The 'ride' was a little different than I expected, but still fun. Who knew David could drive a motorcycle so well? We'd gone all along the edge of the cliffs – and when I say edge, I mean it – at top speed, not even stopping when the rocks suddenly cut off in a different direction. It was like he knew the way perfectly, as if there was a map engraved in the back of his head.
It had just started to get light when he took me back home, dropping me off just outside the house again, like before. Luckily though, Michael didn't try to almost kill him like last time. But it was an awkward goodbye – for me anyway; David never seemed to find anything awkward – since Marko, Paul and Dwayne were all watching us, as if waiting for some kind of episode to take place. Of course, nothing happened.
I wanted to just drop onto my bed and fall asleep as soon as I got in, but I knew that I'd only get a couple of hours. Maybe I could run on a Michael-schedule, and sleep off the day while I went out all night. Sounded fun . . . especially as there was no one around in the day to hang out with, since my older brother had practically ditched me, and my younger brother had two creeps with him all the time. The Frog brothers, they were called. I could vaguely remember seeing them in the comic store when we'd first moved to Santa Carla . . .
As soon as I decided that I wasn't about to fall asleep, I found myself lying on my bed fully-dressed. Hm. I must have dozed off at some point.
I yawned groggily and stumbled off the mattress. I stripped off my jeans and t-shirt, and rummaged around in my wardrobe for something to wear. I picked the first thing my hands could find, and pulled them on. I wasn't in the mood for being fussy. But as I looked in the mirror, I realized I appeared just as bad as I felt. The bags under my eyes were darker then they'd been in ages; my hair was no more than a rat's nest, and I automatically knew that I'd soon have to rip half of it out when I brushed it; my face was smeared with mascara stains and I looked like I'd just walked off the set of a zombie film. I hoped I hadn't looked this bad when I went out last night.
"You're kidding!" I exclaimed when I looked at the clock.
4:24pm.
Hell, maybe I was running on a Michael-schedule after all. But who cares? Staying out all night was more fun than being cooped up inside while everyone else was having a good time. Screw what everyone else thought.
And then I remembered that I'd left Michael's bike at the boardwalk. It didn't bother me that much to think how angry he'd be if he knew – I could easily bring it back before he woke up, if he got up at all, that is. And I couldn't be bothered to go get it right now . . . maybe I could just walk to the boardwalk tonight, and then bring it back when I felt like coming home. Seemed like a good idea.
The sky had turned a velvety black by the time I managed to drag myself out of the house and down the street. The stars were quite clear tonight, twinkling innocently above my head. I jingled the keys merrily in my hand as I wandered into town. It was only a few minutes before I could see the vivid lights of the boardwalk in the distance, severe in contrast to the soft radiance of the night.
I found Michael's bike exactly where I'd left it the night before, and luckily nothing had happened to it. That surprised me, considering how often crimes occurred round Santa Carla. I remembered the sign I'd seen when I'd first came here, and recalled the message on the back. I still wasn't afraid of it, but I couldn't help but notice how many 'missing' flyers there were posted around the place.
I strolled into the boardwalk with my eyes already scanning the crowd for a familiar face. A certain familiar face, I though dryly. It wasn't long before I found one – but it wasn't the one I'd been hoping for.
"Paul," I said, noticing the blonde watching me curiously.
He smiled in return, and I immediately felt myself do the same. His good mood was infectious.
"Becca," he grinned. "What's up?"
"Not much. Where's David?"
He rolled his eyes. "How did I know that one was coming? He's out with the guys."
"Why aren't you with them?"
"Just thought I'd hang round here. They're not exactly up to much – gone chasing girls, I expect."
Something tightened in my chest. "They do that a lot?"
"I guess,"
I felt blood spread across my cheeks, and realized what the tight feeling in my chest was – jealousy. It had been so long since I'd experienced it, I'd almost forgotten the sensation. But I had no right to be feeling it at all. Why should I care if David went after girls? I had no tie on him. It shouldn't bother me at all.
But it did anyway. I looked away from Paul, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I hadn't cried in ages and felt weak doing it now, all because of some stupid boy that I shouldn't even care about. According to what I'd been telling myself, I was doing all this to get back at Michael. I guess I'd screwed that one up big time.
"You alright?" Paul asked, strangely unsurprised by my reaction.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't . . .
"I'm leaving in a minute," said Paul, "d'you want to come? David will be back soon and you can probably see him before you go."
"Okay," I was glad to hear that my voice sounded relatively normal.
He patted me on the back sympathetically as we went, and I resisted the urge to hit him. He should not be seeing this. These were my private feelings on display here, and in accepting the ride, I opened myself up to mockery from Paul for them. I just hoped that he didn't taunt me about it, as much as he'd probably love to. But I had a strange feeling in me, one that told me I might just be able to get my own back.
I seated myself on Paul's motorcycle with growing ease, and he started the engine. I tried to make note of where we were going. Maybe I could make my own little visits now and again, to save me from my long waits at the boardwalk.
I was proud to say that not a single tear spilled from my eyes in our journey to the cave. I felt a bit happier now, knowing that David was going to be pretty pissed when he came back. It was harder than it should have been, though, to keep imaginings of him 'chasing girls' off my mind.
"So, I guess you like David a lot, then," said Paul, making it a question.
"A little, I guess. It's nothing big." Liar, I scolded myself.
