Heyyy, looooong chapter here folks. And sorry to all those sex fiends who are waiting for "tonight" haha. It did get a little angsty, but hopefully not unbearably so! I CAN promise "tonight" in the next chapter or so!
Chapter 36
Only silence greeted, could greet, that simple statement.
Anthony and George knew the whole story of course, had even met Marc a few times. Neither of them had liked him, but his death had shocked them just as it had shocked Bethany and myself. Perhaps even more so. Bethany and I had been too caught up is ourselves to really understand the sicking finality of his passing.
In some ways, I don't think either of us yet understood fully.
Michel said nothing, but his hands pressed lightly against the skin on the back of my neck, and I could tell by his sudden intake of breath that he hadn't expected that. I was pretty sure that he had never considered anything like this in my past. Until this trip, I'd just been shiny, happy Ria. A problem family was a distant flaw.
I swallowed.
Not so distant anymore.
Peter looked ashen, and his eyes followed Bethany as she moved to sit at the other end of the table from him.
I watched the decision shape his face, and the sorrow that began to cloud his eyes as colour slowly returned to his cheeks.
"I'm sorry Bethany," he whispered throatily, "but I still need to know."
Like a tennis match, we all turned out heads towards Bethany. She looked tired now, the cold determination gone, replaced by an achy resignation.
"I understand," she said, meeting her fiancé's eyes. "I do."
It must have been the most mature thing I'd ever heard her say.
"But," she continued, "Marc isn't just my story." Her eyes swivelled to me, and I shrank back from her stare. It had been gentle a moment before, now it was flinty. "I think Ariana can begin. Since she," her mouth curled in the semblance of a sneer," knew him first."
It was a nasty reference to our pissing contest upstairs. I glared at her, and then glanced around the table.
Anthony and George both looked at me, their eyes troubled. Their expressions were identical, and I would have found it comical if I hadn't been so worried.
Michel reached with his other hand and took mine, holding it firmly and rubbing his thumb in circles on my wrist.
"I met marc," I began, "at high school."
"Hey," a voice said behind me.
I turned, looking at the groggy eyed male standing a little while away.
"I'm new here, and I don't think I can find my class room." He glanced down at the timetable in his hand, his brows drawing together in a puzzled frown.
Around me, my group of friends giggled. "We'll see you at lunch Ari," they called as they walked away.
The guy looked at me sheepishly. "Sorry, I've always been hopeless with timetables."
I smiled at him, and he smiled back hesitantly. It was a lop-sided smile, as if one corner of his mouth didn't quite work. He really was cute, dark haired and dark eyed, though I suspected the haziness of his stare didn't come from just sleep. He had a thin, wiry build, a lean lankiness only accentuated by his height. He towered above me.
"Whats your name?"
His smile widened a little. "Marc. And you're Ari, right?"
"Ariana," I corrected. "Only they call me Ari."
"And what does everyone else call you?"
I looked at him thoughtfully. "Ria," I said finally. "Everyone else calls me Ria."
I held out my hand for the timetable and he handed it to me gratefully. "Come on, I'll show you around."
"From that day," I told my audience, "we started talking more. Hanging around. He was nice, weird, and always a little off. Like he was on a different radar to everyone else. I never really understood him, and looking back, I realise just how much I didn't understand him. But it never stopped us. It was like free-fall. I wanted the rush." I sighed. "For the first time in my life, I wanted the rush of not knowing what was going to happen."
Peter stared at me. "And what happened then?"
I looked at Bethany. She had a peculiar look in her eyes. Wistful, almost. I realised I'd never told her how we met. What he was like at school. What he was like as a friend. She never would have known it. They were more free-fall than I was.
I turned back to Peter. "Then," I answered him quietly, "we started dating."
The music was too loud. It was too hot. Sweaty. Too many bodies, moving together, pressing up close. I evaded wandering hands, wrinkling my nose in disgust. How did people enjoy this? I lifted the beer to my mouth and took a sip, forcing myself not to shudder.
