The Darkness Within

by Taylor K. Scott

  “Don’t…like…small…spaces…” I continue to gasp.

  “Fuck!” he moans and pulls me towards him where he helps me to sit with my head between my knees and rubbing gentle circles on my back. “Come on, Fridge, it’s not worth killing yourself over!”

  “I…would have…thought…” I breathe out a little more easily and begin to calm down with the distraction of talking to him, “…you’d like…that!”

  “Where would my entertainment be then?” he chuckles and I find myself half smiling, then hating myself for it.

  “Asshole!” I wheeze at him, which only makes him laugh all the harder.

  We both end up sitting against the cold door to our current prison, choosing to remain silent and staring into the blackness for I don’t know how long. My breathing gradually returns to a manageable level and I no longer feel the need to pass out.

  “You feeling better, Fridge?” he finally voices, thus ending the deafening silence. One which I should be used to, but with Bowie and the pitch blackness, I only feel uncomfortable.

  “As if you care!” I mutter back bitterly, sounding more petulant than I meant to. “I mean, yes, thank you, Bowie.”

  “You’re welcome, Fridge,” he chuckles softly but this time without the condescending ring it normally has to it. “You’ll be pleased to know I managed to text Russ; he should be here in the next half an hour.”

  “Does your phone have a light?” I ask, only stupidly thinking of this now and how it would, at least, alleviate some of my anxiety.

  “Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ between his lips.

  “Well, can you put it on?” I ask, sounding beyond frustrated by his lack of help.

  “Nope,” he replies with that same irritating pop at the end.

  “Why the hell not?!”

  “Because a) my battery is almost dead, b) you seem perfectly fine now, and c) I just don’t like you that much!” he replies nonchalantly.

  “Right back at you, Bowie,” I scowl, “you’re still a giant prick!”

  He says nothing in return, so we end up sitting in the same uncomfortable silence as before, only this time I’m no longer trying to remember how to breathe. The result of which is my senses are now fully functioning and are picking up on the rancid smell of old football boots and musty sport’s gear.

  Just to put the cherry on the cake, the jerk begins tapping his foot, which irritates me on a level that doesn’t warrant such wrath, but because it’s him, I can’t help it. So, just to be as immature as he is, I begin clicking my fingers and tapping my legs in a rhythmless pattern, purposely intended to win this game of who can irritate who the most. The bastard one-ups me, though, by humming ‘I know a song that will get on your nerves’. We both get louder and louder until I realize I’m not five and can’t take this form of idiotic torture anymore.

  “Alright, alright!” I finally cry out, being at the end of my patience and feeling like everything is beginning to give me a massive headache.

  He laughs smugly, enjoying his reign as chief imbecile. Bowie Phillips always needs to be the king of everything, even if it’s being the biggest asshole in the room.

  “Why are you going on Friday, Fridge? You don’t like those things, never have!” he asks, once he’s had his self-congratulatory moment. His tone is now sounding clearly unimpressed by my decision to go on Friday.

  “Why do you hate me?” I retort.

  “Besides the fact you’re a Thomas and your brother raped my sister?”

  “Ok, sure, besides that,” I huff, “you’ve always hated me, Bowie, so that can’t be the only reason.”

  “I hate you because…” he pauses, purely for dramatic effect, “because you took my green coloring pencil in Geography once.” He then laughs at his pathetic joke.

  “Ok, fine! I’ve got my own theory anyway,” I sigh and make a move to stand.

  “Oh yeah?” he scoffs. He sounds beyond confident in the fact that I don’t have a clue about why he decided to make my life miserable, but I’m going to let him have it anyway.

  “Sure, it’s obvious if you think about it,” I reply with a shrug, sounding just as laid back as he is ninety percent of the time. “You have feelings for Matt.”

  “Pfft!” He emits a laugh and I smile because maybe I’ve finally got to him.

  Chapter 13

  Bowie

  Amelia Thomas is trying to rile me up into telling her the truth, however, I have absolutely no problem with the accusation that I’m gay. Hey, if I were, Matt would be the perfect guy. He’s sensitive, loyal, a total pushover and loves to play Xbox, not to mention I can appreciate the dude is attractive…for a dude. But as much as Golden Balls is a perfect potential partner, I can honestly say, I don’t swing that way. A man’s tackle just doesn’t do it for me; I like tits and pussy too much.

  “Ok, Fridge, you’ve got my attention, tell me more about this theory of yours,” I respond to her CSI type theory. The sound of her sneakers pacing back and forth across the floor has me smirking as I picture her ticking off her fingers as she lists off her reasons, one by pathetic one.

  “You hate the girl he likes, in fact, you don’t want me anywhere near him. You’re practically over there all the time and you try just a little too hard to always be seen with some girl draped all over you, yet you’ve never had a real girlfriend before!”

  “Interesting,” I reply, instinctively nodding at her, even though neither of us can see one another.

  “Oh my God, am I right?” she gasps, sounding positively thrilled by the idea.

  “Nope,” I laugh at her, “but I like how much you’ve thought about it. Shows I get to you, Fridge!”

