Chapter 7
By the time I show up at Tony's the party is already in full swing. It's eleven thirty and there's someone passed out on the front steps, stripped down to their underwear with a bottle of vodka smashed across the slabs beside them. The boom of dance music can be heard several doors down and all the windows have been thrown open to let out the heat. The night's clear and overhead the moon is bright, the rooftops licked with silver.
With my hands dug deep into my pockets I step around the anonymous body and hop up the final steps leading to the red front door. It's been left open a crack, so I step straight inside without worrying about someone having to let me in, and then begin to follow the trail of devastation that is now the hallway.
I end up in the kitchen, where I find Chris sat at the table entertaining several blonde girls - they look much too young to be from the college. There's a cluster of shot glasses and six or so multi-coloured bottles lined up in front of them, liquid sloshed all over the wood. He looks up as I reach the back door, his eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses that only aid in making him look like a grasshopper. Upon spotting me, he grins and then slides an arm around one of his female companions. 'What time do you fucking call this? Get drinking, you're behind,' he says, gesturing towards the bottles in front of him with his free hand.
Deciding that I plan to stay sober tonight, at least to begin with, I shake my head, replying, 'Think I'll pass,' and then flash him a grin before stepping outside into the garden.
It's heaving with people I don't recognise, groups huddled together on the patio smoking and drinking their cares away, girls dancing provocatively together in the middle of the grass, hands everywhere. The night is hot and feverish, too clammy and uncomfortable to be sitting around indoors. At least that explains why I could hear the music so well while I was around the front of the house.
I weave my way in-between chairs, tables and scantily clad teens and when I finally reach the other side of the grass; I stumble across Sid and Cassie. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Sid is sat on the swinging seat, smoking on a joint, and Cassie is stood just in front of him, swaying to the music echoing around the garden and humming incessantly. By the time I reach them, Cassie is looking over at me with wide-eyes, an almost inhuman grin firmly in place.
'Maxxie, wow, hi,' she murmurs by way of a greeting, her hands slowly working their way up into her wild hair as she continues to stare hopefully at me. 'Dance with me? Sid won't.'
Sid looks as though he's about to protest, but we both ignore him.
It's difficult to say no to Cassie; so I do dance with her, three times actually, maybe four, I lose count. The distraction's nice though. This may very well be Tony's house, I may be in his territory, but at least I have friends here too if it all goes wrong.
By the time I leave Sid and Cassie to their own devices, a joint nestling happily in my back pocket for later, it's pushing midnight. I hook my thumbs casually into the belt loops of my jeans and head back toward the house, glancing around a little.
I've yet to come across Tony, which I find strange and kind of annoying really. Surely he should be hanging around causing chaos, or if not that, at least overseeing the drinking. There's a group of six or seven crowded around a small metal table on the patio, knocking back the shots and slugging their way through a litre bottle of Bacardi. I don't recognise them either. Fucking depressing.
A soft sigh leaves my lips as I step up to the back door, preparing to back inside and talk to Chris, but I don't get any further. My hand has been seized from behind and within thirty seconds I find myself around the side of the house and being shoved unceremoniously into the fence. I'm given no time to protest by my captor, he's already pressed his own body up against mine and started work on undoing my belt. Here we go again. Tony really does like to make an entrance.
If he wants to recreate Brighton in his back garden, he can think again. In Brighton I didn't feel so inhibited. In Brighton I could pretend he was someone else. In Brighton I couldn't hear our friend's laughter in the distance. Here though, everything is real, it's all so raw and it scares me to death.
I push him away, my eyes narrowing to slits. 'Fucks sake Tony, fuck off,' I growl and the words come out a little more venomously than I would have liked them to. A part of me wants to apologise to him, but I bite down on my lip and resist. Tony wouldn't apologise. Instead I gaze over at him, listening to the sound of the party raging around us. He's slumped against the wall of the house, watching me as he toys with his hair, a lethargic smile upon his face.
'What?' I can't take it anymore and I snap.
Tony's languid smile turns into a broad grin and he lifts his shoulders nonchalantly. 'When are you going to admit it, Max?' he questions, looking pleased with himself.
Thankfully his question is easy enough to ignore and I do just that. I lower my eyes, do my belt back up and then walk away from him.
It's up to him if he follows or not.
When I reach the house, I make a beeline for the stairs, taking them two at a time and then slipping into Tony's bedroom unseen. It's unoccupied, thank fuck, so I gently push the door to, sit on the end of his bed and stare down at my feet. Several minutes later I hear a soft click as the door's closed. My eyes stay glued to my sneakers as he sits down beside me and there we stay, simply sitting, in complete silence. For all I know we sit there for hours, neither of us entirely sure what to do or what to say. It isn't uncomfortable though, it's needed.
