio of Abby's garden, arm in arm, both with beaming smiles on our faces. We have to keep up appearances.
About thirty people are at the party, some standing at the buffet table, eating the finest food and talking. Some are dancing to the pop compilation CD that Abby put on, together or in couples. I see some very close, intimate slow dances going on. The rest of the people are fooling around in the pool, splashing each other and flaunting their new swimwear. These, I think to myself, are the beautiful people. Sometimes I wish I wasn't part of this. The rest of the time I'm grateful that I have Abby to make me popular.
Abby walks away from me to talk to people at the buffet table and I'm left alone. People walk past me and smile, quickly greet me, but no-one is actually talking to me. Suddenly I feel self-conscious about how low the neckline of my top is and I pull it up, covering flesh. I remember back to earlier in the day when Abby had pulled it down, demanding that I follow her example and 'show a bit of tit'.
I glance over at Abby. She's talking to Stuart Priestly across the buffet table. She is leaning across at such an angle that Stuart can see directly down her top and he's not hiding the fact that his eyes are fixed there. Stuart's girlfriend Chloe looks on in anger, but she can't do much about it, really. This is Abby. Abby gets away with everything.
The patio is illuminated with lanterns strung up all around. They cast a warm glow on the partying teenagers. For a late September night, it is pretty warm. Oh God, how sad am I, thinking about the weather at a party? Inside I feel hollow, like an empty vase or some other dramatic teenage girl cliche. I keep thinking 'I don't belong here'. I feel this more and more lately. But I'm in Abby's group, and Abby's grip. If I go against her, even just try to drift away, my life at school will be hell. She will stop at nothing to make me miserable. I remember what she did to her last best friend, who stole her boyfriend. Or gave him 'the eye'. Or maybe just brushed past him in the corridor. Not content with just slashing her bike tires and rubbing chili powder in her knickers, Abby and two friends grabbed Lucy (the girl) whilst she was showering after PE and threw her into the boy's changing rooms. It was, understandably, very unpleasant for Lucy, who was too afraid to tell on Abby. She ended up getting the blame herself. I mean seriously, how fucking stupid is that? Why would she do that out of choice?
I shudder, thinking about what I would feel if that happened to me. I think I'd die. Suddenly the night seems colder, and I look over at Abby. She is laughing out loud with a group of boys, tossing her blonde hair. She looks sinister there, like a beautiful witch. Bitch. Either/or. Quickly I turn away before she calls me over. And in the corner I see him, alone and afraid. Maybe. I shake my head, uncertain if I am right. I look again. It is him.
Andy Rogers sits on a chair in the corner, a glass of lemonade in his little hand. I have no idea what he is doing here.
Andy Rogers is the 'weird' kid in our year. He's short, just over four foot something, and he hardly EVER speaks. He has dirty blonde hair and breathes through his mouth. He has bad teeth. Abby takes the piss out of him all the time, sometimes behind his back but more often right to his face. And this party is invite only. I have no idea why he is here. I'm about to go over and ask him when something else catches my eye. Abby is madly flirting with Travis White, the guy I told her I like. SHE KNOWS I LIKE HIM! Or pretend to anyway. It's a lie, but it's not the point. She's all over him, standing really close to him so her breasts occasionally rub his shoulder, 'casually' placing her hand on his arm, laughing at everything he says. She looks over at me, a scornful, mocking look on her face and at that moment I hate her. I really hate her, and want to kill her. She's such a bitch, my 'best friend'.
What a slut.
I go and join some other friends sitting by the pool, to pass the time until Abby comes and gets me. She wants to play a game.
"Go on up to the attic. I'll be up in a minute with the other players."
Abby puts emphasis on the end of the last word there, creating a double meaning. I want to punch her. I make my way up the large staircase. The sounds of the party fade away, and the sound from upstairs gets louder. I hear some kind of rock song playing, one by the Whiskey Shooters, maybe. The sound drifts through a closed oak door. And it's the only thing in the way between me and the real reason I hang around with Abby. Her brother. His name is Kevin Callahan, he's eighteen, and gorgeous. He's nothing like Abby and her friends. He's dark, he's mysterious, he listens to decent music. And I love him. He has long black hair and a goatee. You know the type, but less generic than that. He is so funny, so intelligent. So nice. He's the reason I come to Abby's house so often, in the hope that he'll notice me. He's pleasant enough to me, but I think I must be too young.
I stand here contemplating this, and thinking about what it would be like to hold him, to love him, and I do not notice his door swing open.
"Uh, hi Holly," Kevin says, looking at me standing there like an idiot. I blush so hard.
"Hello, Kevin," I say shyly, looking around.
