Chapter 6
NICK
How do I always manage to fuck things up? Things that aren’t even things but that I want to be things.
I know I'm talking in riddles but my mind is always a constant jumble of incoherent thoughts, never mind adding a girl into the mix.
A girl that’s always been there, but somehow I’ve never noticed, which is serving to make me feel like an even shittier human being than usual this morning.
I need to apologise to her about last night, properly and sincerely rather than in the freezing cold outside the noisiest bar in Camden.
I get out of bed around 10am, having stayed out getting shit faced with Kyle until way past 2am last night and dragging my sorry ass home with someone else’s vomit on my favourite pair of shoes.
I hop into the shower, forcing myself to scrub every nook and cranny of my aching body before I head over to mini Taylor’s dorm room.
I know I'm delusional to think anything is going to happen between us when I go over there.
She made it crystal clear last night that she doesn’t want a repeat of what happened after the party.
But I'm nothing if not determined to prove myself, so I spritz my neck with my most expensive scent before getting in my beat up Toyota and heading across campus.
Tap, tap, tap.
I hope she heard that, my hand is a little shaky for some reason and my chest is tighter than usual.
I keep telling myself there’s no reason to be sweating like I am, but my brain won’t cooperate and calm me down even a tiny bit.
I hear a muffled sniff behind the door and then the knob turns, the wood creaking loudly as it opens.
Lois’ caramel eyes are red ringed, moisture trailing slowly down her cheeks and my heart almost stops.
She’s clearly surprised to see me at her front door and I see the thought to slam the heavy wood back into my face cross her mind.
But she doesn’t of course, because she’s too damn nice.
I would deserve it after last night, I pushed her without even realising it and I feel awful about it.
That’s why I'm here after all, to clear the air and hopefully get back into her good books, at least enough to maybe sneak another kiss with her.
“What happened? Why are you crying?”
My voice is rough with worry, an emotion I have no business feeling for someone I barely know.
The urge to pull her to my chest and suffocate her in warmth is overwhelming, but I keep my distance on the other side of the door frame.
I’m here to apologise for last night after all, not to make the mistake of invading her space without her permission again.
She sniffs hard, swiping the back of a hand across her tear streaked cheekbone.
“Oh it’s nothing, I just saw an old man eating lunch alone and it opened the flood gates.”
She fans at her wet face, pockets of mascara forming under her bright hazel eyes that are swimming with nothing but sympathy for some random old man she doesn’t know. Like I said, she’s too damn nice to everyone.
“Anyway,”
she continues, pulling her chocolate curls over one shoulder.
“Kyle isn’t here, I think he went back to your house with Molly.”
“I know, I came to see you.”
“Oh,”
her eyes twinkle for a split second, then cloud over with uncertainty again. She ponders for a beat and then steps back, pulling the door open wider with her and gesturing with a head tilt for me to enter her dorm.
The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air, a heavy note of coffee present too, a homely smell that settles my slightly nervous stomach.
The door clicks shut behind me and I turn back around to face Lois.
“Look, I'm sorry about last night, I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I reach for her hand instinctively and then stop myself, shoving both palms into my pockets instead.
“I’m not that kind of guy you know, I just…”
Do I tell her what Lewis said about her liking me for ages? I’m desperate to know if there’s any truth to it.
I inhale a shallow breath whilst she twiddles her fingers, staring at her feet.
“Lewis said you liked me and I guess I just thought we were having a bit of fun, but anyway, I'm sorry I overstepped.”
When I peel my eyes off the laminate floor she’s already staring back at me, which kind of takes me by surprise.
I don’t think she’s ever looked at me with such a vulnerable, raw expression on her face before.
Her eyes are wide but not with shock, more like a wave of understanding hits her right in the centre of those green-brown irises of her’s.
She inhales a shaky breath.
“I’m just a little confused. The other night you said the kiss was a mistake, then last night you’re touching my leg and silently flirting with me in The Good Mixer.”
She sighs, popping a hip and fisting it, a window into her secret sassy nature revealing itself to me.
“I don’t want to be a toy in your silly little game.”
“You’re not, you never were and this was never a game.”
I blow out a hefty sigh and try to stop my eyes from wandering south towards the swell of her breasts. They’re screaming out to me like a smoke alarm and damn, is it hot in here?
I take one step closer to her and she doesn’t back up.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss, it’s been pulling my attention from hockey, from my da—”
I stop the word from leaving my lips, Lois doesn’t need to know about my fucked up relationship with my dad just yet.
“I can’t focus on anything but that kiss.”
Lois’ mouth lifts into a soft smile, a hint of teasing in her sparkling eyes.
“So you’re saying you’re my prince charming, here to rescue me or some shit then?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be if you’ll let me kiss you again.”
Her smile falls and a serious expression flashes across her beautiful face.
“I think you should go now, before anyone comes home and finds you here.”
I want to say no, to get on my knees and beg her to press her lips to mine again, but of course I don’t do that.
Instead I nod solemnly and force out a whispered, “Ok, I will.”
I clear my throat, dipping my face a little closer to her’s.
“But this conversation isn’t over mini Taylor.”
Her nose scrunches and she smacks two hands against my solid chest.
“Ew, what is that nickname? Get out.”
She’s swallowing her smile though, I know it.
That’s why I do what I do next, finally letting her acceptance of my apology earn me a little bit of relief from my craving to touch her.