I hand clamped down on my shoulder and I turned around.
Marc grinned his lop-sided grin at me.
"Hey you," he said, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes and looking at me with his hazy eyes.
I smiled up at him. "Hey. You want this?" I lifted up my beer.
He grimaced. "I don't drink."
The beer had made my tongue loose. I flicked my eyes at him mischievously.
"What do you do?"
He was unfazed, and he stumbled closer to me as someone shoved past him. His smile was uncaring, a little wicked. I felt my heart begin to beat faster. "Everything else."
I didn't question his answer, I had already known it.
We stood in silence for a time, letting people move around us, crashing like waves against the wall and against our backs. The music beat moved us, slipped up from the floor into our bodies. My heart beat with it. My breathing grew faster even as I just stood there in silence, Marc only an inch or so away.
"So," Marc finally, pulling my attention away from my own body and back to himself. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, I noticed for the first time. He must have been boiling. "You enjoying this?"
I glanced around us. I knew all these people here from school. They were different now, in his bleary heat, their faces distorted, their bodies loose, unattached. Their eyes were predators eyes. Their hands claws. They watched me, some of them. More of them watched Marc.
"Well," Marc let out a breath of air and raked his fingers through his hair, "you wanna split then?"
"Its only 10:30."
"I didn't say I'd take you home," he smiled down at me again. That smile from before. Uncaring, wicked. Almost vicious. His eyes were sharper and clearer than I'd ever seen them. "You up for it?" There were layers of meaning in that question.
I forced myself to shrug my shoulder nonchalantly. But my eyes skitted away from him nervously. "Sure."
"Well then," He said. "Let's go."
He took me to a park.
I knew the park, everyone did. It was Make-Out Park. Mainly because it was away from the main-road and the police didn't usually run past.
He cut the motorcycle engine and I climbed off, wobbling a little on unsteady legs.
He was beside me in an instant, his arms steadying me.
"You okay?"
I nodded, leaning against his chest, pathetically grateful for his warmth. I hadn't dressed practically tonight. I'd been thinking of Marc when I dressed. A short scarlet dress. Spaghetti straps. Stiletto heels.
I wondered if he appreciated it.
"I'm fine."
He took my hand, and tucked his keys deep into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled something out of a compartment in the back of the motorbike. "Come on," he said, "let's go sit down."
The sky was light, the moon illuminating the trees and the grass. Shadows spilled across our pat like inky pools of night. In this light, everything was silvery, other-worldly. Nothing seemed real.
He helped me seat, and I cuddled close to him. It was freezing. The grass blades were licked in moist dew, and I felt it seep through my dress.
"It's freezing," I stammered. "And wet."
"I bought a blanket." He stood again to spread it out, and I hopped on it gratefully. He pulled me into his arms, his chin resting against my head.
Silence was all around us, stiffening and nervous, a prancing atmosphere that couldn't be still. It made all my legs and arms jittery. I felt weak and young next to him and his solid strength, the steady warmth of his arms where they wrapped around me from behind.
I shifted uncomfortably.
"Whats wrong?" he asked me. I felt his chin move against the top of my head as he talked.
I hesitated. "Nothing."
He turned me in his arms, so I was crouched awkwardly next to him, facing him.
"Really?" he looked sceptical. "So then it's alright if I do this?"
His thumb moved against my bare arm. "Do what?"
"This," he whispered, and then bent his head and kissed me.
"Ria," he said much later, his breath ragged. His body moved on mine. "Are you sure this is alright?"
I swallowed my fear.
This was Marc.
What else did I have to give him?
"Yes," I said finally.
He sighed against my skin.
Afterwards, we lay in each others arms.
I had put my dress back on; it was too chilly without it. I lay back against Marc's chest, his legs surrounding me.
"So," he said finally, and his breath blew against my skin. "Was it good?"
