Chapter Nineteen
Millie
I walk into the front room, trying to look calm, wanting to feel at ease, but I don't. The twins don't look up from the TV, their fingers clicking rapidly as they destroy aliens or monsters or zombies or whatever age-inappropriate game they've convinced Roisin to buy them. She's lying on a settee, a mug perched on her chest, a half-eaten box of chocolates at her side, fanning herself like something from a Jane Austen novel.
“Jackson's on his way. I'll be heading out …”
Roisin shoots up, her empty mug bouncing its way across the carpet.
“Millie … you look gorgeous.”
Her mouth goes as round as her eyes, and I feel my cheeks heat. I don't want to look like I care, not too much anyway. I'm not na?ve; Jackson and I agreed just to be friends, however much I might want more. Since the beginning, I've been torn between fighting for him, wanting to change his mind, and simply accepting that friendship is all he wants. But it's hard, so hard, when every instinct, every lingering look, or touch on my flesh tells me something else. I don't want to humiliate myself, but I don't want to give up on the first thing I've truly wanted for myself in a long time.
“Thanks,” I mutter, giving a playful spin so Roisin can see the full outfit. This time, when I walk into Worship, I will be wearing something I feel comfortable in, something that feels like me. My dress isn't some itchy, stretchy thing but soft and curve-skimming in the deepest shade of emerald. I've added a few extra curls to my hair, but I've left it loose around my shoulders. The only thing I've kept the same is the blood-red lip that Chloe recommended for me. She was right about that if nothing else.
Roisin giggles and stands up. Sauntering over to me, she puts her hand on my shoulders and leans in to whisper in my ear. She smells of her Irish coffee, like whiskey and espresso. Her breath is warm against my cheek.
“He won't have a chance in hell.”
I'd hoped I'd hidden it well, but my desires for this night were written all over me. I hated feeling this vulnerable. I hated feeling so out of control. But I loved it too. The anticipation, the excitement of what could be.
“And … what if it's not? What if it changes nothing?” My voice is hoarse, and my heart has leapt into my throat.
Roisin smiles, touching up my curls like it's the most natural thing in the world to do, and I feel comforted. For a moment, I feel guilty, like I've supplanted Mum for someone else. But Roisin has been here for me when the rest of the world left me behind. She means more to me than I ever realised, more than I allowed myself to realise in the fog of my self-pity. She isn't Mum. She isn't blood, and yet here she is, being my family anyway.
“Well, one of the hardest things in life is knowing when to cut your losses and to walk away. Jackson's told you what he wants, and maybe he's not being honest with himself. Or maybe he's being completely honest. Either way, you may not change his mind, and at some point, you may need to accept that. It's been weeks now, and nothing's changed, has it?”
“I know, I just feel so different around him. Less …”
“I know.” Her smile is sad and slow. “But maybe that feeling … you can only have that as friends.”
I nod but say nothing. She's right, but it doesn't stop the constricting feeling in my chest.
“Enjoy tonight, let it be what it is, and I really hope you get whatever it is you need.”
“Thank you.” I put my arms around her in a hug, and she takes a moment to get over her shock and surprise, but slowly, she wraps her arms around me. Her cashmere jumper is buttery soft under my hands. She's done everything she could for me since Mum died, and I wonder if I've ever shown her how much I appreciate it.
“You're welcome, sweetheart.”
When we part, her eyes are watery.
The ring of the doorbell chimes through the house. Jackson is here.
Jackson's eyes linger on me again, hazy like a soft-focus filter. He turns back to the road, the bright city lights shattering the dark night. My face feels flushed. We've not spoken much since I got in the car, but I can feel the tension, thick and heady like perfume. I know it's not just me; I'm not the only one feeling things. I can tell by the strain in his jaw, the way he's drawn back to me again and again, his eyes dark with hunger.
No. It's not just me feeling out of control tonight.
“You look gorgeous, even more than usual.” There's none of the glittering charm laced within those words. He says them with deadly seriousness. “And I didn't know that was possible.”
“And I didn't know you could amp that charisma past ten, but there it is.”
I tease, taken aback by his earnest tone. He chuckles, shooting me a devastating smile, and I feel myself soften just a little.
“Thank you. You're looking pretty good yourself.”
