Tricky Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #1)

19. CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 19

Nic

My knuckles split, dirt embedding in the skin, the pine branches above showering their needles.

My teeth ache from gritting them as I throw my fist into the tree repeatedly.

Wednesday night and I’m out here doing this again.

Fuck’s sake.

My breath plumes to the sky as I tip my head back, willing the air to cool my cheeks.

It had been warm in the hall, the scent of winter foliage, gravy and champagne fugging the room. All the teams had been there—first, second, third—for our hockey Christmas social.

I thought I could lose her—lose him too—with the amount of people turned out in their festive finery.

No such luck.

They’d been stationed opposite me the whole meal, the rich food turning to lead in my stomach as I watched them laugh and talk and enjoy themselves.

It was like watching a split screen. There was them now, late-teens, grownup, established in their own humanity. And then the past, the weedy kid Tommy had been, letting me be hurt to save his own skin, and Tilda in all her young defiance, the spirit that had been gradually chipped away until there was nothing left but explosive embers.

Embers that had eventually ignited by way of her lie.

I spent time trying to remember if the two had ever met. I don’t think so, a distinct line separating them. The before and the after.

God, if only I could go back to the before.

Clearly it doesn’t exist for her anymore.

Maybe I had been alone in my devotion.

The last spell we ever cast hadn’t worked. Just two kids not understanding the significance of magic, probably creating a curse instead.

Afterwards we crowded into the bar off the hall, making the most of the free drinks.

Champagne makes Tilda affable apparently.

She’d shaken Tommy off, finding herself alone in a room of people she didn’t know well. She must have thought I was the safest option, seeking me out as I lounged against a wooden column with a Jack and coke.

‘I would have got done for that at my school,’ she said, nodding at the rumpled state of my white dress shirt.

‘My teachers wouldn’t have dared say shit,’ I retorted.

She nodded, so much running through her expression just then. She thinks I’m an arrogant fuck, too rich for my own good.

Yeah, maybe.

But that’s blood money and it wasn’t even mine until I turned eighteen. And even then I wanted nothing to do with it, not until Haz brought me up on my shit. She’d inherited on her eighteenth too. Just two angry, fucked up orphan kids. My cousins and aunt never counted as family, just a shitty means to an even shittier end.

I suppose Tilda never got another go either. Something that should make me happy, but right then just made me bitter.

So when they piled out the bar on their way to Vipers, I escaped to the forest.

Except I’m not alone. Haven’t been from the moment I left the bar. I can feel it in the way my neck prickles, the way a prey animal knows they’re not alone in the woods.

But this prey animal has teeth.

The first tree I sunk my fist into felt like a peculiar nirvana. The next was hell, the rest numbness.

The pain is radiating, distracting, but there’s no ignoring the exasperated voice behind me, the one that finally calls out, ‘Why do you do that?’

Resting my forehead against the tree, I fight to catch my breath.

My prettiest demon, here to finish me off.

I look over my shoulder to watch her approach. She has her arms tight around herself, peering round at the barely lit wood.

‘Creepy as fuck out here in the dark.’

‘Go on back to the light then.’

Tilda captures my gaze, merely two metres away now. ‘Kinda prefer the dark.’

She had as a kid too. It was me who feared it. Scared until she taught me not to be.

Her eyes lower to my hands, nails clawed on the crumbly bark. Reaching out, she takes one of them, holding my bleeding knuckles to the meagre light.

I hold still waiting for her reproval. And if not that then some kind of show of concern like Elly likes to give.

‘The sight of blood makes my mouth water,’ is all she says as she drops my hand.

There’s a long moment where we don’t speak, the silence broken only by ghostly voices of other students moving through the forest. Towards the shore where I’d been heading. Tilda looks in that direction, called by the noises.

I push off the trunk and head that way too.

I can sense she’s following, canvas shoes silent on the spongy floor.

I weave this way and that, feeling that invisible chain pulling taut. Taut but never breaking. Stronger now than it had been a decade ago.

The trees part to the whisper of cresting waves.

The Charons are out there, waiting and willing.

I stand on the shore and beckon one to me.

Tilda steps up to my side, watching their approach curiously.

I put a hand on her back, encouraging her into it.

She resists, gaze bobbing between me and the boat and the waiting ocean. The pieces come together for her in an instant.

‘Oh, I can’t. I don’t…’

‘Get in the fucking boat, Tilda.’

She groans aloud, but does as I say, stumbling as the boat rocks beneath her.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ she whines. Like this is all a fucking joke. Like I don’t want to do that very thing. ‘Haz and Elly won’t pass the project without me.’

‘Haz and Elly were doing just fine without you.’

I thunk down opposite her, nodding to the Charon.

‘She doesn’t have access,’ they protest, sounding huffy about it too. Fucking weasel.

Suppressing a sigh, I fish for the knife that never leaves my side these days, holding it up to their cloaked neck.

‘She does tonight.’ I smile. ‘Right?’

They blow out an indignant breath but pick up the oars.