I didn't hesitate in my answer. "Yes." I ignored the ache in my chest at the lie. Mabye it would be better next time.
He seemed to sense my confusion. "It will be better next time," he promised, echoing my thoughts.
I made myself ask the question, it was burning my throat. "Does this mean that we're…together?"
A slight pause. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't cared so much.
"If you like."
It was better than rejection.
I snuggled closer to him.
"I like."
"We dated for a bit less than 2 years," I told Peter, keeping my eyes firmly on him. Michel had removed his hand from my neck, and I felt the loss. But his hand was still in mine. A good sign, I hoped. After all, who liked to hear the girl they liked talking about an ex-lover?
"We were the It couple at school. The stoner and the princess, people called us. I was his healing kiss, and all that rubbish. He said he loved me, I said I loved him." I shrugged. "I didn't realise it was true, what I was feeling, until much later." I glanced at Bethany. "Much too late." Her gaze was unwavering. "And at the time, it was expected. We played our parts well. I couldn't have imagined then…." I sighed. "Things happened. Things were said. We parted angry, I went out with my friends, not thinking he'd go to my house. I never even considered he might apologise. That he might be looking for me." I stared at my sister. "And when I did come home, well, apology was the furthest thing from his mind wasn't it?"
"Hello?" I called, stepping inside the house and looking around.
Marc's car was outside, despite it being almost midnight.
The door had been un-locked, someone was home. Someone had let him in.
"Hello? Bethany, are you there? Marc?"
"Up until this point," I said, my eyes still on Bethany. This story had been for her, more than Peter, more than anyone else at the table. "Up until this point, Bethany and I had gotten along fine hadn't we?"
She nodded, her face twisted.
Peter was staring at us.
"Up until this point, I had faith in my sister. It was in all the rule books Bethany. Sisters don't sleep with their sister boyfriends do they?"
I could almost taste the tension at the table.
"Do they?"
I was angry. Far angrier than I had been a moment before. But we weren't just talking about Marc here. We were talking about Michel as well.
Slowly, I watched her shake her head, the understanding in her eyes painful.
"No," she replied quietly, "they don't."
But there was still no apology in her eyes.
I saw the expression in them. They said too cleary, but it was me he wanted.
"Bethany?" I climbed the staircase. "Marc?"
At the top of the stairs I looked both ways down the hall.
I heard voices. Mum and dad weren't home, were away for the weekend. It had to be Bethany.
"Beth?"
I neared the door to her room. The voices were louder now, giggling.
A strange feeling over took me, like I was walking through water rather than air. I reached out my hand to the door handle, and already, a part of me knew what I would fine.
I turned the handle.
"Bethany?" I said, as I pushed open the door, "what are you-"
I stopped in the doorway, frozen.
They lay on her bed, arms and legs entangled, sheets drawn up over them. They were both naked.
As I stood there, staring, Bethany turned lazy eyes on me, and a slow smile spread across her face.
"What the hell are you doing?" I gasped.
I looked at Marc, his heavily lidded eyes more dazed than usual.
"What the hell is going on?"
But he only stared at me, his features tinged lightly with guilt, and that was all.
"Ria," he said, his hand reaching out to curl carelessly around Beth's shoulders, "I think…we need to talk."
His words were slurred and heavy, his face paler than usual. I had an image of someone drowning, struggling for breath.
I stared at them both. "You don't fucking say."
Bethany rolled her eyes at Marc, idly tickling a hand along his stomach.
"Oh Ria stop being so dramatic, its not that big a deal."
I felt the horror of it wash over me, and I backed up, my hand still clutching the door knob.
I slammed it shut.
Neither of them came after me.
"That's not true," Bethany cut in, "I came after you."
I sighed. "Two weeks later, Beth. It didn't make a difference by that stage."
"I said I was sorry." A sneer twisted her lips, made her face almost ugly. "It wasn't my fault that he wanted me."
"You were the one that crawled into bed with him."