"Enjoying the party?" he asks, gesturing downstairs.
"Oh, yeah I guess. It's cool. Abby asked me to go up to the attic."
"Uh huh, right," Kevin says, looking amused. "Well, go have fun then." He tips me a wink, and I melt inside. I wonder if… no.
I leave Kevin and make my way up to the attic. The room is split into two, a closet and a small area which Abby uses to hide from her parents and smoke pot. There are a few beanbags littered around, and I grab one and sit down. I sit there thinking about Kevin for a while… just thinking, okay? Then Abby arrives, with some other people. My heart leaps, she has brought Travis White up (what can I say, I know I can't have Kevin so I might as well keep my options open!) along with Claire Harris, one of her other friends. Also here is Rick Doggett, a good looking older boy, Ben Dawkins, a plump, red faced fellow whom Abby gets to do her homework and Dina Malk, ANOTHER of Abby's friends. And trailing after them is Andy Rogers. I look in puzzlement. Why on earth would Abby bring him?
We're going to play a kissing game. The Americans call it '7 Minutes of Heaven' or something, but we're only playing it for two minutes at a time. English sensibilities and all that.
&
nbsp; "These are the rules," Abby says once everyone is seated. "We spin a bottle and one member of each sex is chosen. They then go into the closet for two minutes, and ANYTHING GOES. There are NO rules once you get into the closet. You can do anything. As long as you agree to this, you have to go along with it. Agreed?"
Everyone nods apart from Andy, who is rocking back and forth in a manner that might be funny if it wasn't so damn creepy. Abby ignores him, and prepares to spin. She holds her hand just above the bottle as it spins, and secretly uses her finger to stop the bottle on me. I am the only one that sees this.
"Holly, you're first up. Let's see who you're with," Abby smirks. "Let's just hope you don't go with creepy Andy."
Andy winces and his eyes glaze over. I almost feel sorry for him. And then I realize what Abby plans.
She had said that we'd play this game, and that she'd get Travis to play. I assumed she meant so I could get with Travis. Now I know she is going to fix it so SHE gets Travis, and I get Creepy Andy. That's why she invited him.
SHE MUST KNOW ABOUT KEVIN. I WROTE IT IN MY DIARY. SHE MUST HAVE READ IT.
My heart sinks as Abby goes to spin the bottle again. She is going to stop it on Andy, I know it.
"Hey Abby!" I call as she goes to spin the bottle. "Catch." I throw a cushion over at her as the bottle spins. In a reflex action she catches the cushion and the bottle lands on Ben Dawkins. I sigh inwardly. Still not THAT pleasant, but better than Creepy Andy. Abby gives me an evil look and says "Well, go on then."
She leads us to the cupboard, and whispers to me "this will teach you for fancying my brother." I feel sick. Now Abby hates me, and I'm doomed. Images of brutality, torture, and decreased social standing flash through my mind.
I step into the cupboard with Ben. Abby shuts the door and begins the timer. Two minutes. Everything is dark. I don't want to touch Ben, I don't want to do anything but die. I can smell his sweat next to me, I feel his hand brush my arm. He shuffles closer to me, and places his other hand on my inner thigh, just below the hem of my skirt which suddenly feels far too short. I'm too numb to move, too sick to care, like a Goth in a toyshop. But! What if I just imagine that Ben is Kevin? Yeah, Holly, that'll work! Just ignore the pudgy, clammy hand edging towards your knickers, or the fact that Kevin doesn't stink of B.O.
Gawd.
Ben's right hand moves from my arm to my neck, and slowly slides down. He's outside my clothes, but still, he's feeling up my boob! Ugh.
His other hand comes up from my leg and grabs my other one. Better than the alternative, I suppose. He's not gentle. He greedily massages them, getting a good feel. Kevin would be a lot softer, I know it. Ben moves his hands down and grasps the hem of my top. I have to play by the rules. I let him take it off. I can just about see his red face in the darkness. I bet he's enjoying this. He slides my shirt off and I'm topless before him. His hands reach up again and feel my naked breasts, his thumbs rubbing my nipples until they're sore. He's so not gentle, remember? Think!
I feel like saying 'they're attached' or 'take a picture, it'll last longer', or 'I'm going to rip your eyes out, you fat fucking shit' and then storming out of the cupboard in a blaze of glory, like the heroine of a 90s sitcom. In fact I think I will I can't take his pawing any more I feel sick get your hands off me you disgusting bastard and I'm about to be sick now when LIGHT FLOODS THE CUPBOARD.