"Fair enough, "
He sat down next to me on the couch, and slung his arm around me. I could tell he didn't mean it in a romantic way, which I was glad for. I might want David to think something was going on, but that didn't mean I was going to lower myself to his standards in order to get revenge.
"I was only joking when I said about David earlier, you know . . ." began Paul, a little worried. "I mean, it was probably just Marko and Dwayne doing that, I doubt David's involved, not that it really matters . . ."
"Spare me the bullshit, Paul." I sighed. "I honestly don't care what David gets up to in his own time. He could knock up a million girls, for all it matters to me."
"If you say so," he shrugged. "But I meant what I just said. They're probably just out for a ride or something – I doubt he'd do that when you two are dating, and stuff."
A ridiculously warm feeling blossomed in my chest, and I internally kicked myself. We weren't dating – Paul knew that. He was probably only saying that so he didn't hurt my feelings.
"We're not dating, Paul," I said, but unfortunately my tone of voice mirrored the feelings inside of me.
"That's not what it looks like, but I'll take your word for it."
I managed to stop a stupid, irrational smile from spreading across my face. This was inexcusable behaviour. It didn't matter what anyone else thought, we were not dating, and I certainly did not care about David in any way, shape, or form.
"You thirsty?" asked Paul after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
I couldn't help but notice that he asked this in the same tone that Marko had the night before. David had thrown chopsticks at him then, so I was pretty sure that whatever it was with being thirsty, it was not a good thing in David's eyes.
I grinned. "Sure,"
I saw a kind of relief in Paul's eyes then, and he took his arm off me and swaggered out of the room. I rearranged myself into a more comfortable position on the couch, and rested my head back on the pillows.
"I hope you like wine," said Paul happily as he skipped back into the room.
He was carrying an ornately jewelled bottle, which looked like it was expensive. I blanched as he sat down next to me. The gems on the bottle were blood red, and looked uncannily like rubies.
"Sure I do," I lied.
Any kind of alcohol tasted disgustingly sour and bitter to me. I'd been drunk once, and I could remember waking up in the morning with a pounding headache and aching stomach muscles. I didn't want to experience that again; I just had to hope that he didn't try to make me drink the whole bottle.
He unscrewed the lid, and took a swig before handing it to me. I wondered what the percent it was when I saw him shudder. But I took a gulp anyway, and acted like I enjoyed it. It tasted weird – old and musty, with a metallic taste to it. But seeing as I'd only ever had cheap stuff I guessed it was normal, and took another gulp.
As soon as I put the bottle down I started to feel a bit queasy. Two swigs of wine and I was already starting to feel nauseous – I couldn't believe I was such a lightweight.
"How do you feel?" asked Paul, starting to smile.
"I . . ." I didn't notice the odd question. "I feel great,"
It was true. The queasiness had been replaced by a fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach, which burned a little but felt wonderful. A smile of my own started to tug at the corners of my mouth.
"What's in that stuff?"
He looked a little smug. "It's just wine. Don't tell me you've never had alcohol before?"
"Shut up. Of course I have." I said jokingly. "Can we go somewhere? I feel a little keyed up,"
I started to stand, but tripped on my own feet and came crashing back down onto the floor. It should have hurt, but I started laughing. Paul looked as unconcerned as I felt, as if it was completely normal to get high off two gulps of wine.
"I can tell," he said, helping me up off the floor.
I continued to giggle stupidly as he helped drag me out the cave and onto his bike. We rode for a while – I estimated an hour – and all the while the ecstasy increased. I found it hard to stay on the bike, and I gripped Paul firmly so that I wouldn't fall off. We shouldn't be going this fast when I was this out of it.
There was an eerie sense of déjà vu as he took us away from the cliffs, all the way to a secluded part of the beach where the stars shone brighter than I'd ever seen them in Santa Carla. The sand was bleached bone white by the moon. I shuddered. I realized why I'd thought I'd seen this before; I'd been here in my dream.
Like a reminder of the disturbing night, Star's voice echoed in my head.
He wants your blood . . .
Then suddenly there was a jolt in my body, and an ear-splitting screech escaped my lips. I fell sideways off the bike. There were a multitude of agonizing snaps in my body, each delivering hot waves of pain that rolled through me like fire, licking through my veins in a hot tongue of flames. I screamed again, and warm liquid bubbled up my throat.
Through all the torture, I felt myself roll to a stop on the sand. I tried to open my eyes, but they were glued shut. There was nothing but blackness, blackness and unbearable agony. I felt hot blood pour from various points in my body, and I knew it was pathetic to think that I'd survive this, or even another hour.
It's not too late . . . again Star's voice resonated in my head.
Help, I tried to tell the voice, but it was gone.
There was nothing . . . nothing but my own voice telling me how naive I must be to ride a motorcycle when I was this intoxicated, to trust a boy who was hardly older than me to keep me safe.
As the final wave of agony dragged me under, I heard David's voice calling out to me through the blackness. I tried to reach out to him, to touch him, but I was being pulled further under, unable to move in the scorching agony.
It seemed humiliating that just after I'd found something that I really wanted, everything was all taken away from me in one, reckless moment. A bike. After everything I'd survived back in England, after all I'd endured, I'd been brought down by a bike.
My last conscious thought was Star's declaration:
It's not too late.
