by Nicci Harris
I chuckle. “Look, I know your brother pretty well, so I haven’t set the bar very high for you. You should be fine.”
“Oh, that’s thoughtful.” Sarcasm laces her voice, and she knocks me playfully with her elbow.
“Custom Couching,” I laugh smugly. “It’s really what sets me apart from all the other graduates.”
“I thought it was the long pointless walks around campus with your female students,” she teases.
“Ouch” I chuckle, beaming at her cheeky smirk. “That too.”
We grin at each other and every part of me feels light.
“Why didn’t you go straight from high school to university?” I query. She doesn't look like a schoolie.
Her smile disappears slightly, and I hate that my question caused that reaction. “My mum was sick. She died a few years ago.”
“Damn!” I spin and place my hands on both her shoulders so I can search her expression, “I’m so sorry, Blesk.”
She shivers, and peers down to watch my finger gently stroking her, little goose bumps dotting on her skin. Something inside me shifts and I feel a mixture of discomfort and calm.
She clears her throat and raises those lovely eyes to meet mine.
“How long have you and Pembie been together?” All the air I had captive comes rushing out at the mention of her name. I’d been trying to be in the now and forget all about my girlfriend cuddled up sweetly in bed. I drop my hands to my side, and each one mourns her skin.
I blow out harshly, again. “Pembie and I are. . . ” I pause to consider the appropriate wording. I don’t want to admit she uses me for my apartment, and I use her for her body. “We’re not together in the traditional sense. It’s still pretty casual. Ya know.”
Lame. Very, very, lame, Konnor.
Her tongue visible between her teeth as she beams at me, knowingly.
“I only asked how long you’ve been together, Konnor.” Then she laughs from her belly and it makes the whole world shine. I don’t care that it’s at my expense. In fact, I like it.
“Right, too much information,” I chuckle, “About a year, I think.”
What are you doing to me, Blesk Bellamy?
When we turn the corner, and The Grill comes back into sight, I’m sledgehammered with Erik's glare. It is dark on the steps at the entrance, but I can still clearly see he’s ready to rip me a new one. Aggression rushes from him in waves. He trudges towards us, shaking his head and scowling.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He pulls Blesk towards him by the elbow and away from me. She gapes at him, tugging slightly from his grip. “Erik…”
“Woah, what’s wrong?” I ask, trying to control the caveman in me. “Let your sister go, mate.”
“Stay away from Blesk! She isn’t a trophy for you to achieve,” he growls at me. I look at Blesk to see her reaction to his callous words. God, I hope she knows that isn’t what this is. She looks wounded, and the sparkle I saw in her expression a few moments ago has fizzled out. He made her lose it. That has me unnervingly on edge, distractingly so. My eyes drop to where his fingers dig into her skin, and I am overcome with the need to snap them.
“Don’t look at her,” he hisses, “Look at me.”
“Careful, Erik!” I warn, fisting my hands at my side. “Just let Blesk go.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with Blesk. What would Pembie say about you wandering off with other girls in the dark, hey?”
“You’re being a fucking dickhead, Erik. Let your sister go.”
He lets her go, and steps towards me. “So, you fuck Pembie all day, and then come after my sister when she goes to bed?” he snarls and shoves me in the chest.
Blesk gasps and covers her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. I stare at her, silently asking her what I should do. I want to knock him out. Cold. She shakes her head, slowly, pleadingly. She clearly doesn’t like fighting, unlike Pemberton who gets aroused when blokes mash over her. Same blokes. Very different girl. Entirely different situation. I take a few steps backwards, my molars grinding slowly together.
Don’t retaliate…
“You’ve had too much to drink, Erik, walk home! Don’t be an arsehole to your sister.”
I’m going to need to blow off some steam before I rip his head off. I spin, and saunter away. All the muscles in my arms twitch with rage, and I need to get as far away from him, and her, and them together, as possible. Heat spreads through me, and I growl under my breath.
"Fucking Erik! Fucking Erik!"
