The Darkness Within

by Taylor K. Scott

  He says nothing and that says it all really. With that in mind, I push harder and bolt away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my hot tears escaping, like the bastards always do when I’m in close proximity to this infuriating and hurtful man.

  “Millie!” he calls but makes no attempt to follow.

  The truth hurts, but it doesn’t stop it from being what it is.

  Chapter 20

  Amelia

  Nearly two weeks pass by with Bowie and I obviously avoiding each other’s presence. Meanwhile, Matt and I fall back into our friendzone status, minus me watching his football practices, for obvious reasons. I’ve finally told him about my plans for Stanford, but he remains oddly quiet about his options and I don’t push for it.

  Mercy chooses not to hang with me when I’m with Matt because she says she’s likely to bust his balls over the party incident. It’s her choice and, again, I’m not going to force her to, especially as they’ve never really got on anyway.

  I begin to notice Matt’s suspicious gaze whenever Bowie or I walk away as soon as the other one approaches, and he continues to pester me about staying to watch him play. So, one particularly breezy Wednesday, I bite the bullet and go to watch him. We do our usual wave to one another before I stick in my MP3 player, listening to tracks that remind me of Grant, and sink back to watch them running around like a pack of dogs, all looking scarily violent in their play. You’d think I’d be used to the brutality of it by now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be, not when people I care about are out there in the mix of it.

  It should come as no surprise when my usual football buddy comes to sit down in front of me, with the back of his head remaining rigid while the rest of his body spreads out before him. We both stubbornly ignore each other for a good ten minutes, making me question his motives for coming over at all, other than it being just pure habit. I sigh audibly, even though I can’t hear myself through the blare of Dirty Vegas ringing through my ears, but I obviously caught his attention. He looks to the side and mouths my name, waiting for me to respond. However, I continue to take my time to think about how I want to spin this.

  “Amelia,” he mumbles, when I finally take my earphones out, “you don’t embarrass me.”

  I still don’t respond, instead, my gaze quickly finds Matt who’s still running around like his pants are literally on fire. It’s only when I feel Bowie’s fingertips touching the flash of skin between my jeans and sneaker that I turn my attention back to him. The shock of electricity running between us spreads up my leg, serving as a catalyst to set the butterflies inside of me to flutter wildly around after having laid dormant for days.

  “Talk to me, Mils,” he whispers, keeping his eyes surreptitiously to the side, thus keeping us a secret from the rest of the world.

  “Actions speak louder than words, Bowie,” I mutter truthfully, trying to sound matter of factly rather than bitter, “and you’re still hiding me.”

  His fingers remain where they are for a few moments longer before he subtly nods his head. It tells me he’s giving up and returning to the game where he always reigns supreme. I watch him leave, right up until he runs over to where Matt’s stood, who is now staring right at me, looking oblivious to everything else around him.

  The weather is turning cold after an extremely mild beginning to autumn, so I wrap up in my old winter coat, which, in truth, could smell better seeing as it’s been hibernating through the summer months, lost to the darkest corners of the downstairs closet. A good two or three wears should see to its musty odor, so I think nothing of putting it on to go and visit Matt. The boy has had my biology textbook for the last few nights and has failed to bring it back. I just hope he hasn’t spilled his coffee on it as he did with my copy of King Lear back in Sophomore year. He still owes me the money for that one, not that I’ll ever pull him up on it.

  I meander out into my backyard, huffing when the dew makes my sneakers wet from only a few steps, telling me that I’ll be back in my boots before I even realize it. I keep an ear out for Matt who is usually shooting hoops in his back yard after irritatingly being a swot and completing his homework all before dinner time. I know he’s in because I saw his car sitting in the driveway and since he got his license a few months ago, he rarely walks his lazy ass anywhere. He’s an environmental nightmare and one slippery step away from losing his muscle tone, which would no doubt have him rocking in a corner of self-despair.

  The deafening sound of nothing has me doubting his whereabouts. I come to the conclusion that he’s probably eating a family dinner with his parents, seeing as he has a pair who love and worship him. Unlike mine, who rate me a little above taking their morning dump. I haven’t seen them in…wow, nearly a month!

  Giving up on speaking to Matt, I about turn and make a move to go back to my home for one, when I suddenly hear the man himself, obviously talking on the phone to someone.

  “Hey man, you got any more of that stuff?” he laughs casually to whoever it is. “That shit was just what the doctor ordered!”

  His voice has me rigidly glued to the spot, listening in on his conversation for so long it would be noticeable if I were to move.

  “Yeah, I know, shit got me so wasted I couldn’t tell you which way was up, and which was down. I could have been lying out in the fucking river and not had a clue…” he chuckles before listening to someone who now sounds severely dodgy on the other end of the phone.

  “Hmmm…no,” he sighs heavily, his jovial tone now evaporated, and a more frustrated edge laces his conversation, “not yet, but I can’t give up…not now!”

