6. CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6
Elly
The sheet we’ve been working on is banished to the floor when the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of our food. I can smell my burrito before I’ve even set eyes on it, fingers tapping the table in anticipation even as I push down the mild nausea in my stomach. Too hungover to eat this morning, it’s only now I’m badly craving some stodge. Haz returns to the living room with our meals clasped easily in her bulging arms, a disgusted frown on her face.
‘Little twat,’ she spits, dumping the goods on the table.
‘Didn’t tip again?’ I hazard a guess.
‘Shouldn’t have to.’
‘I’m sure you can afford a tip,’ Tilda admonishes, claiming the single can of sugar-free Coke.
Haz pushes her sub across to her. ‘Shouldn’t have to,’ she repeats. ‘You’re welcome for that, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’ Tilda pushes hair behind her ear, eyes downcast as she picks at the wrapping on her sandwich. I’ve seen that look before. That guilty pride that people like Haz and Nic can’t even begin to conceptualise in their dumb moneyed heads. ‘I appreciate it.’
Haz grunts, ripping into her chicken and bacon salad. She’s on one of her healthy protein hypes again, always trying to hone those perfect muscles of hers. I’ve tried to emulate her, usually as a response to her well-meaning bullying, but, shit, I like my comfort food and frankly the repetitiveness of gym workouts is enough to bore me to tears. Only the attention we seem to garner from the Varsity girls has me returning on the weekly.
Tilda hoists herself up on the sofa to eat, legs daintily pressed together, ripping little pieces of bread with her fingers before finally biting into it. So out of place in our disordered bachelor pad. Only Nic keeps a clean space around here. It’s the one thing she truly fucking hates us for.
I’m glad Monday’s her full day of lectures. Not sure what her problem was last night, but Tilda didn’t deserve her anger, especially not after what her asshole of a boyfriend did. Me and Haz, we’re used to it—expect it, even. Everything seems to trigger Nic at the moment. Not that her problems aren’t legit but it’s not cool to be slaying innocents along the way.
Tilda smiles as our eyes meet, her hand covering her mouth as she chews. Makes me wonder just how innocent she really is. She comes across as super sweet but her slutty goth vibe suggests otherwise. All but kills me the days she wears those pleated miniskirts and fishnets. Guess with winter coming, those days might be over.
She tugs at the belt on her jeans, drawing my eye. They’re more like jeggings, revealing almost as much as her tights last night had. I’d been on the landing, trying not to vomit again from imbibing too much fizzy alcohol, when Haz had come onto the girl. Had Tilda even been aware? Straight girls can be dense sometimes—just gals being pals and all that. I’ve seen that look in Haz’s eyes before though, felt a stirring in my own gut as she trailed her fingers up Tilda’s beautifully tapered leg. Then Tilda’d kicked her away and I almost fell down the stairs from laughing.
I feel Haz nudge me beneath the table and meet her narrowed eyes with a smirk. Oh yeah, Haz wants her too. The hottest girl on our course, hands down. I spent the whole of freshers last year hoping she was bi, she has that kind of alt energy about her, but she’s been attached to that skinny bloke ever since then, and last night put a lid on that dream for good. How many times can a girl proclaim she’s straight?
But…I don’t know. Is she? There’s just something about her, something I know Haz can feel too. That heated competitiveness in her eyes says as much.
All that being said, this girl has just caught the boy she loves cheating on her with her best friend. That’s rough for anyone. She can probably do with some mates, and I’m sure us dickheads wouldn’t be her first choice, but beggars can’t be choosers.
She makes a happy hum as she sips from her Coke, setting it carefully back on the carpet. I wrinkle my nose. Coke Zero. Horrid tasting stuff.
‘You know this is sugar free, too.’ I heft my can of Pepsi Max, careful not to spill any.
She shrugs. ‘You stick with what you know, don’t you?’
‘But how do you know you’re not missing out on something so much better if you never give it a chance?’
Tilda tilts her head, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Still talking about drinks here?’
With a grin, I plonk myself down next to her. ‘Here. Close your eyes.’
She tuts but does as I say. I take her half-eaten sub—god, she’s a slow eater—and place it on the sofa beside her.
‘Keep them closed.’ I shuffle closer, both our cans in hand.
‘Kiss me and I’ll kill you.’
I let out a surprised laugh. ‘I swear that hadn’t even crossed my mind. Good to know it is yours though.’
Tilda shakes her head, a chastised smile on her lips.