The whole event is replaying in my mind like a damn broken record. That hurt look in her eyes has me livid. Rushing away from them, I cross the road and begin to jog home. Why would he behave like that? I knew that guy had a problem with me. When I picture her sad little face again, I jolt to the side and take my anger out on a trash can. It clangs loudly and rolls across the path, spilling its contents everywhere. I throw my fist into a tree on the verge side. Thud. The pain of my knuckles shifting within my hand hits me like a bullet to the head. But the need to hit something in that moment was undeniable. A hiss rushes through my larynx, and I try to wave the ache away. The tree is fine; however, my first is bludgeoned and bleeding.
Tree versus Konnor, 1-0.
I wish I hadn’t left her with Erik. I feel uncomfortably, intensely protective of her, which doesn’t seem rational. I didn’t think I could ever feel this way again.
THREE: Blesk
As Elise’s alarm plays the full version of Katy Perry’s “Firework,” and my eyes flutter open to the faintly lit dorm room I now call home, I am inundated with flashes of how last night ended. Erik pushing Konnor. Konnor walking away without saying goodbye. Me doing absolutely nothing to stop either of them. Erik and I barely spoke on the walk back to my dorm; however, Erik can deliver a comprehensive lecture with a single look. Konnor and Erik are ‘friends,’ and yet they clearly don’t share any mutual respect. Whether they like each other at all is yet to be seen. The “Konnor character” described by Erik is not the same Konnor I was walking with for over an hour. That Konnor was sweet. Funny.
I reach for my phone and check the time: 9:00 a.m. Luckily, I don’t have class until 2:30. There are two missed calls and two messages, all from Erik.
The first one said:
'I’m sorry about last night, Blesk. I flipped out when I couldn’t find you. I’ll talk to you after class today.'
And the second:
'Please pick up your phone so I know you’re okay.'
✽✽✽
I’m not ready to forgive Erik for his behaviour, and if my previous actions hold any weight in depicting my future ones, then it’s probably best if I stay clear of him until I’m ready. I don’t argue with my brother. He has done too much for me, and I’ve put him through too much. Forgiving him really is my only option, but I’m not ready to yet. So I’ll avoid him until I am.
Elise rolls over to click her alarm off and looks towards me. I'm gazing at the rug in between our two beds, with my phone clasped under my chin.
“Hey,” she murmurs sleepily as I turn to face her. “You okay? You were crying last night. I heard you.” Her messy bed hair is adorable in a loose bun, and her eyes look even more blue without her glasses.
I shuffle further under the covers. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks, tucking her hands under her face in preparation for my confessions. “I promise I’m an excellent listener.”
I giggle. Given our previous conversations that statement seems rather funny. “I’m sure you are.”
She gives me a sad half-smile. “Is it about a boy?”
It’s about two.
I spin to face the foreign white ceiling, and I pause for apparently too long because she doesn’t wait for a reply.
“Well, I’m here if you ever need me,” she states adamantly. “Wanna go to the showers together?” She pulls back her pink bed sheets and moves across the room, collecting up her toiletries. I observe her, an
d it’s obvious by her downcast face that she wants us to share a The Perks of Being a Wallflower kind of relationship, where we mess around, choreograph best friend dances, and gossip about boys. I wish I could give her that.
I wish I wanted that, too.
Sitting up in my bed, I push my blue cotton blanket down my thighs and rub my face back to life with both palms. I glance down at my kitten print nightgown, tracing the patterns with my finger tip. I was in such a daze last night I don’t even remember putting it on. My dad always tells me I dress younger than is customary for my age group. My excuse is that I’ve been denied a fair amount of fashion development, so my defining trend is yet to be established. We didn’t have much money growing up, so for a long time I was a refuge shopper. I got quite good at it, really.
Two posters decorate the wall my bed is pressed against. A quote by Paulo Coelho, “If you are brave enough to say goodbye, the world will give you a new ‘hello,’” and a world map. That’s the best I can do for now.
Elise is standing in the doorway when she bends to pick something up. “Blesk, there’s something here for you!”
