Ten
"Curly, wake up."
"Get lost, Ange." Turning over so I'm facing the wall, I burrow my head deeper into the pillow, pull the scratchy blanket over my head. Hoping she'll take the hint I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation right now. Not after the way last night turned out.
"C'mon, Shepard, stay and have a beer. You ought to be celebrating, the job went good. Better than good. Even Ryan can't find no fault with it." Danny Simmonds grins at me, waits as the rest the gang disappear across the lot towards Buck's place.
"Yeah, alright," I agree, still on a high from how well the job went. From how everyone knows it was my plan that made all the difference. From the extra fifteen bucks nestled in my back pocket that took less than an hour's effort to earn, when it'd take me forever to get that much down the diner.
Lang's pressing a beer into my hand as I walk in the door, cornering me to talk, singing my praises. Making me an offer that I know I can't refuse.
"You and me, Shepard. We got this sorted. Rest of them idiots can't do shit unless someone spells it out for them. Like a bunch of little kids. So how about it? You be my second, official like, pair of us plan things together from now on?"
Get the feeling he's only saying what he thinks I want to hear. Wants to keep me close 'cause he's worried I'm some kind of threat. But I guess that can work both ways, might give me the inside track on what's going on with him, rather than feeling like I'm always the last to know what's going down. And maybe when Tim gets back, when he sees how well I can handle this. Well maybe he'll want to keep me around, too.
I take a swig of my beer; don't want Lang to think I'm too keen, that I'm desperate for him to give me this. Let him stew for a moment or two as I make like I'm thinking it over.
"Yeah, alright. I'm in," I say eventually.
"Cool." He grins at me. "Now let's get another drink. Make this official."
And even though I know I'm pushing my luck and that I should probably head home, I'm buzzed enough—from the job, from this unexpected promotion—that I let Lang talk me into staying for another beer. And then another, and another.
"C'mon, Curly. Please. I need to talk to you, now," Angela persists, poking me in the shoulder.
"Jesus, can't it wait, barging in here when I'm trying to sleep?"
"Ain't you gotta work? I thought you said you had the early today?"
"Maybe I'm sick."
"Oh yeah sure you are. Hungover more like. You smell like the inside of a bar." Angela waves her hand in front of her face, wrinkles her nose. "What time exactly did you get home from your date with Linda? Or were you out all night with her?"
We stumble out the place an hour or so later, caught up in the laughter and jokes of the guys as we weave slowly along the sidewalk. Back through town towards home. Almost collide with three girls as we run into the small gaggle of people spilling out of the cinema.
"Curly?"
"Linda? What're you doing here?"
Linda folds her arms. "Could ask you the same thing. Thought you said you had to stay home."
God.
I feel sick.
Can't talk about this now. Not with Angela.
Not have her laughing at what a fucking idiot I am. Don't need anyone else telling me what I already know. Should've known I'd blow it. That I was being too cocky thinking everything was going to work out fine, that I could ever do shit right.
"Go. Away. Angela." I turn my head a little to glare at her. Instantly regretting moving so sharp as a burning flash of pain rips through my brain.
"God, what happened to your face? You been fighting again?" Her voice gets a little higher, faster, as she gnaws at her bottom lip. "You ain't in trouble again are you?"
"Yeah, that's right. Always think the worst of me, 'cause I'm a damn idiot who can't do nothing right," I sneer at her, even though she'd be right to think it. I can't do nothing right. Or least, not more than one thing at once anyways.
"So what happened then? You get jumped or something?"
"None of your damn business, Angela. So why don't you get lost?" I twist my body over a little and stretch my arm back across me, shove at my sister until I manage to push her off the edge of my bed and send her tumbling to the floor.
"Jesus, Curly. You know you're a real jerk sometimes!" Angela drags herself back to her feet then slaps me hard across the back of my already-aching head and then stalks out of my room, the door rattling on its hinges as she slams it, echoed by her own door banging shut barely three seconds later.
Flop back down on my back, sling an arm across my eyes in an attempt to suppress the heavy, fuzzy feeling, the pounding in my skull from the stand-off with a couple of assholes I'd run into a couple of streets from here, happy when they'd picked a fight with me over nothing. Well that and the quarter-bottle of cheap booze I'd found a couple months back stashed in the bottom of Tim's dresser. The one I'd been saving for emergencies—that I'd polished off in the early hours when I eventually staggered home.
