Page 130 of Vying Girls
‘What’s so funny?’
I turn my face back to the window, shaking my head.
Tilda’s still for a moment. ‘Well, that lasted.’
The sarcasm in her tone nettles me. I fold my arms, so fucking ready to be off this coach. Back amongst the trees with thewolves and waves. Except even my tent’s tainted, the ghosts of our pleasure taking up permanent residence.
‘Did something happen?’
I snort again. ‘Something happened alright. How’d you think we got here?’
Tilda sighs. ‘Always two steps back with you. What about spring?’ she asks quietly.
‘I’ve spent the last ten years hating you, Tilda, that’s not just going to go away.’
‘And I’ve spent it mourning you,’ she snaps. ‘Like a fucking idiot.’
I hear her sniff, the grind in my teeth reaching tinnitus levels. Not tears. Not whatever makes her cut. I’ll chop off her hands before I see her do that to herself. Even if I’m the cause, the puppeteer pulling the strings on her pain.
‘I thought we were getting somewhere,’ she says after a moment. ‘Like properly this time.’
‘Why, because I came on you a couple of times? This isn’t a fairytale, cutie. There’s no going anywhere when the past is always fuckinghere.’
I feel her eyes on me. ‘So, is this about Damien? Have you heard something?’
‘No.’
‘And that’s what’s bothering you?’
I stay silent. There’s so much bothering me I’m not sure I could find the words.
Tilda sighs again, slumping back in her seat. ‘Well, thanks for letting me sit next to you anyway. Didn’t fancy throwing up at the back. Do you remember when I did that day we went to the beach?’
‘We didn’t get to the beach.’
‘Yeah,’ she chuckles. ‘Ruined the whole day, didn’t I? I wasn’t used to cars. Mum didn’t drive.’
I don’t remember the day being ruined. I remember the pallidness of Tilda’s face, Dad’s set jaw as he tried not to snap at her for throwing up. I was glad when Tilda insisted on turning around. It meant we could go home where I could look after her.
‘Do you also remember—?’
‘Stop.’I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing down that feeling of care.
Fucking Damien. He doesn’t understand the devil he’s let out in our midst. I should be punishing her, atoning her, anything to avenge the child I could have been. Instead I’m forced to keep her close, to worry, to reopen the doors to a past I’ve spent years forgetting.
‘I was glad we never got to the beach,’ Tilda says, sounding strangely faraway. ‘Didn’t want him seeing me in a swimming costume.’
I swing my face to her, heart constricting at her loveliness in full view. It’s so hard blocking it out—the sounds she makes when she comes, the little divot in her forehead, those heavy, sultry eyes. Now I’ve had a taste, I’m terrified I’ll only want more.
‘Are you really going to go there?’
‘It’s you who goes there, Nic. Every time. I just want us to be friends again. Or, you know—more.’
I scoff. ‘You catch some gay feelings and you’re ready to fuck every girl?’
‘No. Just you. Just them.’ Her eyes flash. ‘And it’s not just fucking. Not for you either.’ She holds up a palm when I open my mouth to protest. ‘Save it. I don’t want to hear it.’ She blows out a long sigh. ‘Does make me wonder though, about the past. About…us. We were obsessed with each other. I’ve never known friendship like it. Not before, not after. I wonder if our parents thought anything about it or they were too wrapped up in each other to care.’
‘Dunno. Can’t ask Dad, can I? Why don’t you go and ask your mum?’
