Three.
I find myself outside listening to Rose yell at anyone who isn't taking her poker game seriously—which is everyone. We might be pissed, but we're not totally stupid.
She gives up and throws the pack of cards across the table. "I don't know why I bother."
"You need a different audience, Ro. We know your tricks." She sighs and pulls a battered packet of her mum's Silk Cut out from her bra. I shake my head when she offers me one, the taste of Ben still in my mouth. Not as nice as I remembered. I know he's been looking over when he thinks I'm not, but I don't move from the garden chair printing patterns into my bare legs. "Where's Jessie?"
"Working on the assignment for Cope."
"Have you done it?" I'm halfway to blacking out, so the reminder of the unfinished Psychology assignment doesn't even have the power to increase my heartbeat, nevermind any good intention.
"Nah."
"Good. Bloody, Jessie." It starts to rain, but I tip my head up to it and close my eyes. The garden still dances in them.
We're a gang of 4.
Angie is frothy clouds in July.
Rose is soft petals and hidden thorns.
And Jessie is our bluebird. Too fragile and too pretty for this place.
I've not decided what I am yet. I'm not a fan of the labels people like to stick on me either: tart, bitch, lost cause.
Maybe I'm the moon.
Cold, remote, and yet men still want to conquer me.
Ange and Jess live in average suburbia, and Rose lives in a castle.
My kingdom is a high-rise on the worst council estate in Shelton.
Not many kids were allowed to come for sleepovers. None, infact.
Yet, somehow we've been together one way or another since we thought pigtails, friendship bracelets, and pinky promises were cool.
"You wanna do some shots?" I ask the table, still too cold to be sat bare-legged in the dark
"Someone go get Paul, he's got some sambuca he nicked from work." Rose pokes Sam's arm. He'd jump off Beachy Head if she asked nicely, so he disappears, returning with a quarter empty bottle and Ben, who takes my seat and pulls me back into his lap. Shot glasses are not something Angie's parents know exist so we all take turns draining the bottle.
The last thing I remember clearly is Ben's aniseed lips sucking bruises into my neck.
Then the night goes from bad to worse.
At least, that's how it seems, watching as I am from underwater. The music all blurs into a thud I can feel in my chest and the soles of my feet. I've no idea what anyone is saying, nor do I care. I'm buffeted about from one room to the other, my legs managing to work when my common sense has already passed out. I think I might have been sick, but it could be the girl from my English class, Sarah or something. Sara? Zara? She's got her arm wrapped around me as the whole room seems to have turned into a giant bouncy castle. Next, I'm sitting and sliding off the edge of the bath, laughing at something I can't remember. I think someone is snorting X, but more likely paracetamol and sawdust off the toilet seat. Then it's the garden again, I'm soaked through. My dress is see-through, paper thin, but I don't cover up. Now I'm staring at tiny glow-in-the dark stars someone's either stuck to the ceiling or the back of my eyelids. I blink, they glow.
I feel the weight of someone pressing me into the bed. The reek of smoke and sugary booze. I want to be sick. I try to move, but they're a thousand tonnes of cement. I try to speak. Or maybe I just think I do. Hands push and legs tense. I think panic crawls up my throat but it could be vomit. The stars go dark. Rough lips press and a soggy tongue sticks in my mouth. I push harder. I push and push and then the body is gone.
There's violent words and a harsh voice I can't place. A sound that makes me flinch. A relief that hurls my guts.
I feel bad for ruining the carpet.
AN: Thanks for being here with me.
Kim and Choc are my sunny days.