The boat shudders; we’re on our way.

Tilda watches me warily, suddenly looking a hundred percent sober.

No worries, where we’re going can sort that out in a jiffy.

I watch her face as we pass beneath the mouth of the cave.

Her gaze is upwards and she doesn’t look happy.

Yeah, she never did like confined spaces. She’s going to like the cavern even less, a place that can flood any second at Poseidon’s will.

I make her go ahead, watching her slip up the stone steps and wait shivering for me on the ledge.

She doesn’t want to be here, that much is clear.

I smile as I tip the Charon but there’s no warmth in it.

I nod her down the tunnel, emerging into the great cavern a few minutes later.

‘So this is it?’ she says, craning her head around. ‘Hazelhurst’s secret society.’

I huff out a breath. ‘It’s just a club.’ And then some.

I don’t bother with drinks, immediately pushing her into the fray and watching people writhe around her, touching her with their sweaty, drug-hazed bodies.

The cages are next.

They’re full tonight, metal clanging with the force of flung bodies. People jeer; money’s exchanged. The crowd is rowdy. I have to hold Tilda by the shoulders lest she be swept up in it.

After taking it all in, she nods to the first cage. ‘Who’s that one?’

‘Blakely.’

‘I saw her the other day…’

I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t.

Turning her around, I push her into another tunnel.

The market now.

I leave her to buy myself a bag but she’s there when I turn back, eyes light with disapproval.

So fucking righteous, my lot. Even this one.

I shove it into my pocket with the knife.

‘See anything your heart desires?’ I ask, leaning close.

She fixes her eyes on mine. ‘The only thing I desire is to know why you hate me.’

‘Sorry.’ I grasp her wrist, leading her back to the cavern. ‘All out of that.’

It’s deafening in the shadow of the suspended DJ booth. The crowd surges, drawing us within. The beat thrums through me, making me dance, making me brush up against the one person I never thought I’d see again.

Tilda doesn’t move. She remains fixed, the eye of the storm as everyone contorts around her. She looks around at a world she doesn’t belong to, uncertainty swimming in her face.

It pisses me off.

Reaching out, I seize her limbs. ‘Move your fucking arms.’

She flinches away, out of my reach. ‘This is weird.’

Teeth gritted, I move into her space, giving her no choice but to mould herself against me or move away. She chooses the latter, of course, but that’s alright. Two more steps bring us to a vacant glass room. Opening the door, I push her inside.

Locking it, I head to the table and pull out my baggie.

Tilda looks at it, then back to the dance floor.

‘They can’t see us. Look.’ Pressing close to the glass, I pull up my tank and bare my tits.

Nobody looks. Nobody can see.

Dropping the tank, I turn back to Tilda who follows the movement with her eyes. My stomach clenches. There was a little more in that look than I’d expect from a girl who says she’s straight.

My pussy’s suddenly throbbing, not great when I’m about to dose. Last thing I need is to get tangled with this one.

‘You want some?’ I bend over the table, holding aloft my little bitten off paper straw.

Tilda frowns, shaking her head.

‘Suit yourself. Might have put a smile on your face.’

After a while, Tilda comes to sit on the table. Here, the music’s just as loud as it is outside, the floor thumping. I find a half empty bottle of vodka behind the bin near the cubbyhole. I offer it to her.

‘Someone’s probably pissed in that.’

I hold the bottle up, peering through the crystal clear liquid. Tilda’s face magnifies through it, making me laugh. ‘Pretty fucking hydrated if they did.’ I twist the lid off, taking a mouthful of the god-awful stuff. ‘Tastes clean to me.’

She takes it hesitantly and sips. Either she decides it’s good or the alcohol makes her not care.

‘So,’ I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’m gonna have to go back out and dance in a bit, the only safe way to burn this energy off with Tilda. ‘What’s your game here, hm?’

‘What game?’

‘With Haz and Elly.’ A scornful laugh escapes me. ‘Yeah, they’re dicks, and I know dykes are just some weird mythical creatures to you lot, but they have feelings. They’re not immune just because you are.’

‘They’re my friends. They’ve been helping me through a hard time.’

‘They’re fucking playing you as much as you’re playing them!’

She frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They have a bet going on, Tilda. A bet to see who can fuck you first.’

She’s quiet for a moment.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

I expect her to get angry, maybe sad. Perhaps even cry. I don’t expect her to laugh.

‘Fuckers.’ She looks at me, smiling. ‘That’s good to know, thanks.’

I sigh, scrubbing my face. Well, that backfired.

‘They like you,’ I admit. ‘Elly and Haz. In a real way.’

Tilda twists the bottle in her hands, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. ‘They know I’m not into girls.’

‘Aren’t you?’ I tilt my head, regarding her on the table. She’s wearing a skirt, some skintight lace thing, and a matching top. She has a jacket on, one of Elly’s. Unlike Skylar, she can reach the floor with her feet. The comparison makes me recall the last time I was in here, rocking Skylar into the table, her tiny tits bobbing with every thrust.

