The Darkness Within Page 5

  My best friend smiles and gifts me with a shoulder bump. I finally relax and grin back at him before passing the shoulder bump back to him, which makes me feel safe and warm. If only I could feel something other than friendship towards him, this would all be so much easier.

  “So, why don’t you come on Friday?” he asks with the same genuine enthusiasm he gives me every time he tries to get me to attend one of his shindigs.

  Being an only child works in Matt’s favor a lot of the time, both his parents worship the ground he walks on. Sometimes I get so jealous I sulk over how much love and attention they throw on their precious prince, especially when I haven’t seen mine in the last week because they’re more invested in their careers than their own children. In any case, their adoration is why they allow him to have ridiculous parties whenever he is left alone. His Mom and Dad work in the travel industry and ever since he turned sixteen, they no longer have someone come and stay with him when they are called away.

  Matt’s a good boy though, anyone who talks to him for more than two minutes can tell you that, and he never takes advantage of their good nature. Every time he throws a jolly, he always asks me, and I always decline politely because, quite frankly, I couldn’t think of anything worse.

  “I will do what I always do!” I reply, to which he dramatically rolls his eyes and scoffs loudly, knowing exactly what this means. “I’ll help you set up, hang around until the first guest arrives, then slip off back home. Besides, I think Mom might be home this Friday night, so it will be kind of nice to have her all to myself.”

  Grant and Sam are bound to attend Matt’s party, they always do. A fact which no doubt sets Matt’s parents more at ease when they go away. It just so happens Grant is a good boy too.

  “One day, Miss Thomas, I will get you to stay and enjoy yourself,” he smirks, “it’s my new challenge in life!”

  “You try and do that, but it won’t be this Friday, mark my words!” I smile before looking up to see we have finally arrived home.

  Usually, this is when we say a casual goodbye before going our separate ways, but tonight he breaks with tradition by turning into face me. After what happened last week, I feel more than a little uncomfortable and not entirely sure of what he is planning to do. The look in his eyes tells me he is thinking a little like he was when he nearly kissed me the other night, and I almost wish Grant would come out and save me from this seriously awkward moment.

  “Well,” I nervously giggle, swinging my arms haphazardly, hoping it will make me look more like a kid who still enjoys not having full control of their limbs, “I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

  “Yeah,” he replies breathlessly.

  He looks to my lips, leans down, pauses in deep thought, then pecks me on the cheek so quickly it takes a moment or two to register. I hold my breath with a look akin to a deer staring into headlights, right before the car smacks into it with a death blow. He mistakes my shock for timidity and laughs softly, tucking a lock of misplaced hair behind my ear.

  “Don’t look so scared, Mils, your skin is soft,” he whispers, almost like he is trying to be seductive.

  Jesus Christ, I’m fifteen…fifteen! I don’t think I’m old enough to know what that word even means!

  Eventually, I wipe off my horrified expression and instead, fake a grin to the point that the corners of my mouth hurt. I then sort of flap up my hand in a very ungraceful waving type gesture. From the look on his face, it seems to have placated him, so I waste no time shuffling back to my front door, where I slip inside and sink to the floor with my head buried inside of my clammy hands.

  “That was brutal!” Grant chuckles as he looks down at me on the floor, with a bowl of ice cream in his hand. “Course, he does seem persistent, poor bastard!”

  He belches loudly and heads towards the kitchen where I follow at a fast rate of knots to try and keep up with his head start and much longer strides.

  “Grant, what do I do?” I fluster around him in a quandary. “I don’t want to lose our friendship, but he seems to be pushing for more and I simply don’t feel that way about him. It’s freaking me out!”

  “Just tell him like it is. Say, ‘Dude, I’m not digging on you, so quit trying to force your tongue on me and stuff!’”

  “Great advice, thanks!” I reply sarcastically while he laughs, obviously finding my nightmarish situation hilarious. I huff at him and he eventually stops to look at me a little more seriously.

  “Would you like me to have a word with him?” he asks, throwing his beefy arm around my shoulders. “I can be subtle if I need to be.”

  “Maybe, I don’t know, maybe.”

  I chew on my thumbnail, but he bats my hand down impatiently, just like a mother would do. Of course, most days he is my mother…and my father…and my big, stupid, brother. No wonder I don’t have the capacity to deal with such things!

  “See how it goes and if anything else happens, talk to me,” he offers reassuringly before kissing the top of my head with brotherly affection. “I’ve always got your back, sis, you know I do.”

  “Ok,” I concede to his plan of sorts, “you’re still a jerk face, but I love you.”

  “Love you too, tubby!”

  “I am not tubby anymore!” I growl, pointing at him and he begins laughing again. I may or may not have had a little too much baby fat when I was six, but even I know I’m not overweight anymore. Why is it the boys around here find it so easy to get at me at the moment?! And why can’t Matt be one of them? It’s marginally more acceptable than him wanting to do what kids who go out with one another at my age do.