Now I’m thinking about kissing her. I glance at Haz, who’s puckering her lips playfully. Yeah, I bloody wish.
‘Here. Take a sip.’ I place the Coke against her still-smiling lips, feeling a frisson of satisfaction when they part on command. Her hand cups mine as she guides the can. They’re freezing, despite the heating being blasted since six this morning.
‘Coke,’ Tilda says, licking her lips.
‘Mm-hm. And now for the good stuff.’
There’s a lot less in the Pepsi can, meaning she has to tip her head back. My fingers tangle in her hair as I support her, the sight so unexpectedly hot that I end up spilling half the liquid down her chin.
She squeaks, eyes flying open as she swipes at the drops.
‘Oops. Sorry about that.’
She snatches back her Coke with a mock glare. ‘Sure you are.’
I bat her hand away, using my thumb to wipe the remaining liquid, cupping her jaw as I do. Shit, her skin’s as soft as a baby’s. ‘There.’
I hear Haz huff but ignore her as I return Tilda’s sub to her lap. ‘Good though, isn’t it? The Pepsi.’
‘Couldn’t really taste a difference.’
I return to the coffee table. ‘Guess we’ll have to repeat the experiment another time. Maybe if I sit in your lap, I can hold the cans steadier.’
‘Oh my god,’ she laughs. ‘You’re literally awful. And now I’m going to smell like Coke for the rest of the day.’
‘Pepsi.’
She waves me away but I’m happy with the brightness in her eyes. She seemed so fucking sad this morning, it broke my heart. She needs to be happy, always, those little green eyes dancing with it like they are now, and damn if I’ll do everything I can to keep them that way.
It kind of shocks me, this feeling. Not felt anything like that since my college girlfriend, and sort of thought I wouldn’t again. I think first loves are supposed to wreck you though. I hope that skinny bloke wasn’t Tilda’s. He doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as this girl.
She departs before I need to leave for my meeting with student services. I send her off with the free churros that came with my burrito, delighting in the little smile she graces me for it.
When I return to the lounge, Haz is sprawled out on the floor.
‘I’m wet,’ she says.
‘Gross.’
‘Seriously.’ She lets out a loud sigh. ‘Fucking straight girls.’
‘Hope I will be.’
‘Get in line.’ She kicks her leg out at me. ‘Know your fucking place.’
Oh, I do. Especially where Haz is concerned. She had been Nic’s friend long before we ever met during freshers and spent most of the party week stealing girls from right under my nose. Just because she could. Just because she had those giant muscles, scary eyes and darker than pitch aura.
It bummed me out at first. At college, I’d been the only lesbian, an obvious one at that, and kind of became the go-to for experimentation. Which had been cool at the time. But here, everyone seems to be some kind of gay, and presented with a choice, they usually choose Haz over my nicer ass.
Then Nic came along, saw what Haz was doing, and all but beat her for it. They’d fallen out for a bit, but Nic can be humble when she needs to be, and slowly drew Haz back around. Now if there’s any girl we’re both interested in, it’s still fair game, but more friendly competition than the all-out annihilation I think Haz would prefer.
Frankly, even if Tilda was gay, I’m not sure it’s Haz she should be getting involved with. There’s something about Tilda, something wounded, a sadness that goes deeper than just her dumb boyfriend betraying her. Even I noticed the tell-tale lines marring the tops of her thighs through her semi-sheer tights. She needs protecting, that’s the feeling I get. And Haz—yeah, she’d kill anything that hurt her girl but sometimes she’s the one doing the hurting. They like it, ask for it. I’ve seen her in bed, if only the once. She was…ruthless, unforgiving. I like to top, yeah, but you can do that and still be gentle with the person you’re with.
And Tilda needs that gentleness, in and out of the bedroom.
So consumed we are in our thoughts of her, it’s really no surprise when two days later she’s still the topic of conversation.
Haz sits manspreading on the sofa, decked in her usual clubbing gear—black cargo trousers, black t-shirt, gold chains—with a can of cider sweating in her hand. The clock shows 10pm; another hour and we’ll start rolling out.
I hear jeers pass our window, a group on their way to a messy night out. Wednesdays on Hazelhurst is always sports night, where all the teams get together for a few hours of veritable carnage. Easily the maddest night out of the week, and easily the best.
The mainland hates us for it, so much so we’ve been banned for any foreseeable Wednesdays, meaning only Vipers is open to us tonight. Not that me and Haz are on any teams, but Nic’s our ticket to that.
