Chapter Eleven
Zander – Three months later
“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 but watch 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 the door 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.”
“What?”
“What’s going on with you? And don’t even try to tell me you’re fine, I’ve seen rabid dogs with more control,” I cast a quick glance at his thumb still attached to his teeth. His pacing immediately halts, and his shoulders slump forward as he pulls his thumb from his mouth, saliva string and all.
“I just don’t know what I’m doing…” He sounds exasperated, tilting his head to the sky as though the answers lie amongst the stars.
“Holly’s great, we have a good time when we’re together–” I can sense the impending ‘but’ before it leaves his mouth.
“But I think she wants more from me…” His voice is low, like it’s some kind of shameful secret he’s spilling.
He drops his gaze to the floor, watching the toe of his shoe dig into the dirt.
“Jules–”
“Zan, don’t. I know that makes me weird, or whatever…”
“No. That doesn’t make you weird, it makes you, you.
Don’t for one second think you’re ‘less than.’ If anything, it makes you brave,” my words are firm and sure.
The way he’s so quick to disparage himself brings with it the memories of his bullies, who once did the same, along with white-hot flashes of anger.
“Pft. I’m a coward, Zan, let’s not pretend otherwise,” he scoffs, belittling himself even further.
Without a conscious thought as to where we are, I march over to him, crowding his space and backing him up against the nearest wall.
Each intake of air presses my chest against his with barely restrained fury at his effortless dismissal.
“Really, Jules?” I hiss through painfully gritted teeth.
“Tell me how a coward would run into a building with a dead body inside, with no care for himself or his safety. Tell me how a coward would not only have to watch his best friend endure the worst night of his life, but also accept him into his home as a brother.” My eyes bore into his defiant blues, willing him to see himself the way I do.
Jules’ eyes grow wide, hopefully from the realisation that the person I see is a complete contrast to the one he feels.
“I… Uh, sorry–”
“No. We don’t apologise for our feelings, that’s not what we do.
You’re brave because you don’t care what other people think, so don’t start now.
If you don’t want to take it further with Holly, then don’t.
You wanna go home and watch some anime instead, I’m game.
In fact, I encourage it.” I see his shoulders relax as he lets a chuckle slip past his lips. He’s back.
“What about the girls?” He asks, looking around.
“They’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.” But because I’m not a total loser, I send Layla a quick text–
Me: Jules has got the shits, soz. Maybe another time.
He’ll thank me one day.
Once we arrived back home–still getting used to calling it that–Jules’ mood had improved significantly, to the point he offered to make us both a cup of tea.
Not wanting to discourage him, I gathered a few snacks for our anime binge-fest. We had planned what we were going to watch the entire journey home, so I set about separating the Smarties by colour.
I don’t care what anyone says, orange ones are superior.
Standing beside Jules, I notice something off. A strange sensation takes hold of my body, but I can’t place it. It’s as foreign and unnatural as itchy teeth.
“Jules, did you just put the milk in before the water?”
“Yeah, why?” I stare at him, completely bewildered.
“Why? What do you mean, why?”
“I put the milk in whilst I was waiting for the kettle to boil, saves time, see?” Just as he screws the lid back onto the carton, the kettle clicks off, signalling it’s ready.
“No, no no no.” I watch as the white, cold liquid turns a muddy brown. It all feels wrong, so wrong. “I can’t drink that, Jules.” Reaching over, I grab the cup with the ‘Z’ on the front and carry it over to the sink.
“What? Why not? It’s still the same, just a different order…” He laughs. I know he’s not laughing at me, but the unsettling feeling is spreading rapidly at the thought of tea leaves stewing in a shallow bath of cold milk.
“It’s not the same…”
“It is! It has the tea bag, water, and milk, just like always.” His nonchalant attitude only serves to spin my dizzying mind faster. I know what he means, but it doesn’t untangle the mess in my head right now.
“IT’S NOT!”
The kitchen falls silent, the only noise comes from the swirl of tea, now circling the drain.
“Is everything okay?” A sleepy Theresa pokes her head around the doorframe, her eyes bouncing between Jules and me.
“Yeah, Mom. Everything’s fine… right, Zan?” His voice is small and concerned. Pressing my palms into the counter, either side of the sink, I take a steadying breath in before answering–
“Yeah, sorry if I disturbed you. I, umm– split the teabag in my cup…” It’s a weak excuse, and I feel like shit for yelling at Jules, but I just need to make it the right way, and then I can investigate exactly what the fuck just happened.