Her eyes were angry. "You can't lay all the blame on me, Ria. He wasn't exactly innocent in all this either."
"You are my sister."
"He was your boyfriend."
I stared at her. "And I deserve equal amounts of loyalty from both of them don't you think?"
Agreeing silence rocked the table.
Peter was pale again, and he stared at Bethany disbelievingly. "You slept with Marc?" he demanded incredulously.
She rolled her eyes, but she looked defensive now. "No, Marc slept with me."
"It's the same thing," Michel blew up at her. "It's exactly the same damn thing."
"Then we should both bear her anger don't you think? Not just me?" her eyes turned to me, savage now, "except, oh that's right, Marc's dead."
Peter, his face pale, looked at me again. "I think you should tell us the rest of the story now."
"I can only speak it from what I know. It was Bethany who knew him best in the following weeks."
Peter looked determined. "I want to know the rest. Tell me what you know." I wondered if he would believe Bethany now, if she told him her side.
"Fine," I said. "From what I know, they were together three weeks before I…" I paused. Hesitated. Bethany had been the villain until now. I was about to take her place. "…Until I told our parents."
"I can't believe you would do this to me!" Bethany's eyes were tear-streaked, her face a mixture of hopelessness and rage. "I can't believe you! You vicious bitch!" She reached out and shoved me, pressing me back against the hallway wall. "You know they won't let me see him now? Because they think he's some…some freak?!"
"He is a freak," I retorted. "He's out of mind. Literally. And you're out of your mind if you haven't realised that!"
"Oh," she hissed in my face, "so this is all just for my own protection is it? This isn't some sort of spite thing? Just because your boyfriend decided he liked experience more than fumbling innocence?"
I stared at her. She was right, but I wasn't about to admit it. "Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. "This is all for your protection."
She shoved me harder, and I gasped in pain.
"Yeah fucking right, Ria! You are such full of bullshit! You're just like mum and dad!" She flung the next words at me carelessly, "you're just jealous."
And then she stormed away, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.
I stared after her.
"Yes," I whispered finally, "yes I am."
"You were jealous." It wasn't a question. Bethany was just stating a point of fact.
I raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you be?" I asked dryly. "My boyfriend. My first real boyfriend, and he slept with you."
The others at the table were silent, watching and waiting. I was talking only to my sister now.
"He was my first everything Beth. First date. First kiss. First fuck." I stared at her. "First love." Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing. "You'd be jealous. If it were you."
She pressed her lips so tightly together they were white at the edges. Finally, she spoke.
"I was jealous," she told me finally. "Of everything you had."
It wasn't a surprise to me.
"You wanted it."
She shook her head. "No. That's something you've never understood. I didn't want everything you had. I just didn't want you to have it."
"But Marc was the exception."
She nodded jerkily. "Marc was the exception." Her eyes were distant. "He always was."
Peter spoke up. "And then what? What did his death have to do with the both of you?"
We both looked at him. And I noticed for the first time how different Peter was to Marc. As far as I knew she'd never been serious about anyone else after Marc. Peter was the first. Or the second, depending which way you looked at it. Peter, with his blonde hair and clean face, looked like the Prefect, the straight-a student who was just slightly out of everyone's league.
I studied him thoughtfully.
Was Bethany still trying to escape Marc?
"Nothing," Anthony answered for us. "His death had absolutely nothing to do with either of them." He flung us both an exasperated glance. "It was just an accident is all. Could have happened to anyone."
"Anthony," George said quietly. "Let them speak. You can't always protect them."
"It was an accident," Anthony insisted stubbornly. "It was an accident and you know it. And you damn well that Ria's always blamed herself for the death and Bethany's always blamed Ria. How can you just sit there and let them destroy themselves?"
George was unmoving. "Let them speak," he said again, his voice quiet but firm.
Peter moved his eyes to me. Like Bethany, they were distant.
"Tell me."
I sighed, and began again.