Ben jumps back almost guiltily, leaving me exposed. Travis and everyone are looking in at me as I stand in the closet topless, showing everything more or less. I barely notice that I have been crying and if I was here right now I'd tell her to pull herself together, but oh wait, I am here and it's me. I want to cry some more but everyone is watching. My nipples hurt, goddammit, and I can almost feel Ben's grubby fingerprints on my thigh.
Abby stands and the cupboard door and pulls me out. Ben hands me my shirt almost apologetically. He's walking funny. Ugh, again.
I quickly pull my shirt on, blushing harder than ever before. I can't believe what just happened. I feel dirty. I feel like I want to die or at least have a shower. I avoid the eyes of my peers, pretend that Claire and Dina are not whispering to each other and laughing like the stupid silicone bitches they're bound to become. Pretend that Ben hasn't just been feeling me up.
I sit back down, wishing that a hole would just open in the ground and swallow me up and not just because that would drop me into Kevin's room, possibly his lap.
But no, we have to play the game.
Abby spins the bottle. It lands on her. She is going to fix it so she gets Travis. I hate Abby as of now and forever.
As she spins the bottle, I grab her hand and say "I love your ring, Abby" admiring the silver band. Transparent, like Claire's top? Who cares, I have nothing left to lose. The bottle spins. My heart leaps as it lands on Andy. Creepy Andy. Abby gives me the most evil look ever and I smile. My turn to be a bitch. And I love it.
"No way," she says.
"Oh but you have to. You agreed to the rules. And remember, Andy, ANYTHING GOES. You can do ANYTHING in there." I really want to get revenge on Abby. She deserves it. I giggle.
"I'm going to kill you," Abby hisses at me, but she doesn't want to lose face in front of her guests, even at the expense of her dignity. Not that it would be the first time she lost her dignity.
She grabs Andy's hand. He is looking scared and excited, like a puppy on steroids.
"Anything goes, Andy, you can do ANYTHING!" I shout again as I lock them in the cupboard.
I go back and sit down, looking at the stopwatch. There is no noise in the cupboard.
"I can't believe she went in there with that FREAK!" Travis sulks, looking angry. I think he wanted a piece of Abby but what hormonal teenage boy doesn't?
I don't care about Travis any more. Maybe I never did. Maybe it was just Kevin all along. Travis looks at me in disgust, as if it was MY fault the bottle landed on Andy. Well, uh… oops?
We all fall silent, counting the seconds. Ben keeps looking at me as if he regrets what he did or maybe he's just spent. Ew. We used to be friends. I doubt I could hang around with him now, not after he's had his hands all over my tits. There are just some lines that friends shouldn't cross. I wish I hadn't played this game, I wish I had stayed downstairs, maybe listened to some music with Kevin. If he'd have me. Ooh, not like that. Or maybe, eh.
It's almost been two minutes now. There's been no noise at all from the cupboard. Everyone is silent, trying to hear something. I walk closer to the cupboard, and count down, THREE, TWO, ONE.
"You can come out now," I call to them. Everyone leans forward expectantly. The door doesn't open. "You can come out!" I call again, louder. There is no noise.
I'm going to throw the door open, hopefully catch Abby naked or something, let everyone see HER. Maybe she'll be on her back, legs spread, loving every minute. Maybe we'll startle her with her lips around- No. We'll see.
I open the door. Andy is sitting there, hands resting on his bloated stomach. He is licking his lips and looking content, perhaps happy. He never usually looks happy.
At first I am confused and then I look down. Beside Andy is a pile of bones, licked clean. A human skull rests beside them, a lock of blonde hair still attached to a tiny, sticky piece of scalp. The others peer into the cupboard. Someone screams. Someone is sick. Andy smiles. He sucks his fingers like you do after chicken. He licks a drip of blood from his lip. Abby's clothes are piled up beside him.
I shoot Andy a questioning glance, raising my eyebrow.
"You said anything goes," he whispers.
It's true. I did. I honestly don't know what to say. What can you say? What would you say?
And then it's obvious. The only appropriate thing to do in this kind of fucked-up situation.
"Did you enjoy your meal, sir?" I ask.
He looks at me and replies simply; "She was a little bland. I've definitely had better."
I adopt a courteous, formal tone. Who says work experience in a cafe has to go to waste?
"I'm terribly sorry sir. The meat wasn't up to our usual standard."
Behind me, someone is sobbing. I frown, perturbed. I hope they aren't disturbing the other diners.
"You look like you'd taste far sweeter," Andy says, winking at me. I can tell he's just messing. "Dessert?"
He's alright really, is Andy.
"I'm very sorry," I say, playing along, "I'm not on the menu tonight."
I give Andy a curt nod and walk decisively out of the attic.
I wonder if Kevin's still up.
XI - This Message Has No Subject
