Page 55 of Vying Girls
I smile at their bickering, heart warming at the sound of it. ‘A girl can be both.’
‘Whatever. Let’s just sleep.’ Haz cups my cheek and presses our lips together. Her thumb strokes my jaw before she rolls onto her back and closes her eyes.
My jaw continues to tingle, feeling so much in that brief show of affection.
She might think she’s the one who’s going to corrupt me, but I think it might end up being the other way round, and in an entirely different way than she expects.
CHAPTER 10
Nic
It’s a rush to get to the tunnels. The dash across campus is so fiercely windy, the weather seems sentient. It pushes me back with angry hands, helping to dry my hair from my much-needed gym shower.
Fucking hockey. Coach has got us training like dogs, like our lives depend on winning Varsity. After the fuck up of last year, kind of feels like mine does.
But it doesn’t do good to be late to these meets. Doesn’t help that I’ve forgotten my mask either. Wouldn’t fly in first year, but I’m established now. I’ve got Blakely’s respect, and in turn Fina’s. Helps to have friends in high places. Even corrupt ones.
I couldn’t give a shit if I was late. If I even attended at all. Just made a good excuse to get the hell away from Tilda.
I can’t bear those eyes. Even across the pitch, following every move I make. Trying to spot a hint of who I used to be. She’s got it all wrong. That girl’s not in me anymore. We might have been separated in body, but Tilda took with her my essence. My entire fucking soul. She should be looking at herself for the answers.
I know I can’t avoid her forever. She’s not the type to let sleeping dogs lie. She’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. At least she did. Suppose I don’t know the woman anymore, just the half-feral, assertive kid she once was. Strange, because she was only like that with me. Put her in a room of adults and she was meek as anything. Never truer than with my dad.
He’s been on my mind just as much lately. Sitting on that cliff, watching the seething ocean. It reminds me of him. He had a temper. Like mine, it was the quiet kind. The air would crackle and that’s how you knew you’d pissed him off. He didn’t have to shout. It was rare he did. Even rarer that he raised a hand. I used to think I’d prefer that. Easier to understand. Certainly easier to anticipate.
Getting praise out of him became my soul purpose. It was like getting blood from a stone, except the blood was mine and the stone was one he threw. Then I met Tilda and that need for validation transferred to her. I wonder if he was ever jealous of that. Didn’t act like it if he was. On the contrary, he seemed just as taken with Tilda as me.
A thought that disquiets me.
Sometimes, when dusk is falling and my thoughts feel more secret, I wonder if he did the things she said he did. If I’ve got this whole thing wrong and I should be on my knees at her feet, begging for her forgiveness, rather than her being at mine.
Then the wind blows and I smell his tobacco. Those cigars he used to let me puff on when his mood was high. His gravellylaugh when I coughed. The hand he’d smack my back with before slowing it to an affectionate caress.
I feel him all around me, the grief coalescing, and the outrage returns.
There was a documentary she used to be obsessed with. About the Pendle witch trials and that snivelly little kid who accused her whole family and got them killed.
Got accused herself in the end. Probably never made it out of prison. Can see Tilda going the same way if she’s not careful.
This entrance has to be the worst. Practically suicidal in these winds. It’s cut from the cliff, the jagged drop indicative of recent collapse. Now you have to toe along the edge like a mountain goat, making use of conveniently placed metal holds.
I squeeze my eyes closed when the wind hits me like a tonne of bricks. Fucking meeting should have been cancelled. I risk a quick glance down. The water’s more grey than blue. It’s dark on this side. The sun, paltry as it was today, is setting over in the west.
Storm will be here soon; lockdown starts this weekend.
At the mouth of the tunnel, Blakely stands like a boulder. Our faithful bouncer, ready to clip stragglers like me around the ears. Keeps the Debarred away too. People are fucking obsessed with secret societies. They’ll do anything for a glimpse.
Not like I’m any better. Held onto Damien’s every word when he was home for holidays.
Bastard never knew the meaning of secret. Could barely keep ours.
Blakely watches me toss my hockey bag against the cliff. On my knees, I rummage in my pack for my cloak. Too windy to put it on out here.
I approach the entrance, dying to get out of this wind. With my wet hair, it feels like winter again.
‘Do I need to do the secret handshake?’ I say when Blakely continues blocking my way.
She quirks an eyebrow but steps aside. ‘Follow you in. You were the last.’