  He slumps down into one of the squeaky wooden seats in his back yard, where I can hear him tapping nervously on the tiles beneath his feet.

  “I’m telling you something is going on!” he snarls into the phone, now turning angry, with his teeth obviously clenched together as he rages onto someone. I begin to wonder if it’s Bowie. “I know it was him.” This piques my interest and sends my heart racing, though I have no idea what or who he’s talking about. “Don’t you remember her yelling at him and then she marched off without another word? He was so pissed, he fucked off!” There’s a long pause of him listening, still tapping incessantly on the floor beneath his feet. “Yeah, but if I can prove it, it will change everything! I’ve gotta do this for Millie!”

  Holy hell! Maybe Matt is talking about that fateful night, but why wouldn’t he tell me about it if there’s something that can clear my brother’s name? Or is he talking about someone else? Damn my eavesdropping in on a conversation I now have to pretend I know nothing about!

  “Nah, could have been anyone,” he adds, causing my heart to now pound to dangerous levels, so much so, I can feel its vibrations between my ears. “I’m gonna prove this and my guess is, it’s him. He’s the one…slimy motherfucker!” He pauses again and I’m so irritated that I can’t hear the other end of the conversation, I begin clenching my hands into small, white-knuckled fists. “No! Don’t mention anything to Bowie…not yet anyway.” Yet another pause. “Yeah, ok, let me know when you find out. Catch you later, man.”

  I slowly stand up straight, pushing my arms out to help steady my balance as the blood rushes from my head and gives me a severe bout of dizziness. I sort of hover for a few moments before deciding to risk it and walk through like I haven’t heard anything, to try and act normal, just as I would on any other night. I step through the old fence panel, the gap getting a little too small for my now adult body, and watch as he slumps further into his chair, slurping on a bottle of beer, which is odd, considering it’s only midweek and not like him at all.

  Just as I’m about to make my presence known, he shocks me by letting out a few sniffs, then a very pronounced sob, before a full-on cry. The last time I heard him cry was the night when he had lost control of himself with me, a memory I don’t like to think back on if I can help it. It stops me dead in my tracks so that I’m once again, balancing on the uneven ground beneath me, holding my breath
in anticipation over what’s going to happen next.

  His gut-wrenching sobs quickly escalate, like he can’t stop himself. The best friend in me wants to both hug the crap out of him and to leave him to have his private moment. What I actually end up doing is standing there like a useless, voyeuristic bystander, cursing myself for not being more capable of making a decision in situations like this.

  “How could this have happened?” he cries out to the empty space before him. “What if he gets her? I will never forgive myself if he hurts her too.”

  Who in the hell is he talking about and why hasn’t he told me of his suspicions before? It makes no sense!

  “Fucking Russ and his dodgy shit!”

  At the sound of a name I know, but who I’ve never really associated with any of the crap that’s gone on in my life, I can’t stop myself from gasping so loudly he sits bolt upright. It’s a split-second decision to throw caution to the wind and walk forcefully over to him, waving and calling out as though I am completely oblivious to anything that’s happened in the last ten minutes. However, given that he’s now smiling at me, I breathe out in relief, thinking it must have worked.

  “Hi,” I say just as someone with a much deeper voice calls out at the same time.

  Matt and I both turn towards the new voice to find Bowie wandering over from the back door. All three of us are now staring at one another with blank expressions, not really knowing who should speak first. Bowie and I glance at each other guiltily before we look over to Matt again, who is now eyeing both of us with a frown of suspicion.

  “Sorry, I’ll leave you guys to it,” I mumble, feeling way outside of my comfort zone and wanting to get the hell out of Dodge before another word is said. I shove my hands inside the back pockets of my skinny jeans and begin to turn away, looking towards my exit with a desperation to get there as soon as humanly possible.

  “No, wait!” Matt calls back, sounding almost desperate. “What did you want, Mils?”

  “I just wanted to see if you were free to watch a movie over at mine tomorrow night. No biggy!” It’s a plausible reason for my being here, and the sort of thing we did all through the summer just gone, so I force myself to relax a little.

  “That sounds…perfect,” he grins, “I can come over at six?”

  I nod a little too enthusiastically, just wanting to get my butt firmly on the other side of the fence, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice my weird behavior. I take a chance glance up at Bowie, who has his usual alpha stance on, arms crossed, legs slightly apart, and with a thunderous look in his eyes. It makes me automatically drop the smile from my face and look to the ground in shame, though I have no idea why; he just brings it out in me. I then nod at Matt and make a swift exit, practically running so no one can call me back this time.

  It’s already dark by the time I lift my head from the sofa, inanely watching cartoons which I have no clue as to what they are about. I ended up putting Rocko on as soon as I got back from the awkward conversation in Matt’s backyard. The little wallaby always takes my mind away to Stupidsville without even trying that hard, which was just what the doctor ordered after my run-in with the boys next door.