I glance over to make sure she’s still there, as quiet as she’s being in the corner. She’s the only one not pregaming, instead remaining folded up on the armchair she claimed as hers when we moved in, reading one of her books for the semester. Only she can concentrate when Haz is blasting her screamo music.
‘I’m telling you,’ Haz says, jabbing my thigh with a finger, ‘we’re in.’
My eyes are still on Nic, watching for her reaction. She always stiffens up when Tilda’s mentioned, her eyes usually pinning us with violent objection. What her problem is is anyone’s guess. Ask her and she only clams up.
Tonight she doesn’t give anything away, her feelings as hidden as the rest of her.
‘Are we?’ I say dubiously.
Haz nods, licking the rim of her can where it froths. ‘She wants us, I’m telling you.’
‘And she told us she was straight.’
Haz scoffs. ‘Yeah, and how many straight girls have we both ended up in bed with?’
‘Exactly none?’
‘Speak for yourself. See, it’s not always about the genitalia—’
‘Haz.’ I roll my eyes. ‘That fucking word.’
‘It’s about energy. Girls are drawn to masculine energy, dick or no dick. Most of them, anyway. Obviously we’re not but, girls like Tilda, a hundred percent. Come on man, she even flirted with you in the cold light of day.’
‘Huh? When?’
‘Still talking about drinks here?’ she mimics, bringing to mind Tilda’s twinkly eyes as she said that.
‘Oh, that.’ I wave her away. ‘She was just messing.’
I don’t know why I’m making such a point to protest, to be honest. I want it to be true as much as Haz does but if there’s one thing you can rely on us for, it’s resisting every fucking thing the other says. Another thing that drives Nic up the wall.
‘The girl’s straight, Haz. Let’s just leave it.’
‘Please. I got her dripping just from stroking her leg.’
True, but she’d been drunk, slower to react. Hadn’t seemed disgusted though…quite the opposite, actually.
I get up to claim another can of cider, this whole conversation making me way more excited than it should be.
‘So what’s your plan then? Wear her down until she caves?’
‘Seduction, baby.’ Haz grins. ‘Heard of it? She’ll be begging— begging. Won’t need to force her hand.’
‘Uh-huh. And how does the almighty Harriet go about seducing a het girl who’s still crying over her boyfriend? She’ll probably be back with him by next week, and to be honest, I can’t be arsed with the mood you’ll be in when she does.’
‘Then I need to show her the grass is greener on the other side. And wetter. Hotter.’ She jabs me again, this time a backhand. ‘I know girls like her. You know, drawn to the darkness and all those spooky things. Kink central, I’m telling you. She’ll want knives and shit. Blood. A dicking that’ll leave her legs shaking for days.’
I shake my head, eyes drawn over to Nic again in my discomfort. She’s still paying us no mind. ‘Highly doubt all that. All girls want is respect and to be seen. It’s not that hard. Just give them what straight men won’t.’ Leaning my elbows on my chinos, I roll my can between my hands. ‘Shit, I’m a girl and that’s all I want.’
‘Nic,’ Haz calls, waving her drink in her direction, ‘what do you think girls want?’
Nic doesn’t even dignify us with a look. ‘For assholes like you to understand that no means no.’
‘Whatever.’ Haz looks at me and shrugs. ‘Guess we’ll see.’
A slow smile curves her lips then, one that says she’s about to suggest something she shouldn’t. Raising her hand, she wiggles her pinkie finger at me. ‘We should bet on it.’
‘On what?’ I say warily.
‘Who can shag her first. Or marry her, in your fucking case.’ She thumps her chest as a burp escapes her. ‘It’ll be me, obviously.’
Fucking Haz. She knows I can’t let her win, or I have to at least go down trying. I release a breath as I consider, recalling Tilda’s face, sweet even amongst all her grungy clothing and makeup; her tearful eyes the morning after Halloween; how grateful she seemed from just being offered some bloody churros. Shit, I can’t let Haz ruin that. I need to be a light in all of that dark.
‘So what of it?’ Leaning in, Haz levels me with a look. ‘You in?’
I hold her gaze for only a second before breaking it with a sigh. ‘Yeah. Alright, I’m in. So, what—by summer or something?’
‘By the end of the group project,’ she agrees with a nod. ‘But she’ll be bouncing on my dick way before then.’
With an air of determination, she rescues the large piece of paper still hanging around from Monday, turning it over so our work isn’t showing. Presented with the blank side, she begins drawing rash lines until they resemble a table.
