I have my AirPods jammed in my ears, trying to focus on a lecture to pass the time. For the first half hour, I was able to concentrate and take notes, but now I’m feeling agitated. I need to get out of this room and distract myself with something that isn’t so damn depressing. I feel like I can’t breathe.
When Anya finally stirs, she agrees that moping around and thinking about all the dark shit that’s going on is making us both feel worse. Within half an hour, we are walking into the centre of a small coastal town I’ve never heard of, with the crisp night air nipping at us. My hand is threaded through hers as we try to find a restaurant to eat at. It’s a quiet place, but busy enough that most places have plenty of taken tables when we peer through the window. Anya’s stomach grumbles, and I look over at her. She offers me a sheepish smile, placing her free hand over her stomach. She hasn’t been able to keep any food down all day.
Deciding on the next closest restaurant, we enter, and it’s buzzing with activity. Although a bit outdated, the place has character. The floor is patterned with large black-and-white checks, and all the tables are booths with worn brown leather seats that curve around in a semicircle. A jukebox near the back blares ’80s hits, and there are a few older couples dancing on a makeshift dance floor near the bar.
‘This place is awesome.’ Anya smiles, and my own lips curve upwards at the sight of it. She is the only person who makes my heart feel as if it could stop dead in my chest. She also makes it restart.
‘It seems so out of place compared to the other restaurants we passed,’ I say in amusement, directing her towards the last free booth. We drop into it side by side, facing the dance floor.
‘I hope we have that much fun when we’re older,’ she muses.
‘We will. Wearethe fun.’
A guy who doesn’t even look old enough to serve alcohol appears at our table, placing two menus and a wine list in front of us. We each order a glass of rosé, and to save everyone the hassle, I order Anya’s meal without asking, because she always orders the same thing. She rolls her eyes, but smiles playfully at me. Warmth spreads in my chest, as she looks a lot better than she did earlier.
‘You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an adult so bad,’ I say, leaning back into the leather and shifting towards her. ‘I wanted so desperately to be big and strong, to be able to fight him off.’ I don’t need to elaborate on who I’m talking about. ‘I wanted that independence so badly. Didn’t want to rely on him for anything. But now that I’m here, I just wish I could be a kid again.’ I exhale heavily. ‘Not go through my childhood again – God no – but to experience what it would be like to just be free and oblivious.’
‘I get it,’ she says. ‘I wish I could go back to the time when shaving my legs before sport was my biggest concern.’
A loud laugh spills from my lips, taking us both by surprise, and Anya smiles.
‘I know I’m studying exercise science, but half the time, I still don’t know what I really want to do after university. Which is kind of not good, since I’m already at uni, studying.’
‘I know. Me too. My degree doesn’t even promise me a job at the end,’ she says thoughtfully. She studies me for a moment. ‘Did you know Rod gave me a really hard time about doing a degree in art?’
I raise a brow. ‘He did?’
‘He said it’s a pointless degree that doesn’t promise a good financial future. He then said I’d better marry rich.’
I shake my head, anger flaring inside me. I never liked the guy. As soon as Louise introduced him to us all, I had a really off feeling in my gut. I could never put my finger on it exactly. Perhaps the lingering stares at us for that heartbeat too long. The awkward, off-hand comments that rolled off everyone’s back, but seemed to stick in my mind. I’ve always been naturally observant, and my intuition was always screaming about him. I wish I’d done something.Anything. I have no ideawhatI could have done, but it still makes my skin feel prickly thinking about how he treated their mum, and Zayden, too.
‘Well. I don’t think his words should be taken too seriously.’
‘I’m starting to agree with that,’ she mutters.
A waiter brings us our wine and assures us our food isn’t far away. We clink glasses and take a long hearty sip. I never drink wine, because it always gives me a shocking headache the next day, but one or two glasses shouldn’t cause too much damage to the head tomorrow.
‘I feel so sophisticated,’ Anya smirks.
‘You certainly look it,’ I agree with an exaggerated wink.
She snorts. Reaching for my hand, she runs her thumb across my knuckles. I play with her fingers, and then bring her hand up to the table.
‘Your scar is looking a lot better,’ I observe, running my fingertip across it.
‘Yeah. Took a long time, but I barely notice it now.’
Anya always had a large, raised freckle on her left pinky finger. She loathed it. She begged her doctor to remove it, which he didn’t want to do. He said it was a beauty spot, and that it was totally normal. Zayden always teased her about it, knowing it would make her react. One day, she convinced the doctor to remove it, and she ended up with four stitches and a pretty decent scar. I don’t think she realised it was going to be so sore and leave such a significant mark. But now that years have passed, it’s barely noticeable: a slightly raised white line that runs on a diagonal across the bottom of her pinky. One night, when she was upset about how it looked – and I was more than tipsy – I told her that when I proposed, no one will notice the scar, because they will be looking at the big rock on her hand. She blushed a deep red that I swear went all the way to her toes.
When dinner arrives, we order one more glass of wine each. Anya’s cheeks are flushed a gorgeous pink, and bits of her hair have unravelled from the loose bun it’s in. She’s still far from okay, but she has a little bit of her spark back.
‘I feel like I need a coffee to keep my eyes open,’ I say, rubbing the corners of my eyes.
‘Oh my God!’ she suddenly exclaims, and I almost spill my drink. ‘That reminds me, you know that cafe we used to go to when you finished work?’
‘Smooth Brew?’
‘Yeah! Well, turns out, it was being run by this guy who started a cult, and he fully used to try and get the customers to join!’