I wrap one arm around her waist and pull her to me for a second, smacking a brief kiss against her cheek.
That same cheek flushes a bright shade of pink the moment I release her and she shuffles her bare feet against the ground.
“Bye Nicky.”
She coos, eyelashes batting seductively without her even meaning to.
I walk out of her dorm, into the lift and back outside into the light chill.
My chest fills with a tsunami of relief, my shoulder muscles have loosened and my stomach has settled.
To be honest I feel a little giddy, like a schoolboy who just got his first kiss, even though I only went for the cheek.
It’s my 25th birthday in six weeks and my mum has requested to see me urgently.
She’s lured me here under the bribe of a birthday present, but I know she has something to tell me and that’s never a good thing.
My dad is due to be released from prison in the next six months and I have a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that her news is going to be regarding him.
Her voice was a little shaky on the phone, wobbly in that way it gets when she’s treading on eggshells with me, wary of my reaction to something.
I was always an angry kid, punching too many holes in my bedroom wall that now stands covered in random shitty magazine cutouts and posters to cover the gaping holes in the plaster.
I’ve been sitting in my car outside the grey, melancholy block of flats in Camden Town for almost ten minutes now, just avoiding getting out and taking the lift up to my childhood apartment.
My sisters Flo and Lacey are out apparently, my mum texted me an hour ago and said it would just be the two of us.
Catching up she calls it, but I know it’s more than that.
I take a breath and get out of the car, double locking it and checking over my shoulder as I press the buzzer to my mum’s flat, waiting to be let into the building.
Don’t get me wrong, this part of Camden isn’t the absolute worst, across the street there’s a well kept park, gated and locked at night.
A couple of rows of three story, grand victorian style homes lay to the left, each one selling for over a million pounds each without even having to try.
The divide between us makes me sick, those jumped up little rich kids that I’d see every morning on my way to school, getting into their parent’s Aston Martins with their expensive shoes and bags flung over their shoulder.
Meanwhile the only pair of school shoes I owned had a hole in the bottom of them, meaning I could feel the broken shards of glass under my feet when I walked across the estate towards the bus stop each morning.
Mum buzzes me in without a word exchanged between us and I'm even more certain she has bad news to launch at me like an atomic bomb when she opens the door with a forced smile.
She does pull me in for a hug though, the kind only your mum can give you, one of those hugs that make you feel like you’re melting.
“Hey Mum, how are you?”
I say, releasing her and holding her at arms length so I can get a good look at her. My mum wears her emotions on her sleeve like a tattoo and I always know how she’s doing by looking at her face closely enough.
Her eyes are a little sunken but she grins at me all the same.
“I’m good honey, I'm good.”
She doesn’t sound too good.
“Come, come sit down, let’s talk.”
She waves me over to the living room, the same split cushioned, vomit green coloured sofa sits in front of the coffee table and I fall down onto it.
Mum sits down beside me, twiddling the tassel of her favourite cushion, the one with the word’s ‘best mum’ neatly sewn across the front.
“Ok Mum, out with it, what did you drag me here to tell me?”
I sigh, taking her hand in mine to stop her fiddling. Her skin is ice cold and I suddenly notice the antarctic style temperature in the flat, I bet she’s faltered on paying the heating bill again.
She eyes me for a second before the words tumble out.
“Your dad’s going to be home for Christmas.”
I fucking knew it.
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
I murmur, letting go of her hand and running my own over my rough, stubble covered chin.
“I won’t be coming over on Christmas Day if he’s going to be here, you know that right?”
“Nick come on,”
she throws her hands in the air, exasperated.
“You have to forgive him at some point. He’s been in there for twelve years and you’re a man now, things are…”
her soft, empty eyes find me, “Different.”
But I'm not having that sorry excuse today, not for a man who thought it was ok to assault his own son twelve years ago when I could barely raise a fist to fight back.
The man hit me, three times, so fast I could barely blink between each punch.
All because 13 year old me borrowed his CD and accidentally scratched it.
I’d love to say it was the first time he’d hit any of his children, but that would be a big fat lie.
I stand up fast, stepping away from her.
“Nothing has changed Mum and it never will, I can’t forgive him for what he did.”
She sighs and swipes a tear from under her eye.
“Ok, ok, fine . But at least go and visit with him before he’s released, I'm sure he would love the chance to apologise and try to put things right with you.”
“Yeah, I bet he would.”
The words come out a mumble and I stomp off towards the front door, already desperate to get the fuck out of this toxic environment where people think it’s ok to hit their kids. My mum is just as bad as him, making shitty excuses for his behaviour, she always has.
My parents were married at 18 because my mum was already pregnant with me.
Dad joined the army at 19 and came home riddled with PTSD from fighting in Afghanistan.
I don’t blame him for that, actually I admired him as a child for what he gave up for his country.
What I don’t admire is his still constant refusal to deal with his problems, instead he prefers to use his fists to get his bottled up emotions out.
Those fists are often connecting with someone’s jaw or stomach, that being my mum or one of his six children.
I grab the door knob to leave and Mum grips my elbow tightly.
“Nick please, just think about it ok? He’s had trauma counselling in there for his PTSD, he’s changed and he’s sorry for what he did.”
I want to believe her, really I do, but the image of his reddened face, rage puffing from his ears like steam just isn’t something I can wipe away that easily.
I peck her cheek goodbye and take off out the block, my legs carrying me faster until I'm back in the safety of my crappy, silver Toyota.