  After a good sleep and a stern talking to myself, I decided to not overreact to the whole Matt fiasco. Besides, if I avoid him, it is only going to make things more uncomfortable in the long run, and he is my friend, first and foremost. Of course, when I share my account of events with Mercy, her advice is that I should jump on him and cannot see why I’m holding back. In fact, for the rest of the day she keeps singing, ‘What’s love got to do with it?’ by Tina Turner, to the point where it gets stuck in my head on a continuous loop.

  However, on a more positive note, Bowie has remained silent on the whole diary issue and for the moment, it appears I am safe. As for future me? I’m guessing that poor bitch is going to have a world of worry ahead of her.

  Skipping to Friday, the day of Matt’s party, I return home with him in tow, the whole time praying he doesn’t try anything on with me. We spend a couple of hours setting up his house by clearing away valuables, organizing a good playlist, and putting various snacks into plastic bowls. He goes up to change while I finish off, inwardly questioning why I bother using bowls because it’ll only end up all over the floor anyway. I then go and lock up his parents’ room on his say so, just to make sure no one can go in there for a bit of naughtiness. There are some lines you just don’t cross, and letting people bare their uglies on your mom and dad’s bed is one of them.

  By seven o’clock, Matt’s beautified himself, the house looks party worthy and I’m sharing a beer with him just before the first guests arrive. I casually sit up on the kitchen counter with my tartan DMs hanging over the edge like a proper slob, meanwhile he’s dressed in dark, designer jeans and a white, fitted shirt, rolled up to the elbow, smelling great and looking confident. I surreptitiously look over at him to try and find some spark, something to tell me I could be attracted to him…but I can’t. Nope, nothing, zilch! I then mentally kick myself before looking away so he doesn’t catch me gawking and jump to the wrong conclusion.

  “Please stay?” he practically begs. “For me?”

  “Don’t you use that one Mister!” I point at him sternly. “I just helped set this whole place up for you, so don’t try and shame me into staying. Remember last weekend?” He sighs sheepishly, letting his shoulders sag in disappointment, which makes me feel terribly guilty. Guilty for being a crap friend, guilty for not staying, and guilty for not liking him more than I do.

  “What’s up
?” Bowie’s distinctive voice calls out across the household as he walks through with one arm lazily draped over Melody’s shoulders. She eyes me with complete and obvious contempt as if to say, ‘What the hell are you doing here?!’ Meanwhile, Bowie slaps Matt’s hand up top, looking every bit as alpha as the rest of the football team does when they follow their king inside. Unfortunately, Bowie Phillips dressed in jeans, which hang effortlessly off his hips, with a black shirt rolled up high on his arms, smelling like something delicious and masculine, gets me all tingly inside. Just as watching Melody in her cheap, sequined vest top, sky-high stilettos and a black mini-skirt is enough to make me want to vomit.

  “Well, that’s my cue to go!” I announce before shuffling off the side with a loud, ungraceful, thud of my boots onto the tiled floor. Taking in the sights and smells of all these popular people makes me feel instantly underdressed and kid-like in my ripped, skinny jeans and oversized ‘The Weekend’ t-shirt. Seeing as I’m certainly not staying, I soon shrug it off because who the hell cares? Matt apparently, when he tries the puppy dog eyes just one more time.

  “No!” I mouth over to him, causing him to roll his eyes and groan in defeat.

  “Maybe you should stay for Matt’s entertainment!” Bowie pipes up with his signature wicked grin. “Or you know, I could share some stuff with him, if you have to leave.”

  For a moment I watch as his brow rises in a threatening manner, making it painfully obvious as to what he’s referring to. I remain rigidly still and wonder what the hell to do. On the one hand, if I stay, he’s going to hold me to his threat all night and could make me do some rather unscrupulous things. On the other, he may well follow through on his threat. Neither option sounds particularly appealing.

  “Yeah, you do that,” I finally reply, knowing I’ve got a ‘get out’ as I grab my bag, “I’m sure my big brother and your sister would love you to share all in front of them.” I smile sweetly just as he flips me the bird.

  “What’s going on here?” Matt frowns, pointing suspiciously between the two of us.

  “Nothing!” we both say rather guiltily at the same time. We then eye one another in silent agreement and I know I am safe, for tonight at least. Finally, I wave over at Matt before marching myself over the back garden and into the safety of my own house. The closer I get to my own back door, the more I feel the weight being taken off from my shoulders and it’s nothing short of blissful.

  With a silly, I-just-got-myself-out-of-a-pickle, look on my face, I meander over to Grant, who is already dressed and ready to go with a beer on the sofa. We sit on the seat together, him with his beer, me with my leftover bottle from Matt’s place, and slurp back lazily in our own, comfortable silence for a bit.

  “Where’s Sam?” I eventually ask as I slouch a little deeper into the cushion behind me. “And when is Mom coming back tonight?”

  “She’s flapping around in my room. Apparently, she has nothing to wear!” he says with an agitated sigh. “And I’m afraid she isn’t, kiddo.”

  The look of pity on his face is almost embarrassing, but right now I’m too disappointed to care. He knows how much I was looking forward to seeing her tonight. To be honest, I think Grant gave up on either of our parents spending time with us a long time ago.