Fidget with the bed covers again. Roll onto my side and stare at the empty bed across pressed against the far wall of the room, untouched in so many months. Doubt I'd be getting any sympathy from Tim if he was here either. Not that I deserve it anyway.
I try to ignore the fact all the guys are watching us, that all her friends are glaring at me. Shove my hands in my pockets and make like her catching me here is no big deal and shoot her a grin. "Yeah, well something came up."
"Of course it did. So I guess your mom made some miracle recovery then? Or was that all bullshit too? To cover up the fact you didn't wanna see me no more?"
I take a hold of her arm, lead her down the street, in an attempt to get her away from everyone listening. "Linda, it ain't like that, honest to God. I've been with the gang. I had a job to—"
"A job to do? Spending your night sinking beers in some dive bar? And don't you dare deny it, Curly Shepard, 'cause I can smell the booze on you from three feet away."
She turns, starts to walk away.
"Linda, wait. How about I walk you home? Give us a chance to talk, let me explain, properly?"
But she shakes her head. "No thanks, 'cause all the explaining in the world ain't gonna change the fact you're a liar, is it?"
Huff out a breath and roll back onto my other shoulder, facing the wall. I'm fucking useless. Ain't no other words for it. Should have known better than to think things were finally starting to go my way, that I was actually doing something right. There's no way now that I'll be able to sleep no more. Not when last night is on a constant replay in my mind. Shit.
Linda's words echo round and round my head as I torture myself, replaying that moment when she walked away from me and over; trying to pretend that she didn't really dump me. No. I'm definitely not getting no more sleep today.
Maybe I need to do something.
Go hang with the guys, take my mind off of her. Least that's one part of my life that hasn't gone to shit. The gang's more important than some girl. Ain't like it's the first time I've broke up with someone—or been dumped. Couple of days and I'll be wondering what all the fuss was about. Plenty of other girls out there, girls who understand that the gang has to come first, that I don't answer to them.
Push myself upright and swing my feet over the side of my bed, scrabble around for my jeans and pull them on. Find a shirt that don't seem too creased and pull it over my head.
Padding down the hall to the kitchen, Ange is over by the sink washing dishes, while Ma's in her usual place at the table. All I want is a glass of water and some Aspirins, to get in and out without this becoming another drama.
"Hey, Ma."
"You okay, baby? You look tired, are you sick?" Guess I've caught her in one of her more lucid moments, 'cause she's on her feet beside me stretching up and pressing her hand to the side of my forehead, like I'm a little kid, not near enough a foot taller than her these days.
"Yeah, Ma. I'm fine." I reach across Angela to fill my glass from the faucet, then swallow down a bunch of pills. Keep myself to the left of Ma, hoping she don't spot the bruises on my right cheek, the new scabs on my knuckles.
"You're sweating," Ma persists, "are you coming down with a fever? You seem poorly, you should go to bed."
"Poorly?" Angela snorts, setting a pan down heavily on the drainer, grinning as I wince at the noise. "Self-inflicted more like. He ain't sick, Ma, he's had too much to drink is all, deserves to feel like shit."
"Angela! That's a terrible thing to say! You apologise to your brother right now."
"Yeah, right," my sister sneers. "Can't go upsetting your precious baby boy, can we?"
Ma's fussing around me, while Angela continues to make as much noise as she can. And all their noise and bickering isn't taking my mind off things, it's making me feel worse and worse, 'cause seems like every damn thing is my fault here as well.
Need to get out, get some air. Before I say something to either one of them that I regret. Clear my head. Get my priorities straight. 'Cause the important stuff is the gang. Taking care of Ma and Angela. Like Tim would want me to. No matter the cost.
So what if Linda's pissed at me? There's plenty more girls out there if she wants to be all precious about it. I don't need her.
The job though. That's another matter. Guess I could swing by The Dingo. Chance my luck on convincing Ricky I ain't a totla screw up. How mad can he be? AIn't like I've ever missed a shift before. Yeah, I'll risk it, head over. Worst that can happen is he says no.
The sweat is dripping down the back of my neck, my t-shirt clinging to my back. I sure ain't looking forward to facing Linda though. Don't need another scene, slap bang in the middle of The Dingo. No, maybe I'll take my time, get there when she ain't around. Deal with one thing at a time. My head is pounding like a jackhammer again, my mouth dry like an old boot as my stomach growls. Don't know that I wanna eat anything just yet, but a drink sure would go down well.
