Page 8 of Vying Girls
‘Still want you.’
‘And I want you.’ She twines our hands, so hard it hurts. ‘Fucking trust me on that. Alright?’
I nod, too drunk to push her. I’m about to throw up anyway. Probably isn’t the best time to fuck.
‘Come on. Let’s get back to the others.’
I scoff weakly. ‘Rather not. Nic’s doing my nut in! Why did she even come out if she’s just going to fuck up the night?’
‘Yeah, she’s pissing me off too.’ Haz squeezes my hand. ‘But go easy. It’s a weird night for her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s the anniversary of her dad’s death. Always messes her up.’
That jolts me, even through this alcohol fog. I recall finding her on the cliff edge. Yeah, she had seemed sad. Drinking that shit for lunch. Didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary though. She’s always a bit moody.
‘That’s sad,’ I concede. ‘But doesn’t excuse her for the rest of the time.’
‘No. It doesn’t. Free pass today, though. We can rag on her tomorrow.’
‘It is tomorrow.’
‘Tilda,’ Haz groans, though I hear her smile. ‘You’re as bad as each other.’
‘Excuse me?’ I breathe. ‘Take that back.’
‘Nope. You’re a little fighter too. Like Nic. Hurting when you’re hurting.’
It’s dumb, but her words make me tear up. I don’t hurt people, do I? Fuck, that makes me want to hurtme.And I’ve not done that in a while.
Haz pulls me back to the dance floor. ‘Think you’ve got another couple of hours left in you?’
It’s so weird, the club being this quiet. People are shouting, attempting answers, but it feels like a shell without the thump of music. Elly and Nic aren’t paying much mind, huddled on a bench in the corner, their phones on the table lighting their faces.
Nic’s removed her mask now, an elbow resting on her raised knee. She looks relaxed as she watches our approach, her hair still slicked back even though it’s dried.
I look closer. Maybe relaxed isn’t the right word—more resigned.
I feel bad for her now. Maybe I’m just tired.
‘Yeah, I’m good,’ I say, sniffing back my tears before anyone notices.
Nic
There’s a drifting horde at the fourth place. Hard to tell what’s going on amongst an ocean of rowdy, t-shirted students. Elly and I lost the other two; Tilda wandered off when Blakely came over to say hello. Still salty after her kidnapping. Even now, the memory makes my lips twitch.
If it wasn’t for Blakely, we’d still be stuck at the last club. They’d gotten the answer correct, finally, but not before the timer ran out. I’m not sure the veiled figures who’ve been stalking us all night knew what to do. They’re probably final years students, or perhaps graduates. They’d wanted to keep the fun going by keeping the doors barred but people got antsy. It’s not the night to try and tame us.
So along came Blakely, aiming one hard kick at the doors to set us free.
‘Looks like a riot,’ Elly comments.
She’s not wrong. There’s laughter, shrieking, people on the backs of others, illegal drinks held in hands. Some are chanting the old Hazelhurst rhymes, the ones we crack out for the long walk to the clubs from the ferry. We’re blacklisted to a lot of taxi services.
It’s a heady atmosphere, especially with the storm still raging. There’s lightning in the distance, right over where Hazelhurst Island is. Judging by the direction of the racing, light-polluted clouds, we’re its next target. Already thunder is cracking.
‘They’ve battened down the hatches,’ Haz says, appearing out of nowhere.‘Pussies.’