‘No,’ she says weakly. ‘I’m straight.’

‘Say it with a little more conviction, won’t you.’

She remains silent, staring at me with those big green eyes. So much distrust in them. It wilts me a bit, even through the frantic jumping of my heart. The last time I’d seen that look was…well, every time I spotted her alone with my father.

I toss my head, unsheathing my knife. Tilda looks at it but doesn’t cower this time.

‘God, you fuck me off,’ I groan, covering my face with a hand and spinning in a circle.

‘Why though?’

Like I’d done with Skylar, I part her legs so I can stand between them. I fit better here, the lace of her skirt caressing my trousers. I’m momentarily thrown off at the sight of the slashes on her thighs.

‘You really don’t know?’ I use the blade to tip her face to mine. It’s so pale, her foundation too many shades too light. It’s beginning to dry this late in the night, her running eye makeup giving her a just-fucked look. ‘Look at me. You really, truly don’t know?’

Instead of answering, she cups my hand, the one holding the knife, and draws it down to her thighs. Relinquishing it from me, she runs the blade neatly over her skin, adding another tally to her table.

‘Go for it,’ she says quietly, handing me back the knife. ‘Fucking atone me.’

‘Atone you for what?’ I frown, disquieted with what she’s just done, her words making something black and dark squirm within me.

‘Fucking all of it!’ she exclaims, tossing out her arms. There’re tears in those eyes now, her face splotching as she holds them back. ‘Whatever it is I’ve done to you. To fucking everybody.’ She covers her face with her hands and I hear her breathe harshly behind them.

It’s just the coke that’s making me want to scrub away those tears; to pull her into my feverish body, warming her chilly, quaking skin; to hold her so hard she stops breathing.

To make her remember.

‘Tilda.’ I pull her hands away, holding them a little too tightly that she winces. Leaning down so we’re eye to eye, I say, ‘Wanna go dance?’

She blows out a breath and wipes her nose. ‘Yeah,’ she whispers. Then she laughs, a high lilting sound that makes my lips twitch. ‘Yeah, let’s go dance.’

She leaves the vodka on the table, exiting the glass room and taking a moment to regard it.

‘Magic,’ I breathe into her ear.

It’s different this time. The drink’s loosened her up, the baggie’s loosened me.

She dances along with everyone else, one arm in the air, the other combing back her long hair. Her eyes are at half-mast, a tipsy smile on her lips.

And I just have so much fucking energy I need to move.

At some point, that tatted little spitfire appears. She glares at me, gives my arm a punch and throws what’s left of her drink my way. But then she sees Tilda and can’t help her smug smile, a smile that only grows bigger after I let her snort a line off the screen of my phone.

Then she’s gone, leaving us alone.

Our bodies brush in the tight space. It’s like microdosing, hurting less each time we touch. I do it again and again until Tilda smiles.

She thinks I want her. For just a moment, she thinks I’m like the others.

There’s no denying she grew up pretty. The softness in her face hardening to a woman’s. Her waist and tits moulded to perfection. And those legs—slender, tapering, graceful.

The tats and piercings just add to the image.

So yeah, if Tilda wasn’t Tilda, we’d still be in that glass room, dancing a hell of a lot closer than this.

But it’s not long until my high ebbs. It never fucking is.

Like someone’s cut my strings, I stop dancing. Tilda does too, looking at me to make the next move.

There’s blood on her leg, still seeping from the wound under her skirt.

The sight makes me clench, that dark, black feeling back again. There’s this need to be in charge of her suffering and I don’t like that I had nothing to do with this. Where else is she gleaning her pain? What else could be that fucking bad?

I graze my fingers over the blood. ‘I don’t want you doing this.’

For a moment she looks defiant. Then she takes my hand, bending my fingers so my knuckles bleed again. ‘Fair’s fair,’ she says.

I’m sick of the sight of her by the time I reach my tent. It sits at an elevation, in a glade just above the cliffs. I like to sleep to the sound of surf; I like that nobody disturbs me here.

No one but Tilda who’s followed me back like a fucking puppy.

‘Is this yours?’

‘Mm-hm.’ I stand in front of it, blocking it from view. She’s got my lodge, she’s not having this too. ‘Time to go home now.’

She looks at me, then back at the tent. ‘I can probably—’

‘No, you can’t. Go home.’

She folds her arms, that defiance back. ‘So you’re just going to make me walk all the way back on my own?’

‘Independent woman like you? Absolutely.’

‘There’re wolves in this wood!’

I chuckle. I know, I throw them cooking scraps.

‘I don’t think you’re on their menu.’

Still, she hesitates.

‘Come on, Tilda. I thought you liked the dark.’

‘And I thought we were getting somewhere tonight. It was kind of nice.’

Then she turns and walks away, quickly swallowed up by the forest’s gloom.

No, that was just the blow, I want to yell after her.

Yanking the zip of the tent, I throw myself inside.

Hopefully the wolves will fucking get her.