"After I told my parents about Marc's drug-taking, and they forbid Bethany from seeing him, they took to sneaking out together." I glanced at Bethany for confirmation and she nodded. "I'd never said anything; things were bad as it was, without me interfering any more…"
"Then maybe you should have kept your fucking mouth shut," Bethany snapped.
"Bethany," Peter warned.
"But one night, Marc was…worse…than usual. I found him in the backyard when I went to take out the trash. He was just sitting there on the lawn."
"Marc?"
I approached the seated figure, my heart beating rapidly.
He didn't look up.
"Marc?" I stepped closer. "Marc what are you doing here? You know if my parents catch you…"
He still didn't move.
I crouched down beside him. His head hung down, his legs were drawn up to his chin. I reached out to touch him gently on the shoulder and he flinched away.
I let my arm drop.
"Marc, Bethany's not here tonight. You know that." It was painful to say the words, and they almost caught in my throat. But what was he doing here? Didn't he understand what could happen if mum and dad caught him?
Finally, he spoke. "I know she's not here." His words were slurred, more so than usual, like he couldn't control his tongue or his lips to mouth them properly.
He still didn't raise his head. He was only wearing a short-sleeved shirt. In the cold of the night, his skin was all goose-bumps.
I frowned at him and stood up. "Then what are you doing here? You know I don't want you here. You're with Beth now." My voice sounded vicious, more than I liked. I tried to swallow my anger, tried to regain my cool.
He was silent for a long while, but just as I gathered myself to leave, he raised his head. I gasped at his face. It was a mass of cuts and bruises. His eyes were full of their usual bleariness, but there was a kind of insanity to them now and there were deep shadows beneath them.
"Dear god what happened to you?"
He shrugged. "Just some guys." His eyes tried to focus on me, but they kept slipping away. "I just wanted to see you…"His eye-lids were droopy and tired.
I stared at him. "What are you on?"
He shrugged again, but the movement was slow and looked painful. "Just…some…" he coughed, "…some stuff."
I felt a surge of sudden disgust. "Why are you here?"
He put his head back on his knees. "I told you…" he whispered, "I told you I told you I told you I wanted to see you."
I took a step back, a wash of unease rising and pouring through me. "Why?"
He raised his head and shook it side to side. "Because," he whispered more quietly, "Because…because I think we made a mistake…"
"What?"
"I think…" He coughed again. "I think we made a mistake. With Bethany." A familiar sneered curled up the sides of his mouth. "Fucking fucking fucker Bethany."
I felt horror slowly rise, felt my face turn pale. "No Marc, you're high. You don't know what you're saying."
He raised his head again and laughed, but it was an odd sound, and made my blood run cold. "No, No Ria, no not high. Not high anymore." He shook his head. "Not high enough these days."
"Marc…"
"We made a mistake," he said again, staring at me with his crazed eyes. "We made a big big big mistake." He laughed again.
I shook my head and backed up another step.
"No Marc, you made a mistake. Not me. You."
"Not me, You. You, Marc." He sneered at me, mocking my words. "You. Not me. You." His tired eyed filled with fury suddenly. "Fine! Fucking….fucking fine! I made the fucking mistake now can we fucking go…go…" he subsided in his rage. "Fuck Bethany," he finally mumbled.
I turned towards the house to walk away. My whole body was shaking. With fear and anger and horror. What had he become?
He called out to me. "Riiiiiiiiiaaaaa," his voice was high. "Oh Riaaaaaaaaa…"
I turned on him then. "Get the fuck out of here Marc," I screamed, "just get the fuck away from me!" Tears filled my eyes, spilled over. "Just leave!" I swiped angrily at the tears. "And don't ever fucking come back!"
His laughter filled the air behind me. "You're going to make me drive like this?" he laughed again.
I stared at him, beyond thought, beyond thinking.
"Yes!" I yelled, "Yes I'm going to make you drive like that! Now get the hell away from me! I hope your fucking car crashes and burns!"
