Then Came You (19 page)

I woke up the text morning with sticky eyelashes and a headache from crying myself to sleep. There was no sound in the house except for my heavy breathing and the drum of the fridge as it struggled to stay alive.

Rolling out of bed, I take a cold shower thanks to the lack of cold water, and throw on a pair of skinny jeans, a white vest top and a red hoodie. I run a comb through my dark, tangled hair and stare at my reflection morbidly, before turning away and walking out the room.

The house felt dead as I wandered from the kitchen to the livingroom, and slowly pouring myself a glass of water to make time go by. Eventually, I cracked, and I picked up the phone with a sigh.

“Hello?” She answers after the second ring.

“Hey Dana,” I start. “What are you doing today?”

“Um, nothing.
Why?” She replies.

“I’m bored, can we hang out?” I say simply, and she chuckles from the other end.

She finishes laughing with a puff of breath. “Sure, why don’t I pick you up and we can chill back here at my new… whatever. I’ll be round in fifteen minutes, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

I hang up, put the phone down, and drum my fingers on the table top. I look around, before deciding I’ll put on shoes and find something to do in my room for the next fifteen minutes.

The door creaks open as usual, and my eyes wander for the first time to the photo album that I’d hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe; I’d pulled it open the other night to look at pictures of mum, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it.

I hear knocking on the front door and I walk downstairs to open the door, grinning at Dana. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die of boredom,” she groans, pulling my arm and leading my out of the house. I hop in the car, and only then do I realise that I’m still holding the album. Dana notices too.

“Ooh, what’s that?
Pictures?”
She coos, looking over eagerly. I sigh and nod.

“I was trying to, um, look at them. But I’m still struggling,” I mumble.

She nods knowingly. “I can help, it you want. I haven’t been able to stop looking at pictures of Ma; her friend has
so many,
and
there’s
quite a few funny ones, too. I never knew my Ma could be so crazy.”

“Me neither,” I echo. “And thanks, maybe I will look at them.
But just… not now.”

She pulls up outside a terraced house and shrugs at me. “Home sweet, not-home,” she murmurs. I walk next to her up to the bright pink building and we walk inside, the scent of ginger, cinnamon and something alcoholic floating in from the kitchen.

An old woman walks over and giggles at us, her salt and pepper hair loose and wavy, and her blue eyes creased into a smile. “Hello Dana’s friend, I’m Meg. Make yourself at home, would you. I’ll promise not to bite,” she winks, before teetering off to the kitchen, where a bunch of giggles erupt from a few different people.

I look at Dana and she rolls her eyes. “’Book Club’” she says, bending her fingers for quote marks. “Come
on,
let’s go to my room before they attack us with boy talk and red wine.”

“Boy
talk
?” I question her.

She snorts. “Did I say boy talk? I meant old man talk – my bad.”

She opens the door to her bedroom and makes a sweeping motion with her arms as I walk inside, taking in the whole room with wide eyes. “Whoa,” I
breath
. “It’s very, um, pink.”

She nods her head grimly. “I’m thinking of painting it yellow, for Ma.
Or red and black, because that’s the way I roll.”
She smirks at me. “What do you think?”

I take in the bright pink walls, pale pink fluffy carpet, the pink single bed and the pink curtains on the window. There’s a few cuddly toys scattered around that weren’t in Dana’s old room, and the only thing that isn’t pink in the room are the rest of her belongings. Even the wardrobe is baby pink.

“I think you should definitely paint it,” I tell her.
“Anything to get rid of this
pink.
”

“I know, right,” she scoffs. “Her daughter must have been some princess pussy.” I snort in surprise, making her grin at me. “Or maybe she was just colour blind. Either way, it has
got
to go.”

“Amen.”

Fifteen minutes later, and we’re flicking through various magazines and talking about how lame articles are. “Oh, wow: another bimbo got a boob job? Good luck when you get old and wrinkly, babe.” Dana scolds, throwing the horrendous magazine across her room. “I’m bored.”

“Me too,” I admit.

She sits up suddenly. “Can we check out your album now? I wanna see your baby pictures!” She pouts, batting her eyelids at me in attempt to make me agree. I nod reluctantly, and she giggles and picks it up from the end of the bed, opening it eagerly.

I watch her eyes dart from one picture to another, her red-nailed fingers flipping the pages over slowly. “Is this your mum?” She asks carefully, stroking a picture of my mum, laughing, her bright eyes sparkling and her dark hair flowing over her shoulders.

I nod sadly. “Yeah; she was always so
happy
when I was around. I guess I was just too young and naive to notice it wasn’t real. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss her any less.”

She looks up at me, before nodding in understanding. We go silent and she carries on looking at the pictures, and I brave myself to look at them over her shoulder, a lump in my throat as each one brings back memories.

My body goes cold and rigid when she turns the page, a picture of my and Jason smiling into a camera big and bold on the page. She looks up at me with a smirk. “Who is
he?
Talk about yum, huh?”

“He, uh, we used to date. For, like, a few weeks.” I stammer, looking away in pain. She raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What happened?” She asks me.

I gulp, tears threatening to spill over my eyes as memories flash back into my mind. I make a strangled sound similar to a sob, and she jumps, startled, and puts her arms around me. “Darcy?”

“It ended not long after my mum died,” I
whispers
.
“He r-raped me at a party.”

She curses under her breath, pulling back to look me in the eye.
“He
what?”
She gasps.
“Bloody hell.”

“I’m over it now,” I say firmly.

