I can feel eyes on me, coming from every direction as I cross the short distance from the front door to the stairs. I was told that I would need to keep my hands in my pockets when I entered the house, so as not to disturb any evidence the forensic team may want to collect. The skin on the back of my neck shrinks and shrivels, erupting into goosebumps that set off a domino effect of chills across my body. The rustle of plastic suits and the static from radios fill the area as I focus on the floor, watching each careful step forward. Up until this moment, I had never been inside Zander’s house, but somehow I knew that–despite the current circumstances–these walls had never heard the sound of laughter, or the warmth of familial love. It was dark and bleak, all sharp edges and rough surfaces. There were no distinctive smells, no gentle colours absorbing the chill of the tension that had made itself an occupant– just stale air and a dead body.
It wasn’t at all like I had imagined– granted, I hadn’t spent much time dwelling on what it would be like to see a corpse in real life. But had I not been made aware of what was underneath the sheet, the giant bulk at the foot of the stairs could have easily been mistaken for something else. The gentle push at the small of my back urges me to continue on, reminding me that there is life in this house, and its gentle heart is calling for me.
The door to what I instinctively know as Zander’s room is cracked open slightly, but the darkness of the night has claimedwhatever waits inside. There’s no gentle glow of a lamp, or harsh flickers from a TV to guide my way, just the magnetising pull of my best friend. I edge myself through the gap, careful not to touch anything as my Mom stays in the hallway. I don’t need to search for him or call out his name, my feet just carry me there– to the curled up figure in the corner of the room. His bare arms are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his face is pressed into the wall. I watch his lips move, forming the same shape over and over, but there’s no noise. The front of my shins meet the bed, and my hands twitch by my side. I don’t know what to say; at this moment, words seem weightless and empty. Slowly, I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to startle him from his trance-like state. The dipping of the mattress under my weight causes his head to whip around, and his eyes meet mine. They’re wide and wild at first glance, and I imagine my own to be the same. His mouth stops moving for a brief second as his shoulders sag and his eyes soften. When his lips form the familiar shape one last time, the sound that accompanies rips the air from my lungs–
“Jules.”
Just one word. One syllable is all it takes for my heart to completely shatter. He twists his body in my direction and scoots closer, until he’s sitting beside me. His eyes are glistening with sadness and unshed tears as he slowly lowers his head to rest on my lap. His body curls up tight, the movement making him look so tiny and fragile I feel the overwhelming urge to throw myself over him– to shield him from the cruel world. The warmth of his tears soaks through my jeans, and my handreaches out without thought to swipe them from his bruised cheek. I hold it there long after his tears stop falling simply to feel his breath against my skin, but when his fingers tangle with mine, I can't bring myself to pull away from the comfort we both desperately seek. That’s when I know what it is I need to say; the only words that hold any meaning right now. Using my free hand to push back the hair from his face, I turn his head slightly, securing his eyes with mine and whisper–
“I’m here.”
Chapter Ten
Zander
Age 16
He’s here.
He came for me.
Chapter Eleven
Zander – Three months later
Age 16
“Zander, honey, do we have to have this song and dance every week?” Theresa asks, with one hand on her hip as she blocks my way out of the kitchen. Since moving in three months ago, she’s tried to give me money every Friday– money that I always end up accepting against my will.
“We’ll have this argument until you let me earn it,” I reply with a raised eyebrow. I always offer to do things around the house; cooking, cleaning, even washing Jules’ nasty underpants, but she refuses to let me help. I used to think it was just laziness on his behalf when he would tell me all the things that his Mom would do, but as it turns out, it’s actually down to her stubbornness. She’s always using the excuse that we should be enjoying our youth, whilst we still have it– but I think her real motive is to give me back a childhood that I never had a shot at.
“Zan, just take the cash; resistance is futile.” Jules shuffles through the doorway she’s currently guarding, squeezing her shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek. I can’t help butwatch their exchange with a dopey grin–this is how a family should look.
“You’re only saying that so I come to the bowling alley with you and Holly.”
He’s met up with Holly a few times since that first cinema trip last year, but never alone. He’s always asking me to go along with him, which then turns into a double date situation, with Layla and me acting as their chaperones. I don’t mind really, it’s nice to see someone treat Jules as an equal. Unlike the shit-heads at school who made it their mission to single him out at every given opportunity. Whether it was for his taste in clothing or his dependency on me, they always found something to tease him over. There’s been countless times over the course of our friendship that I’ve ended up with bloody knuckles protecting his innocence– not that he’s aware of it, though. I’ve never told him about the times I would tell someone to fuck off in the lunch hall, only to round the corner after school and be met with a group of pissed-off teens, waiting to exact their revenge. I was never afraid to stand up to them. I almost felt proud to take the beatings they doled out; he was worth it. And, after all, they couldn’t hurt me any more than…let’s not open that door.
“Aww, go out, have fun, and treat your girlfriends!” Theresa cuts through the memories flooding my mind. It happens often and without warning. Like I’m transported back in time, replaying situations and events that snowball into one another. Before I know it, I’m buried under an avalanche of recollection and torment, with no control over which memories come flooding through. It’s an exhausting battle of trying to keep thedoor to that part of my life firmly closed. The therapist I’m court-ordered to see says I’m repressing everything, and I need to learn to open it ‘just a crack’, letting the memories out one at a time. She claims it’s a healthier way to deal with my trauma–I say she’s talking shit.
“Mom! She’s not my girlfriend, just a friend…” Jules exclaims, like even the thought of it is abhorrent.
“...Who is also a girl,” she finishes for him, a sly smirk playing on her lips.
“I mean, she’s not wrong, Jules.”
“Ohhh, I see what this is– you think if you both team up on the little guy, she’s going to forget that you refused to take the money.”
“I would never do that to mama ‘Tess!” I slap a hand over my chest, feigning offence.Busted.
So, with a twenty-pound note stuffed in my pocket and a smug-looking Jules under my arm, it looks like we’re going bowling.Love this for me.
We’ve only been standing outside the bowling alley for a few minutes, but Jules is making it seem like a lifetime with his constant shuffling and pacing. He’s behaving very oddly tonight, and I can’t help but think Theresa might not be far off the mark with her earlier comment.
“Jules, chill the fuck out, will ya?”
“I am chilled,” he replies, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. I lean back against the wall, watching him wear holes in the concrete and chew the side of his thumb like he hasn’t had a meal in weeks.
“Alright, spit it out.”
