“Nah, I switch sides to keep it fresh.” He winks, then leans over to frown into my cup. “You want a refill?”
I shouldn’t. The beer might have been a miss, but the vodka is already buzzing through my brain, wreaking havoc. But when have I ever let common sense spoil a good time? “That’d be great. Zach here?”
“Nah. He’s off somewhere with Lily. Why?” His open grin turns to a smirk. “You trying to get back together?”
“I’m trying to avoid him, thanks. Just needing to know if I should stay or go.”
“I doubt Zach gives a shit either way.”
Trent might have meant the words as a reassurance, but my ego is determined not to take them that way. I avert my gaze as we step indoors, him nudging people aside to reach the nearest keg, me holding back and trying not to look as vulnerable as I feel.
“Here you go,” he says, reappearing at my side with another cup full of foam. “The nozzle’s stuffed. You want me to grab you a wine or something from the fridge?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I raise the cup and tap it against his. “This’ll keep me out of trouble.”
He wanders off as quickly as he arrived, spotting a teammate, and trailing after him like a stalker. I stand back, scanning the growing crowd for someone to pass the time with. Dee looks so happy with her sporty friends that I don’t want to break up their fun.
“Hey, Kerry,” I say, waving at a girl who, until this week, often sat with me and Dee at lunch.
She turns with a smile at the greeting, then her face transforms when she sees me. Her lips curl into a sneer and she shakes her head.
“What?” I say, coming to a halt, confused.
“Fuck off, skank. Go hit up some other loser.”
The shock of her reaction makes my hairs stand on end. A glib retort comes to my lips, but I can’t deliver it. She’s already turned her back.
I edge away, slipping into the next room and burying my nose into my cup until I can bear to raise my head again. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, lately. I’m meant to be the one calling the shots, not the one taking fire.
Leanne stands by the pool table, laughing as a boy fakes a contortionist shot, bending over backwards with the cue above his head as he tries to hit the target. It’s an easy miss, but he doesn’t seem upset, happily drinking his punishment in beer before ceding his turn.
Her eyes scan the crowd, catching sight of me, but immediately skimming away like I don’t exist, don’t matter. I taught her how to get those fingertips curls to sit flush against her cheek, something that still looks spectacular on her, but she doesn’t even acknowledge me. My stomach turns in a somersault as I skulk around the edge of the room before fleeing through the opposite door.
Six months ago, I would have been the centre of attention. Now, I can’t even dredge up a second friend. Turns out one thing I’m not good at is holding onto people.
They drift close, then float away and I don’t have the knack that would make them stay. Even Dee has stuck with me because she likes it that way, not because I have some sort of hold over her. If she were to wake up tomorrow and decide not to be friends with me, I’d have no one.
Judging from my current morbid state, I guess mixing vodka and beer isn’t a great idea. Even alone, I should be able to have more fun than this.
I head into another room, following the rhythmic beat of music. A group of older students, uni or polytech, are in the pool room. A makeshift DJ booth is thumping out the song, waiting for a volunteer to take over the mic.
No, thanks. Homemade rap is about as much fun as teenage poetry. I backtrack and end up in the garage, where some couples are making out. Ugh.
My phone buzzes and I drag it from the side of my bra with a sigh of relief. A feeling that’s short lived as I see the message.“Where are you? Send a picture.”
I obey, taking care to frame a shot without even a hint of a boy near me.
Wilbur’s paranoia doesn’t make him any more attractive than he was the last time I was joined his merry-go-round. His desperation should give me the upper hand. Instead, it’s trapping me even more securely inside his web.
There’s three thousand in my bank account from my recent visits. A lot for a girl my age but nothing at all given the circumstances. It’s not like I can use it to scrub my image from the internet. It’s not enough to get me a change of face along with a change of name.
If I leave, every time someone gives me a second glance in the street, I’ll wonder if they’ve seen me. Seen the things he made me do while I plastered a beaming smile on my face.
I buckle in for the same thoughts I always have. The same rollercoaster of emotions.
I can leave. I can’t. I will leave. I won’t.
Helplessness swamps me. I stand in the corner of the filthy garage, struggling to breathe. This is meant to be my time. My time to recover, to feel good, to fill my soul after Wilbur empties it. Instead, he’s here, invading my head, invading my good time, taking away my tiny stab at a respite.