  She groans in frustration and I laugh even harder, always contented when I get to her in whatever way I can. After my run-in with ‘Gabe’, her douche of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or whatever, I gave Amelia a wide berth. She’s no longer scared of me, so all I have left is to annoy her as much as possible. Plus, I guess I grew out of ‘hating’ her specifically. Now I just hate her because of her brother, which I know sounds a little ridiculous. But the way I understand it, I can’t see how I can ever ‘like’ her after what he did. They’re still closely related no matter how much time passes.

  “But it is to do with him, isn’t it?” she continues, touching dangerously close to the truth. As usual, I try to deflect it by huffing back at her, not wanting to delve any further into it. Besides which, it’s all in the past.

  “Bowie, Bowie, Bowie…I can keep this up till your football buddy arrives, by the way. Bowie, Bowie, Bowie…”

  And Amelia Thomas does not lie! She keeps repeating my name for what feels like hours, even though it can only have been ten minutes, tops! Sometimes loud, sometimes soft, sometimes low, sometimes in a sing-song voice, which is out of key. In the end, I either tell her or end up driving my fist through her face and even I don’t hate her enough to violently attack a woman.

  “Ok, fine!” I growl, causing her to stop pacing because I sound thoroughly pissed off. “I hate you because you made my first year here epically shit!”

  “Wait, what?! How?” she asks, sounding genuinely shocked by my admission, just like the naïve little Bambi that she is. Perfect Amelia Thomas with her kind heart and big doe-eyed face, cannot possibly be responsible for inflicting pain on another human being…except me, that is.

  “When I joined school in eighth grade, I didn’t know a single soul, but I didn’t mind, I knew I’d make friends, I always did. Up until then, Sam and I had been army brats, so I was used to changing schools and starting all over again. I hated it, but I got on with it because that was all I knew. But that year was my first year when I knew we’d be staying, so I was keen to make some decent friends.”

  I hear her slide down the door, not far away from me, but whether she knows that or not, I have no idea. Neither of us does in the lack of light. Her silence tells me, however, that she’s listening intently to my sad, little trip down memory lane, so I ch
oose to carry on. I’ve got nothing to lose to admit this to her. Besides, I have a much bigger reason for being frosty towards her now. It makes no odds how my hatred for Millie began.

  “Everyone knew you and Matt were this little pair who were glued together at the hip. Matt and the pretty brunette girl who had big eyes and a big heart. I was always hearing how nice you were, how much people liked you, but I figured you two were too much like hard work to try and get in with. I spent the first week just people watching, not wanting to attach myself to the wrong sort, you know?”

  “I remember that,” she says softly, “you were really quiet, sullen almost. I just thought you were either shy or had a chip on your shoulder.”

  “Yeah, well, you were away the week after with stomach flu, regular flu, I forget which,” I mumble, knowing full well it was stomach flu, or so Matt had told me. “I saw my way in and went to sit with Matt. We fell in together straight away; it was like we’d been friends for years. I even went over to his house a couple of times to play football and Xbox – “

  “Yeah, you both waved at me one afternoon,” she says with a smile in her voice. “I was jealous because I had to stay in bed; I was so bored.”

  “He came over on the Saturday to tell me we couldn’t hang out anymore because you would be back on Monday,” I continue bitterly. The mere memory of it still makes me feel bad about myself all over again.

  “I don’t understand,” she says, now sounding confused and I wonder if she’s genuinely oblivious to it, or if she’s just that good an actress.

  “Matt told me what you said, Amelia. He told me you didn’t want to hang out with me because you found me scary, that I looked like the sort of kid you and he shouldn’t want to get involved with. That I was the ‘wrong sort’, the kid who would most likely want to get him into trouble and ruin his reputation. All you had to do was bat those big, Bambi like eyes and he wrote me off…completely! Told me he had to remain loyal to you and couldn’t force you to be around me if I made you that nervous.”

  “Bowie, I-”

  “Course, the jungle drums started, and everyone began whispering about how perfect Amelia Thomas was afraid of the bully whose dad was some strict Officer from the army. Before I knew it, they had me portrayed as the big, bad wolf who would beat you up if you so much as looked at him the wrong way. No one wanted to be around me then, not until the end of the year when I paired up with a few guys and Melody, of all people. She had a thing for Matt and therefore didn’t like you very much either.”

  “Oh my God!” she gasps. “So, you got together and decided to ‘hate’ me?”

  “Pretty much, Fridge,” I laugh wickedly, “but, high school is all about being the big bad wolf on campus, so my reputation turned into popularity, whereas your timidity and nice girl routine made you a sad sap. So, all well that ends well!”

  “Why the hell didn’t you come and pull me up on it?!” she argues with an element of frustration to her voice. “It’s not like you to hold your opinion back, is it?”

  “And risk upsetting the Disney princess even more? Thus, reaffirming everyone’s opinion of me? No way! Besides, Matt warned me not to; told me you’d be angry with him for telling me he had mentioned it,” I shrug into the pitch black. “I still thought he was a decent friend, so I kept quiet for him. But now? I think you’re old enough to handle being told you were a bitch back then, even if you did have everyone else fooled. I get it princess; you didn’t want anyone else taking Matt away from you. Guess your plan backfired though!”