Think about going to Jay's only the Double R is closer—and I guess it's a good a place to stop as any, so I take the left, head inside, drop down on a stool at the counter, tapping my fingers against the shiny surface of the counter as I wait, glad to be out the baking sun, just for a minute or two.
No. Linda's not the boss of me, should know I got other responsibilities. And it ain't like she didn't know about the gang before she said yes. And we're not exactly going steady or nothing, just 'cause we've been out a few times these past couple of weeks.
Drag a hand through my damp hair, and grin at the thought of those nights I've spent with Linda. She sure looks pretty fine...kisses real good—
"Curly?" Leigh's voice, the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder, makes me jump, makes me snap back to the reality of the fact I'm sat here alone in the middle of the Double R. "Is everything okay? Has something—"
"What? Oh. No, Tim's…there's no news. I'm just…" Just what? An idiot? She doesn't need to know my problems. Settle instead for grinning at her. "I came in for a soda. It's kinda hot out there."
Leigh slips back behind the counter, and I notice she's wearing her waitress uniform, that she's waiting for me to order.
"I'll take a Pepsi. So how come?" I ask, gesturing towards her, to the fact she's back working here, instead of that fancy office job I thought she had.
Leigh shrugs, reaches for a glass. "Guess you heard about what happened with my dad? Kinda lost my job, taking so much time off to look after him, when he was so sick. Before he … I mean, when I lost…" Her voice trails off, as she wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Shit, yeah, I'm sorry." Force myself to smile at her. I'm a fucking jerk. So fucking caught up in my own misery that I haven't even bothered to ask her how she's doing since her old man died. "But you're back here? That's nice."
"Yeah." She smiles across the room towards the kitchens. "Joe's been real kind to me letting me come work here again. And my friends, too. They've helped me out. So I'll be okay, I guess. Eventually. But how are you, Curly? Rough night?"
I shrug. "I've had better."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I sip at my Pepsi, turn the glass round and round on the counter, smearing the rings of condensation forming around it.
"So d'you want to talk about it?" Leigh asks.
"Nah, don't wanna hold you up."
She laughs. "Take a look around. It's hardly busy right now. But it's fine. If you don't want to." She squeezes my hand, goes to walk away.
"Leigh, wait a sec." And before I can stop myself the words come spewing out. Only I'm not telling her about how I've blown it with Linda, or the fact I've most likely lost my job, all over wanting to prove myself to that asshole Ryan Lang.
No. I'm talking about Tim. How Ma isn't coping without him. How it's getting closer and closer to being a year since he got sent up there and he still hasn't damn well called or written. Not once, to any of us. How I'm not sure how we're going to get by if he don't get parole any time soon. How I'm terrified that he won't make it home at all.
Christ.
I'm a fucking mess.
I won't cry. I can't. Boys like me, tough hoods, they don't care about nothing. And sure don't cry like little fucking girls in a diner 'cause someone happens to be nice to them.
And now I'm apologising—don't know what in hell came over me, offloading all this shit on her. Leigh sure as hell doesn't owe me anything. Not with how Tim treated her. Hell, I wouldn't blame her if she told me that Tim's an ass and she hopes he never gets out.
Leigh slides a napkin across the table, waits while I compose myself.
"So y'see, Leigh, everything is fucking shit. Same as always. And just for a change I don't know what to do about any of it."
She sighs. "Seems to me you need to quit giving yourself such a hard time and concentrate on the stuff you can change, not the things you can't."
"But Tim managed; he could do it all, take care of everything."
"Seriously?" She laughs a little as she shakes her head. "You really believe that, even now, with him locked up in that place?"
I shrug. Maybe she's got a point. Maybe if Tim had talked some to her, to me—hell to anyone, instead of carrying on like he was untouchable—then he'd be sat here, not me.
"Listen, Curly. You want to know how Tim is then write him, tell him he needs to ring you, or at least do something to let you know he's alright. But otherwise, you need to quit giving yourself such a hard time. We both know your brother was far from perfect. So how about you stop trying to do whatever the hell you think it is Tim would do, and trust your own judgement? Be yourself."
A/N: Thank you to everyone reading, and for the reviews, follows, favs etc - I really appreciate all of your support with this :)