So, a present. A borderline abusive present. A gift that might lead my hand back to the path of self-abuse if it heard that warm buzzing from next door.
CHAPTERSIX
ESME
It’slate afternoon on Sunday when Rowena raps her knuckles on the door of my new next-door neighbour. I’m not in the best of moods but I paste a welcoming smile on my face, hoping my friend can’t tell too easily it’s not the real thing.
“Come on!” Rowena says, stamping her foot with impatience. Then her voice turns sing song, “We know you’re in there.” Drawing out the last word for a good thirty seconds.
“Or, he’s not,” I say with a relieved giggle, hooking my arm through hers and tugging her away.
“This can’t go on,” she protests. “I can’t have the love of my life and my new boyfriend missing each other like ships in the night.”
My hand pitter-pats my chest as I flutter my lashes. “I’m your love? Awww. That’s so flattering.”
“You’re meant to say it back.”
“Sure, chickee, but I’ve got a long list of suitors and you know, in every relationship there’s the one who loves and the one who is—”
“Fine. I take it back.” Rowena tears free to run the two steps back to the adjoining room. “Come on! Answer. My heart’s been broken and needs a vigorous man to take care of it.”
“Hate to tell you this,” I say with another giggle. “But between your legs is not where your heart is located.”
“But it’s where I send it to get fixed.”
My laughter abruptly cuts off when my watch buzzes with a pattern, warning me rather than just reminding me that my parents’ weekly Skype call is due soon.
“Got to go.”
“Hm.” Rowena stands with her hands on her hips. “And what’s the betting that the moment you shut yourself into your room, this door flies open?”
I duck inside, then slowly, slowly close my door, grinning like an idiot. Just as it pulls almost to the point of latching, I snap my head back out. “Did it work? Did I fool the universe?”
“Nah.” Rowena shakes her head, then rallies. “I’m off to the common room to hang out and see if there’s someone there willing to lend a hand to make him jealous.” She chews her bottom lip, looking undeniably like someone who could make a man envious in her sleep. “Knowing my strike rate, he’ll just drop by later to wish me luck.”
My wrist buzzes again, sending my pulse rate cavorting around like I’ve exercised to the point of collapse. “See you later.”
It hurts to shut my door on her smiling face. Hurts to boot up my laptop and make sure it’s connected to the school wifi, ready for the call.
Weekly check-ins didn’t seem too much to ask while I was agitating to escape my previous high school hell. Now I’ve been away for a while, now I’m healing, they’re an imposition certain to drag my mood low with every single call.
It’s most obvious during these calls that my parents don’t care for me. Their rigid adherence to the weekly regime is a form of control rather than an outpouring of affection.
Since they always happen on a Sunday night, that means I start off every week miserable and slowly, slowly get better only for the complete cycle to start again. The opposite to all the other students, just another way I’m out of step.
“Hey,” I wave as soon as the call connects, waiting out the usual run through of ‘I can see you; can you hear mes’ that begin every session.
I run through a dutiful catch-up list, what I did this week, what the coming week holds. My adoptive mother looks radiant, her skin glowing with the tan from a fortnight spent on a beach.
Meanwhile, my father’s forehead is bright red except for the bubbles of peeling skin from an aggressive sun. Despite his pale complexion, he never remembers to wear sunscreen or a cap.
“Exciting news,” my mother says near the end of the allotted fifteen minutes. “We’ve got a new client on the hook.”
My stomach clenches so hard I put my palm against it, expecting to feel the knot through my skin. But it relaxes as I inhale through my nose—hold, two, three—then exhale in a slow, steady breath.
“That sounds great,” I say while large beads of sweat form on the back of my neck, trickling into the collar of my tee shirt and my lower back clenches in a painful spasm. “Are you—”
“We might need you back here to sweeten the deal,” my father interrupts. “I’m pulling together a share packet and the bidding on it’s going to be fierce. To have the entire family unit on display helps us put our best foot forward.”