‘Too far,’ I protest, immediately knowing where she’s going with this.
‘All of life’s a game,’ she quips.
‘That’s literally not the saying.’
‘Look, I’m on a roll already.’ She quickly pens something I can’t see from here, filling in one box in the table.
Annoyingly intrigued, I get up and join her. She’s written about stroking Tilda’s leg. I let out a huff. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She tosses me the pen with a goading smile.
Flirted with me sober, I add in the column that bears my name, underlining the last word twice.
I chuck the pen at Haz’s forehead, returning to the sofa where I watch her add dates to our two pathetic entries. The only two to no doubt grace the table from now until eternity. Tilda can do so much fucking better.
‘If you’re done being a couple of absolute bellends,’ Nic’s voice floats over to us, ‘I’ve got a hockey social to get to.’
‘You’re not even on the team yet,’ Haz points out, making me want to kick her.
‘Of course I’m on the team.’ Dropping her book to her lap, Nic runs her hands through her hair, making it spike up. ‘I’ll get on it,’ she mutters more quietly.
She’d been on it last year—first team, I think, too—but after too many missed games due to full fault of her own, they’d kicked her off. And, god, was she a demon to deal with after that. She’s always kinda moody but we only just about survived that storm. But props to her, she’d sorted herself out, picked herself up. I’ve no doubt she’ll make the team again. For all our sakes, she better.
It starts raining just as we’re about to set off, so I bomb it upstairs to grab a jacket. My hair reeks of hairspray, the usually fluffy strands solid stiff. Two seconds in the rain and all that work would come undone. Can’t be fucked with the ginger halo I’d be left with.
The screen of my phone lights up just as I toss it on the bed. Jacket retrieved, I pick it back up, seeing I have two texts and a missed call from Grandad.
This late, it’ll either be something bad or something entirely innocuous. Either way, my stomach twists.
Hi Elly, just Grandad here, the first one reads. Nan took a fall tonight. In hospital just to be safe. Those people want to lock your mum up again. Told them she’s better at home but they won’t listen. Taylor got the stomach thing going round at her school. The ambulance people for your nan had to give her one of those sick bowls. How are you, Elly? I was wondering if you’re due a visit to us soon?
Shit. I quickly scroll to the second message, all thoughts of Vipers and rain and Tilda vanished.
Hi Elly. Grandad again. Forgive my silly whining. All fine here. You stay where you are. Love you. Grandad.
I sit heavily on the bed, tapping on my phone to keep Grandad’s message up. Usually a one-line texter, this is basically a desperate cry for help. With both Mum and Nan out of action, no wonder. Not like he’s a spring chicken himself. And me, the only one who can offer any kind of help, ensconced on this island doing fuck all.
I pull up his name, about to return his call when I catch the time. He might still be up with Taylor, I guess. Or one of the other kids. No doubt the stomach bug will spread to them too.
I raise my eyes to the window, watching raindrops race down it. I suppose I can go home this weekend. Not got anything on. I wanted to make it to Christmas though. That would have been a new bloody record.
My phone lights up again.
Tilda.
A smile tugs at my lips as I swipe it open. ‘And what do you want, babe?’
Tilda: I’ve still got your jacket x
Like I’ve forgotten. My fave damn one. A drunken testament to how much I’m hot for that girl. I recall in a flash falling asleep that night, a vision of Tilda wrapped up in the corduroy, no other stitch of clothing on her. How I’d touched myself to it. My lips twist in a sheepish smile. Bet she’d love to know that.
I wonder if she’s worn it since. I’ve heard it’s cold in Portia House; a bunch of students complained about it last year. Does she sit at her desk, laptop before her, running her thumb over the uneven stitching on the left sleeve like I do? Did she sleep in it Halloween night, gleaning some comfort as she cried over her boyfriend, smelling it up with her girly pop perfumes?
If she does give it back, I hope it’s unwashed.
That’s alright, keep it ;) x
And then, because I can’t resist: You out tonight?
Tilda: Nah. Not really in the mood. Thanks for the jacket though, I’m gonna dye it black ;)
Flirting again? I purse my lips as I consider her message. Probably just my desperate as shit mind. She’s probably just being friendly.
Would look good, babe x
When I hear Haz shouting me downstairs, I darken my phone and jump to my feet.
I hope she doesn’t actually dye it. Though, to be honest, that girl can do whatever she likes—to my detriment or otherwise.
Besides, it’s easier to fuss over the fate of my favourite jacket than it is the mess of everything back home.