Eventually, Tony leans into me, his lips dangerously close to my ear and whispers, 'Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant of such weak fibre that the treacherous air of absence withers what was once so fair?'
That's right Tony, talk complete bollocks, that'll solve everything. I'd like to punch him right now, I really would. One hard punch, square to the nose, a punch that would give him some idea of how much he's hurt me over these past few weeks. Tony has always seemed so void of emotion, sometimes I wonder if he feels anything at all, for me or anyone for that matter…
'No more games now?' my words are softly spoken and I apprehensively turn my gaze toward him.
He smiles and shakes his head, lifting his hand to smooth down the hair behind my ear. 'Promise,' he answers. I can never tell anymore when Tony's being genuine and when he isn't. He's perfected lying so well that it's anyone's guess these days. 'If I tell you I love you will it help?'
I duck away from him, squeezing my eyes closed and digging my nails into my palms. 'No it won't help,' I retort. 'Fuck, Tone.'
My replies are getting quieter with each word. Had this been his plan all along? Beat me into submission? Make me doubt everything and then fix it all with an 'I love you'? It doesn't mean anything though, those words mean fuck all when they come from the lips of Tony Stonem. They're words, nothing more; their meaning is completely irrelevant when he wants something.
'I'm sorry?' he tries, an encouraging smile on his face as he nudges me. But he shouldn't have to ask, he should just say it.
Looking at him again, my mouth turning down into a small frown, I offer him a uniform reply, 'You're supposed to mean it, Tony.' I glance back to my hands, quite content in just twiddling my thumbs for a moment. 'What happened with Michelle?'
Tony sits back again slightly, taking the hint for now, and then laughs dryly. I wish he wouldn't act as though everything I say is hilarious. 'Oh, that? It wasn't working out. Told her I'd had better,' he answers me, his eyebrows shooting up insinuatingly. 'I told her I'd had much better actually. What do you reckon?'
I can't help it, but a small smile twitches at the corners of my mouth. No wonder Tony always thinks he can get exactly what he wants from me, I give in to him so reluctantly. My smile unwillingly breaks through and inside I'm cursing myself. Fucking hell, I really need to keep my emotions in check. Being transparent around Tony isn't a good thing. He's watching me again, seemingly amused as he leans back on his hands and waits for my response. I don't know what to say to him, there's nothing I can say to him.
'Maxxie?' Tony ducks his head down a little so that he can see my face when he speaks. I don't look over; eye contact isn't something I can manage right now.
What happens next though, I couldn't have predicted. He extends his arm, his fingers lightly running through my hair, his nails tracing the back of my neck, actions all so soft and gentle that I almost forget who's touching me.
Shit, I'd forgotten what this was like… what he was like.
My gaze moves gradually to his face and he nods encouragingly, granting permission. I didn't need it though. Reaching out with my right hand, I timidly trace his jaw line with my fingertips and his eyes fall closed at the contact. Good sign. I edge closer, all the while becoming more confident. He's not playing with me anymore.
Trembling fingers find black fabric a moment later and for the first time I take the lead. And he lets me. He sits there and lets me do what I want. My lips meet his hesitantly, but he returns the kiss without hesitation and I lean in closer to him, grasping at his clothes in desperation. If he takes this away from me again now it'll kill me.
Tony settles a hand against my thigh, the pad of his thumb moving in a lazy circular motion. At the same time he's fighting to take control of the kiss, his tongue battling with mine in a feverish duel. He's not having control tonight though, no matter how much he wants it. The moment becomes more frantic and as it does, I tangle my hands in his sweater, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
I stare at him and he stares back, eyes dilated and breathing hard. God, he's beautiful, but that's something I don't want to admit to. I'll never say the words. Practically everyone in Bristol, at one point or another, has helped to stroke Tony's ego, he doesn't need me to do it too. Besides, there are much better things I could be stroking.
Leaning in again, I don't grace him with a kiss but instead pause to whisper, 'Tell me you want me, Tony,' against his lips. I tilt my head in anticipation, raking my nails down his chest and causing him to flinch. He's still healing even though the bruises have faced.
He sighs, impatiently, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. At first he doesn't reply, instead he kisses me hard, showing me who's boss, his hands moving to relieve me of my shirt.
Once the striped cotton has met the carpet, Tony gets to his feet, still gazing at me, and then undoes his belt and jeans in one swift motion, dropping them to the floor. He smiles, sickly sweet, offering me a casual reply, 'You fucking know I do.'
He's not wrong, I guess I always have.