And then I ran away, into the house.
"And I never saw him again." I shook my head. "If I had known how prophetic those words would be…" I shuddered. "If I had known, I swear to god, I swear on my life, I never would have said them."
Peter was ashen again.
Michel, by my side, was holding my hand tightly, and his palm was clammy. I glanced at him. He was pale like Peter, and his eyes, looking at me, were filled with a mixture of shock and pity.
Anthony and George were silent.
I looked at Bethany. Her face was drawn, her eyes filled with pain. I'd never told her about the fight. Never told her the truth about what he had said, why I had driven him away.
"He wasn't himself," I told her quietly. "He didn't know what he was saying."
She shook her head slowly, and for once, there was no hostility in her gaze.
"No. He knew what he was saying. He was always most honest when he was out of it." She looked away from me, and her lips tightened. "I'd known for a few days then that he wanted you back."
I had nothing to say to that, and I kept silent. The rest was her story.
"I'd been out that night, with the girls. We'd met up with some guys, had some fun." Her eyes were on me, focused and intent. "You have to understand, I knew I'd lost him at that point. But I wasn't about to go begging him to come back. I still had pride. But when I came home, and you were there, crying and shaking, I knew he'd come to you, and I just…" She paused. "Lost it. I lost it. You, my perfect little sister, sweet 16, had won him back. And there I was, some pathetic loser, drunk and broken and angry…."
Her eyes were vicious suddenly. "But I won't apologise for what I said that night. Not any of it," she snarled. "Because I'm not sorry. Marc still died." She was whispering suddenly, and her eyes were cruel. "Marc still died. And it was all because of you."
Michel, who had been sitting quietly, stirred to my defence. "Back off," he snapped, "It wasn't her fault at all. He was a broken arsehole who got some sort of sadistic amusement out of playing to sisters against each other."
Anthony and George nodded their agreement.
Peter only turned his eyes towards me. "Is that it?"
I nodded. "The police came the next morning to tell Bethany. I hid behind a door and listened. He'd totalled his car, and died almost instantly. The heroin was killing him anyway."
"Oh so that makes it alright then does it?" Bethany rose from her chair, her hands flat against the table. She leaned towards me, her eyes filled with rage. "That's alright that he died because of you because he was going to die anyway?"
I met her gaze coldly. "No. I was just telling the truth."
She screamed at me. "You know what the fucking truth is," she spat out the words. "The truth is that I loved him. He was the first guy and only guy I've ever loved. Ever. And you took. Him. Away. From me." She punctuated each word with a hit against the table.
I saw Peter's face go red with shock and anger. He stood up, facing her.
"What the hell is this?" he snarled, "are you saying this weddings a mistake? Because of some dickhead from high school?"
She turned on him with a savage snarl. "No," she yelled at him, her voice screaming pain and fury, "I'm not saying the weddings a mistake. Im saying that if it weren't for her," she flung her hand towards me, "it would be Marc standing there reciting his vows, not you!"
And then she shoved her chair back and stalked out of the kitchen.
A heavy silence descended on the kitchen.
Reeling with shock and confusion, peter turned to me.
I looked at him, my lips parted, and the words stuck in my throat. I had nothing to say.
Michel squeezed my hand gently and faced my sister fiancé.
"A lot of the past has been brought up today," he told the hurting quietly. "She's not herself. Go easy on her."
Peter blinked at him. "She just told me she's never loved me."
"She's hurting. She's lost in the past. She doesn't know what she's saying." Michel's voice was calm.
He was silent a long time, then; "She was always most honest when she was out of it." It was a mockery of her earlier words, and I saw the painful decision in his gaze as he said them. He shook his head slowly. "I don't think, considering all of this, that there will be a wedding tomorrow." And he left the room quietly, pausing only once to look back at me.
I caught the look and felt tears prick my eyes.
Blame had been hurtled again, jostled like dice. And once again, it had all landed at my feet.
XXX