  “Oh,” I reply sadly, picking at the label on my lukewarm drink while he pulls me into his side, trying to ignore the fact that I’m now rubbing my eyes to stop the tears from falling.

  “For fuck’s sake, I look like a turd in everything!” Sam growls through clenched teeth when she marches into the living room half-dressed.

  “I like you like that!” Grant smirks with his rather unhelpful comment, one that will no doubt earn him a slap.

  “Oh, do you?” Sam asks with a threat in her voice, much like when a woman tells you she’s ‘fine’ after you’ve mucked up. I remember hearing that tone of voice on my mother all the time with Dad, but I am talking a long time ago. Nowadays they hardly communicate with one another, even on the extremely rare occasions when they’re in the same room together.

  Sam plants her hands on her hips and begins to walk slowly towards Grant, who’s still grinning stupidly at her, all the while I’m trying to telepathically call out, ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ Screw it though, let him find out the hard way. I am staying well out of all things coupley.

  “So, you’re saying you want every single motherfucker in there seeing your girlfriend’s half-naked body, do you?!” His grin slips, shortly before looking at me like I can save him. “Because there’s a whole football team over there sweetheart, all big and muscly and full of testosterone, just dying to see some half-naked slut showing off her-”

  Ok, the big guy needs help before she literally kills him with her freshly painted red fingernails.

  “I’ve just seen your brother’s date and trust me, you are no less dressed than her,” I scoff before finishing off my beer. “Come on, you can come and look in my wardrobe if you like. Can’t make any promises or anything. After all, it is me.”

  Sam appears to instantly calm, then follows me as we climb the stairs together, with Grant mouthing the words ‘Thank you’ to me, before collapsing across the back of the sofa in a relieved mess. I lead her down the corridor and into my bedroom which overlooks not only our back garden but Matt’s too. I can already see the football team and some of the cheerleading squad hanging around with drinks in their hands, all dressed up and ready to grope one another. I sure do miss the innocence of middle school, when everyone still looked like small children rather than bulked up muscle men on Venice Beach.

  Sam rarely comes up here because Grant sleeps downstairs, near the front door, where his loud music can’t keep us awake all night. It also means they can be as loud and wild as they like when the urge so takes them and I don’t have to hear a single moan or gasp, which is just as it should be. I lead her over to my rather limited wardrobe and try to point out a few things, but even I can see she’s not overly inspired. It’s not until I get to a rather formal-looking black dress that she takes any interest.

  “What’s this?” she asks, pulling it out and holding it up to her petite frame in the mirror. “I didn’t even know you owned a dress, Mils, you little dark horse!”

  “Oh, I’ve only worn that once,” I reply as though I need to explain myself for fear of actually being mistaken for a girl. “Matt got some award for football a year or so back and I had to dress formally, so…” I shrug off the end of that boring, bumfluff story behind it. “You can borrow it if you want?”

  “It’s a bit formal for a party though, isn’t it?” she says while I smirk over the fact she’s already putting it on, so it can’t be that bad.

  “Er…well try this belt and my ankle boots,” I suggest and help her to put them on. Looking at her reflection, I almost giggle because she looks like a darker version of me. I guess Matt’s getting his wish in a funny sort of way. “There, you look nice and funky now.”

  She turns this way and that to check out every possible angle of her outfit in the mirror, before grinning madly at her edgy but very sexy reflection.

  “Yessss!” She high-fives me then kisses me on the cheek excitedly. “Thanks, babe, I will look after it, I promise!”

  “Hey, no problem,” I wave her off, “have a great time.”

  “You sure you won’t come? You know Grant and I will look after you,” she says, trying to convince me with the same puppy dog eyes as Matt had on earlier.

  “Nah,” I scrunch my nose up, “besides, you already have my outfit.”

  She bites her lip guiltily but then hugs me goodbye before leaving to go to the party with Grant. Meanwhile, I change into my baggy saggy PJs and settle in for the night, complete with a good book and some munchies. I don’t normally hear anything from back here, so it will be like nothing is happening.

  Chapter 4

  Amelia, 15

  The next day I lazily walk downstairs to see Grant collapsed on top of the sofa, snoring loudly and generally mak
ing the place look untidy. The boy didn’t even bother undressing so is still wearing the same party get-up from last night. Being the lovely sister that I am, I don’t even attempt to be quiet as I go about making toast and tea for breakfast. It is Saturday after all, and still donning my PJs and dressing gown, I’m preparing to watch Rocko’s Modern Life, like I do every weekend. Just because he decides to be a dirty stop-out, doesn’t mean I should miss out.

  As the kettle comes to boiling and whistles like its very existence depends on it, Grant comes to with a loud grunt of a snore. He then scratches at his belly unapologetically before jumping up so quickly, I worry he’s still drunk from last night. Indeed, I make a point of frowning judgmentally over his frantic movements, before walking over to see how the whole thing went at Matt’s party.

  Apparently not good, seeing as he sinks back down to the sofa and groans into his hands, all the while holding his head in what looks like anguish.