  The moon is new, and the clouds are beginning to roll in, so I decide to call it a night and make my way up the wooden hill to bed. I’ll no doubt try to call Gabe again, to tell him about Matt’s strange conversation from earlier, though, he’s probably out with his ‘date of the night’.

  My nightly routine brings me to the window to close my curtains, where the sight of Bowie and Matt still in his backyard has me momentarily staring at each of them, studying their body language and trying to decipher it. I never intended to be a greedy little spy tonight but there’s no denying that the opportunities have easily presented themselves to me.

  My best friend is still slumped on that squeaky wooden chair, perhaps a little floppier than before, particularly as there are now three empty bottles around his feet, together with another one hanging limply from his hand. Bowie stands directly opposite him, still clenched, firm and resembling a meaty-looking security guard from your local nightclub. Matt is talking with his hand waving lazily around in the air every now and then, while Bowie listens with his index finger running casually along his mouth and his brow furrowed, clearly not enjoying himself.

  I can’t take my eyes away from them. If it weren’t for the slight movements or gestures, you could mistake them for statues, caught in time for all to see. When Bowie’s eyes suddenly look up into my guilty ones, the ones peeping in on their private moment, it makes me jump. He frequently sighs as he looks at me for a good few minutes. Matt takes no notice and continues to talk continuously, sloppily, by the way his hand is waving around in front of him. Bowie’s expression is pensive but other than that, he doesn’t give much away, and I can’t help wondering what’s going through his head.

  Bowie

  Seeing Millie in the very bedroom I slept with her only a few weeks ago, makes me want to leave Matt to his drunken verbal diarrhea and go and tell her not to see him tomorrow night; to see me instead. Of course, I don’t. I hand Matt his next bottle and slump down beside him while he drawls on about her like some lovesick puppy. After three years of him pining, I’ve lost all patience, but I play the dutiful friend because what else can I do? Drunk and full of self-pity, he’s looking particularly pained tonight, so I brace myself for his rambling on about Millie being the love of his life.

  “So, why are we particularly pissed with the world tonight?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. He just shrugs, making me want to go back to before I came here and kick myself. My decision to come here was an epic mistake and his drinking is only going to make it substantially worse as the night draws on.

  “Same old,” he mutters bitterly before downing nearly half the bottle. “She just won’t see what we could be and it’s exhausting trying to keep my feelings bottled up.”

  “Well, this may cheer you up,” I decide to dangle a bone for him because a small slice of me feels bad for the poor bastard, “that guy? Gabe? Apparently, that was all a farce.”

  The guy lights up like it’s the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day, with his mouth splitting into a pathetic, creepy grin, and I suddenly feel like smacking it from his face. It’s like when you get halfway through a statement and wonder why the hell you brought it up in the first place. However, I seem to be making a lot of mistakes this evening, so I’ll just add this to the long list.

  “He’s one of Grant’s mates from football something or other,” I mutter a little less gleefully for him. “He just pretended to be with her to keep assholes like me from being…well, assholes to her.”

  “Really?!” he practically laughs in relief, making me hate him a little bit, though I can’t pinpoint why. “Oh, man, you have no idea how relieved that makes me feel!”

  He swings back into his chair and places his hand on his chest, his eyes closed while he laughs about it. The sight makes the beer taste sour in my mouth.

  “Still,” I shrug, “she’s not changed her mind in three years, Matt. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?”

  The guy turns on me like he’s one step away from going on a killing spree, looking both furious and a little psychotic. So much so, it gives me the willies. I actually pull back from him, hoping I don’t have nightmares with him as the main feature. The dude seriously looks like he wants to sacrifice me to the devil in exchange for Millie’s mind, body, and soul.

  “What the fuck do you know?! You just fuck ‘em and leave ‘em! How can you possibly understand how I’m feeling?”

  “Jesus! Calm the fuck down, Matt!” I shake my nervous disposition off and realize the guy’s attitude sucks balls, big time. “You are seriously beginning to sound fucked up. If you’re going to act like a pathetic little pussy, then I’m outta here!”

  I stand angrily, more than ready to blow him off and get my butt home where I can think of Millie while I jerk off in the shower, a world away
from the awkwardness of this situation.

  “I’m sorry, man,” he flips again, suddenly returning to the calm, rational friend he’s always been. “You’ve never understood my attraction to her, how she makes me feel, how amazing she is. I mean you out and out hate her, don’t you!”

  He looks to me for confirmation, but I don’t give it, which only serves to make him look pissed at me again.

  “Fine,” I sigh. The dude is obviously wasted so I’ll let him have this. “Tell me what is so amazing about Amelia Thomas.”

  “She…she’s everything,” he slurs, before continuing to ramble on about how wonderful their friendship was and how she’s so beautiful and sweet. But it’s only when I look up and see her at her window that I get it.