“What’s it say?” I slide off the bed and wander over to join her. My cheeks heat up as I read the note.
Blesk,
I hope I didn’t get you in too much Treble.
Good news is, the bar is so low now,
Erik just guaranteed you at least a distinction.
All you have to do is show up, and I’ll be imp ᭪
K
“Why is trouble spelt like that? And what’s that little shape?” Elise asks, handing me both the note and the accompanying little black rectangular box. I brighten, my cheeks getting even warmer. She searches my face as I bite down on my lower lip, attempting to conceal the bizarre grin that is escaping.
“It’s a musical reference,” I sigh. “That shape is a rest. He’s being... corny.”
She beams at me, mirroring my grin. “He?”
I twist to face her eager expression as we both fill the doorway. “Yes... He.”
Her lips stretch further, and she motions towards the box I’m tightly clasping. “What do you think is in there?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper playfully, raising a brow in anticipation. “Let’s find out.”
Taking a seat on my bed and staring at the box, I run my index finger over the engravings before displaying its contents. Inside is a shiny, silver harmonica. I cover my heart and exhale steadily. Elise sinks down beside me, silent with suspense. This is just so… sweet. I mumble under my breath, "why. Who is this guy."
“Wow,” Elise says. “You’ve been here one day, and you’re already getting presents from guys. Why did he give you that?”
I relax into a sigh again, breathing out and loosening my shoulders. “So I can learn it,” I manage to say. “And play solo.” A silly smile stretches across my cheeks as I raise the harmonica to my chest and hold it firmly against my rapid heartbeat. I almost want to cry, but I don’t. There’s no way he could know just how much this means to me. I need to thank him, especially after the way last night ended. It’s just too powerful a gift to not reciprocate.
He doesn’t think I’m a trophy.
✽✽✽
The lady behind the counter at the admissions office doesn’t like me, or maybe she doesn’t like the world, but either way it’s apparent in the way she glares at me over her glasses.
“I’m not a stalker.” I give her a wide-toothed smile. “I just have Mr Slater for a class, and I need to find a way to contact him.”
“Is. That. Right?” She snickers, scrutinising me from head to toe. “Mr Slater seems to get a fair number of female students needing his digits. “ Her long wiry fingers make air quotes when she says digits.
I bet he doesn’t leave them all notes and musical instruments.
She looks at me like I’m a desperate skank.
“Mrs . . . ?” Elise cuts in, leaning across the desk as she reads the nametag pinned to the woman’s cardigan. “Mckenzie. Mr Slater has Miss Bellamy’s wallet. She left it at the bar last night, and he found it. She plays there Tuesdays and Fridays. You can check. He called her, telling her to pick it up.” I shove her lightly in the stomach with my elbow, in an attempt to stop the lies she is stacking like dominos. She deflects me without removing her gaze from Mrs Mckenzie. “Mr Slater gave her the address, but she lost it, and she doesn’t have any way to contact him. She has to say goodbye to her terminally ill grandma at the hospital tonight and has no money for a cab. She is her only fam—"
“Alright! God, girls,” Mrs Mckenzie snaps, holding up her hand to stop Elise talking. Her brows knit as she spins to face her computer and punches various keys, huffing slightly under her breath. She isn’t buying Elise’s lies, that’s for sure. While her back is to us, I make a little eeeeeek sound and sneak a peek at Elise, who has given the word composure a new meaning. She is a proactive little schemer, and her level-headedness tells me this is not her first rodeo.
I definitely like this girl.
Mrs Mckenzie turns back to face us and fakes a smile that is more patronising than friendly. “Here you go, girls.” She slaps a sheet of paper on the desk and watches as I slide it into my pocket.
“Thank you, Mrs Mckenzie. It’s been a real treat spending this time with you.” I giggle through a contorted smirk. Her right brow lifts at my sarcasm, and my cheeks begin to burn. I can’t believe those snarky words just came out of my mouth.