  At that point, the door finally bursts open, revealing a blinding light with Russ’s smug face grinning down at the both of us. One could almost see a halo shining around his head, which is ironic, given how disgusting he is.

  “Evening,” he says, trying to sound seductive but only achieving creepy. “Been up to anything...interesting?”

  “With Fridge?! Don’t make me laugh dumbass!” I scoff, the whole time staring at her furrowed brow and those damn Bambi eyes. “See you later, Amelia!”

  And then I’m outta there.

  Millie

  “Are you coming out?” Russ asks slowly, as though I’m one sandwich short of a picnic. However, I’m too busy trying to think back, to try and recall what the hell Bowie was talking about. How did I not know any of this?!

  I look at Russ, who is still looking perplexed by my refusal to move, before his frown morphs into a wicked grin when he notices my shirt slightly agape from where I had tried to clasp at my chest earlier. He begins nodding and licking his lips in such a way it has me grimacing and bolting after the boy who has been hating on me ever since he first arrived in this town.

  At first, Bowie is nowhere to be seen, but, fortunately, his casual walk means that as soon as I spy his black shirt pacing alongside the gymnasium, I manage to catch up with him fairly quickly.

  “Hey!” I shout when I almost run into him.

  He turns with a frown on his face, looking like he wants to shove me right back inside of that shed and never set eyes on me again. I guess, given the information he just gave me, I can’t exactly blame him for not liking me.

  “Look, Fridge, don’t even try and apologize now because I could care fucking less,” he snaps. “It’s the past and I’m never going to like you!”

  “I wasn’t scared of you!” I shout, to shut him up more than anything. “Not then, anyway. Why would I be? I had no reason to fear you. It was only when I saw you shoving Russ back there, straight into a locker at the beginning of Sophomore year, that I found you intimidating, but eighth grade? Bowie, I never said any of those things to Matt!”

  He’s still looking like he’d rather tread on me than say anything remotely pleasant, but I can see the cogs turning. I know he’s thinking about what I’ve just said. His angry glare morphs into a deep-set frown of confusion and I begin to think he believes me, even if he still thinks I’m the scum of the Earth. I hang back, choosing not to go too far, just in case this riles him up further.

  “Hey, Bowie!” Russ calls out from behind me, consequently breaking the tension between us and interrupting the moment in general. “You comin’ to Matt’s on Friday?”

  “Yeah, course,” he answers, then finally tears his eyes away from mine to look at Russ. “You?”

  “And miss out on all that fine pussy on tap? Wouldn’t miss it!”

  I scowl over the mental image of that vile little question. Russ is a particular brand of gross, even his own team-mates find him too much sometimes, or so Matt tells me. While some of them have matured and grown into decent guys, Russ definitely hasn’t. I’ll admit, the dude creeps me out.

  “I’m gonna go,” I whisper, jacking my thumb out in the opposite direction before turning around completely and walking away with a new set of confusing thoughts to muddle over.

  “Fridge?!” Bowie yells, making me instinctively turn back to look into those penetrating orbs of his, which have you never quite knowing if he’s angry or not. “Your brother still raped my sister. So, whether you said those things or not, it changes nothing!”

  He looks at me a little longer, still with an unfathomable expression, before I smile tightly and nod, turning once again to walk home. My headache hits me full force and I decide there and then to get back and zone out to some much-needed cartoons and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

  Well, if I thought things couldn’t get any weirder between me and Bowie, I obviously didn’t count on being locked in a sport’s equipment shed and having a panic attack with him. Since that bizarre turn of events, I’ve frequently caught him looking strangely at both me and Matt, which pretty much gives away the fact that I’ve been eyeing him as well. I can’t stop thinking about what he told me, about what the heck this means. Why would Matt say such a thing to him?

  I considered talking to Mercy about it, getting a female’s perspective in the absence of a mother who would usually be the person you would turn to. However, seeing as my friend thinks I should just ‘bone’ the both of them,
I can’t really count on her objectivity. I then do a one-eighty and contemplate talking to Matt, being up-front and honest about it, but that would risk making things uncomfortable again. In the end, I call Gabe, my make-shift brother while my real one is locked up in jail.

  After Gabe called Bowie a number of names, all too crude to mention, I finally gained some insight from him.

  “Didn’t.Want.To.Share.You, Sugar,” he says rather bluntly and slowly at the same time. “That boy, Matt, obviously has it bad for you, and has done for quite some time, it would appear.”

  “So, what do I do with that? Do I call him up on it or leave it behind me?” I ask, feeling a little ridiculous over the whole ordeal.

  “That’s up to you Mills, but to be honest, you have a right to be pretty pissed at the both of them for one reason or another. Personally, I’d write them both off but that’s me,” he admits with a smile in his voice. “And guys tend to be a little more detached in general. Or maybe it’s because my mother’s right, that because I’m a Virgo, I can only see in black and white. You wrong me, you’re dead to me; if you catch my drift?”