Page 71 of Vying Girls
Turning around, she gently pushes me away to retrieve her baggie.
‘No more, Nic.’
She tips it all out with shaking hands, flicking the bag for every last mote. She fiddles with a scrap of paper, clumsily fashioningit into another straw. Gritting my teeth, I storm over and whack it out of her hands, sending the blue shit sailing to the floor.
‘Fucking hell, Tilda,’ she hisses, dropping to the ground to gather it back up.
‘Why are you still doing that shit? Do you actually like it? I know it was Damien who got you hooked on it.’
She glares. ‘Stop saying that fucker’s name.’
Crouching down with her, I gentle my voice. ‘Nic, I’m serious. What about hockey? Varsity’s in a few months. Aren’t drugs what messed it up for you last time?’
She groans as she stands up, kicking the useless dirtied powder. ‘Well, if life would just give me a fucking break!’
‘Then let me help you! I’m on your side here. I’ve always been on your side. Since day one.’
Tipping her head back, she laughs. ‘That’s fucking rich. Can you say that again? That was funny.’
‘Nic.’ I shake my head. ‘Are we remembering things differently or something? We werebestfriends.’
‘I’m remembering things exactly how they were.’
‘Then I’m even more confused. I just don’t understand, how all that could have happened to you, withhim,and yet—what?—you don’t believe what your dad did to me? Is that it? Is it some kind of cognitive dissonance thing? Did you ever get help for—?’
She gets in my face, all but spitting with rage. ‘Keep fucking talking, Tilda, I dare you.’
I tilt my head, barely blinking even with her mere millimetres away. A few weeks ago, this would have intimidated me, but it’s Nic, my Nicole, and there’s nothing about her that scares me.
‘Calm down, Nic, and just talk to me. Or let’s just go home. What are we even doing here? We never should have come out.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you, Tilda. I fucking can’t! I can’t even bear you being near me.Fuck!’
‘You’re the one who dragged me here!’
She just stares, eyes impossibly wide. She’s like an angry cat in a cage. Nowhere to run. Fear showing as fury.
‘Nic.’ I risk putting my hand on her arm. ‘It’s just me. You don’t need to keep running.’
She removes her arm, stepping to the back of the room and running agitated hands through her hair. ‘You don’t have a fucking clue.’
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. ‘Maybe because you don’t talk to me. What the fuck, Nic? Of course I don’t have a clue. That’s why I’mbeggingyou to talk to me! Do you blame me for it all or something? Do you think the reason your dad hanged himself was because I—?’
Nic growls, spinning around with an empty bottle in her hands. I duck when she throws it, but it’s not aimed at me. It hits the ceiling instead, the entirety of it shattering like a vicious hailstorm.
Crying out, I cover my head with my arms. Nic gasps, then her arms are around me, shielding me from the falling shards.
‘Don’t move. Don’t move.’
‘I can feel it all over me,’ I breathe.
‘I know. Don’t move.’
The sound of the band is crisper now. They don’t let up, even when there must be glass all over the dance floor. I hear people cheering obnoxiously. They’re probably all staring but I can’t tell with Nic wrapped around me. Every time I try raising my head, she pushes it back down.
‘It’s still falling.’
Eventually I hear the scuff of other footsteps. Nic releases me. Her bare skin glitters with both blood and glass. I’m sure mine does too, but I’m not feeling any pain.