She looks at me with narrowed eyes, before shaking her head. “No, you’re not. I can see it in your eyes. It’s killing you inside.”

“Then maybe I should just let it kill me already,” I sigh, falling back on the bed and covering my face with my hands. “I never told anyone, you know.”

She growls lowly, and moves my hands so I can see her glare. “You mean he got
away
with it? He raped you, Darcy! He should be in jail for what he’s done!”

“It was too much,” I protest. “Mum was dead and dad was losing it, I couldn’t just add another problem to the list. Just please – promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

She looks troubled, her brow knitted and her eyes filled with concern as she mulls it over. “I don’t know, Darcy-“

“
Promise
me,” I insist, gripping her hand tightly between both of mine, staring into her eyes pleadingly. “Please.”

She nods slowly, almost regretfully as she gulps. “I-I promise, Darcy. I won’t tell anyone.
I promise.
”

Chapter 28

Clara was laughing so hard that she fell into the pot noodle boxes, scattering plastic pots over the storage room. Tears leak from her eyes as she calms down, only to start laughing once again as the pot noodles roll away. She’s been this way since I got here.

I stare at her in confusion and wonder during her laughing fit, not daring to breathe until she’s collected herself and is normal once again, smiling at me like it never happened.

“Sorry, I haven’t slept in a while. Energy drinks kinda make me go hyper,” she shrugs.

I nod slowly, before bending down to pick up a pot noodle in front of me. “Maybe you should get some sleep then.” I say in a
duh
voice, making her scoff.

“Like I haven’t tried.
And anyway, you’re one to talk Miss ‘I can’t sleep because I have so many problems going on with my life’. When are you going to take your own advice?” She points out, leaning back on the boxes behind her.

I shrug, “When I actually
need
to take it? That’s not relevant right now, anyway. My life is perfectly fine at the moment.”

“Yeah, but
fine
isn’t
great
,” she sighs, shaking her head slowly. “Silly Martyr, when will you learn?”

“Ha
ha
, very funny: don’t give up your day job, will you?” I say sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at her. “And speaking of which, pick up those pot noodles already – it’s a health hazard!”

“Yeah, yeah,
mum,
” she mumbles, before walking over to where a majority of them have gathered in the middle of the room. “Jeez, since when did you become so
bossy?
”

Her words reminded me of an argument I’d had with my dad the previous night: he’d turned up once again, but he was in a grumpy mood, and so was I. I’d had enough of his disappearing acts and I wanted to get some answers from him.

I was sat in the kitchen when he strolled in, grabbing a few beers from the fridge and stumbling into the livingroom to drink his night away. Fuming, I’d stormed into the room and stood in front of the TV.

“I want to know the truth,” I’d said pointedly, trying hard to ignore the burning sensation in my throat as I met his glare with one of my own.
Why has it come to this?

He’d scoffed at me, “you know it,
you
just won’t accept it. Now move
,
you’re in the way of the TV.”

Rolling my eyes, I’d stood my ground. “I want to
know,
” I started, but my voice broke before I could finish. “Why do you keep leaving me?” I whispered.

“Because you remind me of her, and I hate that. I just want to
forget,
so will you stop being so goddam bossy and let me!?” He’d burst in anger, and I’d stumbled back slightly.

I’d decided to give it one last try: “Just – just tell me why! If she hated you so much, then why do you even care if she’s gone?”

He gave me a look over his can of beer and finished it in one last gulp, smashing it between his hands. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I returned to the presence as Clara told me my shift was over and that I could go home. I smiled weakly at her and we hugged like always, before I walked out the storage room and out the back door, into the cool night air.

In the chilly walk back, I thought about what had happened in the past few months, and also what happened with dad. He’d stormed out of the house after a load more beers, and it was surprising how numb about it – I used to care so much. It used to
hurt
me when he’d leave and get drunk.

It still does,
a small voice pipes up in the back of my mind. I push the voice back down and go back to last night. He didn’t seem hurt one bit – he was a broken shell of a man, barely alive anymore. There was nothing left of the man I used to know. He was long gone.

I get home in a foul
mood,
opening the door carelessly and throwing my bag on the kitchen table, making it shake and rattle. I scowl at it until is stills, before getting a glass of water. I decide to make a start on my homework, and fifteen minutes later, I regret it. Growling, moaning and close to tears, I push the papers, books and pens away from my and drop my head on the table, taking deep, lungful’s of air as I stare at the pale pine wood of the table.
Cheap wood,
tacky
wood.
It’s not like we could afford anything else.

I’m pathetic,
I realise.
Getting upset over a table.
Just
do
something.

I sniff, lifting my head and looking around hopelessly.
Music,
I decide, and I stand up, the chair shrieking against the tiles on
the and
making me wince. I put the glass in the sink and I’m about to head upstairs when the doorbell goes. I freeze, not expecting company, and hesitantly make my way to the door.

I open it with the latch on, and my eyes widen when I see the very familiar police officer looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Hello again,” he grumbles, and I close the door and open it fully with a sigh.

My eyes automatically swivel to my dad, who looks grubby, dirty and drunk as he wobbles on his own two feet, even with the help of the
officers
hands on his arms. I gulp, and panic knots in my chest as I step out of the way to let them both in.

“I’m guessing you know why I’m here, right?” He starts, watching as my dad falls on the sofa with a dull
thud
and falls asleep immediately. I ignore him, staring at the officer grimly.

“Yeah, it’s not hard to guess,” I mumble.
“How much?”