His lips curl in the corners. I know I don't need to tell him that. Jackson's not vain, but he knows he's attractive the same way he knows the sky is blue. Tonight, he's wearing all black. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous, but he wears it like a second skin.
The rest of the drive is in silence as I take in the city at night. I'm starting to think that driving around in Jackson's car is one of my favourite things to do. The windows are down, Lana del Rey's sultry voice is crooning from the radio, and Jackson's driving is fast and smooth.
Jackson slips the car into the small car park behind Worship, driving past the street with long queues and other busy bars and restaurants. The black building looms above us, and I can't help but feel a wave of nerves. Maybe Jackson senses it.
“Hey.”
Dragging my attention back to the present, I turn to see him staring at me, his steel eyes soft and gentle. He takes my hand that had been nervously tugging at my jacket. His skin is warm against mine.
“Tonight is going to be good, OK? Trust me.” Before I can answer, he lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles.
I'm speechless and so aware of my racing heart, which is fighting to burst out of my chest. Whatever happens tonight, whatever he says … I know he feels this, too.
The feeling of his hand on the small of my back is burning into my skin, and my boots click loudly against the wet pavement. The street lights overhead are brightening our path, shining back at us from puddles under our feet. Jackson is telling me more about Worship as we walk along the street and towards the entrance. I'm only half-listening, finding comfort in the soft depth of his voice, even if the words are lost on me. I'm more focused on the gathering crowd and on my memories of my last time here.
I feel my body tensing, my breathing getting quicker with every step forward. The crowd, standing impatiently behind the barriers, watches as we walk past them, knowing we're heading straight to the front. Their eyes seem to narrow on us, taking us in as if we were carrying a great secret. The girls whose coats and tights have been left at home, who shiver in the dark. Boys who carry the heavy scent of body spray, so thick it makes my eyes water. Jackson doesn't even turn his head; his steps happy and confident as he approaches a place that fits him as easily as his jacket.
A group of men overtakes us as we walk, and I can hear the girls in the crowd calling out to them, trying to win their attention.
“Hey! Fancy helping us … what the …?”
My head turns sharply as the yell fades. Marnie, Chloe, and Samira are leaning against the metal barrier, huddling together from the cold. Their mouths hang low as they look at me in wonder. Marnie's eyes narrow into angry pinpricks as she takes in Jackson by my side.
I stop, and Jackson comes to a halt by me. He takes in the three girls I'm looking at. His eyes are thoughtful, but he says nothing.
“Hi guys …”
I want to show off, lift my chin, straighten my back, show them who they left behind and how she was worth so much more than they'd known that night.
Jackson feels me stiffen and moves closer, his arm circling my waist. He looks down at me, smiling softly. I smile up at him, forgetting for a moment they're even in there. So lost, I find myself in his eyes, in the curve of his lips, the warmth now settled around my hips.
They have nothing I want. And nothing they could give me is anything I need.
I turn back to them. Marnie is still scowling, her arms now folded tightly across her chest as her lips tighten into a fine line. Chloe's eyes are so wide I can't read them—is it shock, sadness, or shame I see in them? Samira is already growing bored and picking at her nails.
“Have a good night. Maybe I'll see you inside.” I walk away. Jackson follows, though I know he pauses to give them a look he thinks I can't see.
“Oh, come on, Millie. Help us in; it's bloody freezing.” Samira's bored drawl cuts through my new focus. I turn and look at them. Chloe, shivering in her pale pink dress, looks hopeful, while Marnie looks at me curiously.
Maybe I would if I was a bigger person, a better one, the sort of person who did kind, sweet things even for people who didn't deserve them. Who was always the bigger person? But I wasn't.
And tonight, I was totally OK with it.
“I'm not really sure why that's my problem?”
I turn swiftly, walking away so quickly that Jackson has to skip a few steps to catch up with me. He leans down, chuckling in my ear.
“Remind me never to piss you off.” He's still laughing even as we reach the security guards. He greets them warmly, his good mood making his eyes sparkle and his mannerisms easy.
I quickly glance back at the crowd. Chloe is looking sheepish, her eyes settled on the ground, her thoughts lost to me. Samira is typing rapidly on her phone, her face back to its dull sneer. Marnie is shooting me daggers; her whole body fixed on me like a gun at target practice. I don't smile or acknowledge her. I just turn away.
Jackson leads me inside, his hand once again on my back.