“Bye.” Else grabs my hand and tugs me swiftly out of the office and around the corridor. We both sprint, arms flailing, while buzzing with adrenaline and laughing hysterically. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. We halt when we reach the quad and gasp for air between giggles. I clutch my stomach that is tight with stitches and spasms, and to my surprise, it’s a delightfully welcome feeling.
“I was trying to be so serious, but you... oh my god.” She’s panting, trying to suppress her laughter. “It’s been a real treat,” she quips, mimicking me. We both slump back onto the grass.
Blues, greens, and whites mark the sky. Thin fluffy clouds hide the sun’s intensity, and the wind ruffles tree limbs around us.
I curl onto one shoulder and peer at her. “You’ve done that before…”
Still breathing heavily, she smirks. “That’s what girlfriends do.”
“I guess…” I flash her my most grateful smile, “I guess I’ve never really had one before.”
FOUR: Liz
The girl can’t stop her tears this time, no matter how hard she forces her eyes shut, breathing slowly and willing them away. She can’t stop the whimpers from gurgling up her throat, bile and heat coating her tongue. She can’t stop her heart from slamming into her ribs, forcing tremors from her ears to her toes. She won’t be able to stop. Not now. Not until her new brother stops screaming. All she can do is shudder silently in her seat and watch her daddy talk to the man outside the car. She hopes her tears and sobs stop before her daddy climbs in beside her.
Her daddy returns and moves into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition and frowning at the road. She sits in fear, staring ahead. Silent. Unwavering. The car cruises slowly through The District, navigating the lamp-lit streets on the way back home. The tires grind into the unsealed front driveway and come to a sudden stop, echoing through the estate. She runs inside the house. He does not follow; he needs to get her new brother out first. The girl rushes into the kitchen, and with her shaky hands, tries to pour her dad a drink. Ice. Brown drink next. Bit of water. She repeats this over and over, knowing she always forgets something. Ice. Brown drink next. Bit of water. Her hands keep shaking, the ice chinking the glass. Her breath gushes out hard and fast. Ice. Brown drink next. Bit of water.
When the flywire slams and his steps boom through the house, she freezes. He bellows her name. Her spine seizes. Out of nowhere his knuckles connect with her cheek, sending a surge of heat to the back of her eye. Whack. Her little body hits the floor with a thud.
She withers below him, his shadow blackening the ground around her huddled frame. She scoots backwards until the bench hits her spine, and a gasp wrestles its way up her throat. His eyes are slits. Hers are wide. She knew this would happen; she knew as soon as the first defiant tear slipped out. He hovers over her, leans down and fists her hair. She screeches as she’s dragged through the house, feet kicking the carpet, garbles of sounds rolling up her larynx, her body gyrating, her back sliding…
The floor creaks below his feet, protesting the anger manifesting through his stomps. She keeps sliding.
“Daddy,” her voice shakes violently, “Please.”
She presses down on her hair, holding the roots to her fragile head, trying to soothe the burn on her scalp.
Please, daddy, stop.
She keeps sliding, her heels throbbing from slamming against the floor, desperately fighting for freedom. Her scalp is raw. She knows crying is pointless. She knows pleading is pointless. She knows nothing can stop him now.
“Lizzy, goddamn it, I’ve warned you! Do you think I enjoy this?”
“Daddy,” she whimpers. “I’m sorry.”
“Tonight, I needed a good girl. Not a bad girl.”
The furniture flashes by, each piece blurring together into a stream of wood. She remembers the last time he was this angry; the image of his tight face still churns her stomach.
She hasn’t cried in a long time. She has become very good at holding her tears inside, ignoring the stinging behind her eyes and breathing slowly. Manipulative. Her daddy once told her crying is 'a girl’s way of manipulating us.' She never knew who us was. She still doesn’t know what manipulating means. But, she knows deep to her core that she doesn’t want to be it.
She slides through the bedroom door and crumples up the rug as her body is dragged onto it. He tugs her up by her hair until she is on her feet, but she stumbles, taking her own weight. Her lip is trembling.