“David!”
Katrina’s family rush through the automatic doors, frantic expressions as they find my eyes in the crowded room.
“Oh god, is that your blood?” Mrs Mahoney gasps upon seeing my swollen face and blood-stained shirt. “What happened?”
I drop my head, feeling responsible because I’m the selfish fuck who couldn’t let Trina live her own life without me in it. “The blood isn’t mine,” I force out, pulling at my shirt before I shake my head, slowly from side to side. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where is she?” Mr Mahoney asks urgently.
“I don’t know, they won’t tell me anything.”
Mrs Mahoney spins on her heels and heads straight for the reception desk, asking after her daughter, with Mr Mahoney hot on her trail. Her brother Tom stays with me.
“What happened?”
Closing my eyes, the images of that day’s events flash through my mind. I shake my head in an attempt to clear the horror away, but I can’t. I can see it even with my eyes open. “Christopher happened.”
“I knew I didn’t like that guy,” Tom growls through gritted teeth.
“He came home early and caught me there with Trina. We were just watching a movie, and I know he fucking hates me, but Tom, I never expected him to lose it like he did. You should have seen his face. It was all twisted up and vicious. He decked me”—I gesture towards the damage to my face—“and threw me out of the flat. He locked the door and…I heard her screaming…then—” The rest of the words seem to lodge themselves in my throat as a wave of nausea overcomes me.
“What happened?” he repeats, his words desperate.
I swallow hard, not wanting to say the words out loud. “He put her through the glass sliding door, and…and...” My stomach twists and I can’t recount the rest. I grip my head and lean forwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t stop him fast enough,” I whisper, as tears slide down my face. I don’t want to lose her.
One
I remember the first time I saw Katrina. I was probably ten years old at the time and girls weren’t really on my radar. But she was the new kid in school, and I noticed her because she was so much taller than all the other girls.
Each day, she wore her honey-blonde hair in two long braids that sat over her shoulders and were tied with blue ribbons to match our school uniform. Something inside me made me want to either pull on her braids, or undo those ribbons. But, I restrained myself because experience had already taught me that girls didn’t like anyone messing with their hair. Once, I swiped the headband of a girl called Tracy Beneventi and she was so pissed that she kicked me in the shin so hard that I still have a dent from her school shoes. No way was I messing with a girl’s hairstyle after that—until, of course, I got older and girls started wanting their hair pulled in certain situations. But, I digress, at the time, I was ten, and pulling hair was a no-no, so I let Katrina’s tempting braids remain untouched.
The temptation was very real, though. We caught the same bus home each day, and I’d watch those braids swing back and forth hypnotically as the bus ambled along potholed roads on its way to Cranebrook, the farthest stop on its journey. Maybe four kids lived that far away from the school, and it took me a couple of weeks of watching her as the bus emptied out to finally decide I was going to sit next to her.
It wasn’t so I could pull her hair. It was because she looked lonely and never talked to anyone. I figured we may as well be friends since the bus was completely boring once everyone else got off.
“Can I sit next to you?” I asked her as soon as we got on the bus. She had her bag clutched to her chest like a shield, and I dropped straight into the vacant spot beside her, not waiting for an answer as noisy kids barrelled past us.
“I guess,” she said, bouncing her shoulders and pulling her bag closer. I could barely hear her over the noise from everyone else.
“I think you get off at the same stop as me,” I said, even though I knew this for sure.
“Do I?” She actually seemed surprised by this news.
“Yeah, you get off the bus right in front of me every day.”
“Oh. Where to you live?”
“Etchell Place, what about you?”
“Tornado Crescent.”
“I know that street. It’s near the reserve. We’re only a couple of streets away from each other.” I gave her a smile. “Hey, how come you don’t catch the bus in the morning?”
“My dad drives me.”
“Lucky you,” I said, thinking for a moment before I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan. “Hey, if we become friends, do you think he could drive me too?”
She shrugged and settled her inquisitive blue eyes on me. “I don’t know…maybe.”
“That settles it then. We’re friends.”
“We are?”
“Yep. You look like you could do with one.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen you around school. You don’t really talk to anyone much.”
Her eyes shifted downward. “I don’t have much to say.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got plenty to say. You just haven’t found the right people to talk to.”
“Those girls don’t want to listen to me, anyway.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You’re talking to girls,” I said knowingly, attempting to peer into her face. She shrugged and turned her head away, watching the world fly past us through the bus window.
“Hey, David,” Cameron called out from the back seat. He was in my class and we were kind of friends, but he annoyed me more often that not.
“What’s up?” I asked, turning in my seat.
“Who’s your girlfriend?” He said it like it was a bad thing, but I wasn’t gonna give him the satisfaction of riling me up.
“Hey.” I nudged her with my elbow. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes went wide and her cheeks turned pink. “Katrina.”
“Katrina.” I tested it out on my tongue, deciding it was too long before I repeated a shorter version to Cameron. “Her name’s Trina,” I said. “And we’re ten. She’s not my girlfriend, but she is my friend. You give her a hard time and you’ll have my fist to answer to.” I held it up as a warning. Cameron laughed, but he sat down and stayed quiet too because there was a chipped tooth in his mouth courtesy of the time he said shit about my mum. We Western Sydney kids were rough, but we learned fast and knew our boundaries.
“Thanks,” Trina said when I turned back around.
“For what?” I pulled a slightly bruised apple from my bag and took a bite.
“For saying I wasn’t your girlfriend. I don’t want to get teased.”
“You won’t get teased. If you do. Tell me and I’ll sort them out.”
“OK,” she said, going quiet again.
“So, how do you like catching the bus?” I asked, taking another bite of my apple. I always thought it would be cool to know someone from my school who lived near me. Not many kid’s parents were happy to make them travel so far for school, especially when there was a local one within walking distance of our houses.
“I hate it,” she said, turning to look at me. “I hate that my parents moved so far away that I had to change schools. I hate that I have to catch the bus. It stinks. It smells like armpits and buttholes and rotten fruit. The fabric on the seats prickles the backs of my legs and it itches. It sucks!”
I was a bit shocked when this tirade of words spilled from her mouth, but when she finished, I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?!” she demanded, her face set in a scowl.
“You’re right.” I laughed even harder at the indignant look on her face. “It does smell like armpits, buttholes and rotten fruit!”
She looked at me for a moment, her blue eyes assessing mine. I guess she was trying to decide if she was angry with me for laughing, or whether she thought it was funny too.
Thankfully, she chose to laugh along with me, because that was the moment our lifelong fri
endship began.
Two
It was easier in primary school. Trina and I could hang out and no one really cared. Sure, we got the odd question about our relationship. But since we were both blond with blue eyes, it was often assumed we were related, and puberty hadn’t hit yet, so we were largely left to our own devices. And we preferred it that way. We’d hang out at each other’s places and ride our bikes on weekends. We’d run free, and we’d swim in the summer, and every year we grew closer, more entwined in each other’s lives until we couldn’t tell where I stopped and she began. Joined at the hip, our mothers said.
When primary school was over, our comfortable world altered. The moment Trina and I stepped foot through the high school gates on our first day, we felt the change. Tight cliques of girls and macho groups of guys looked on us with inquisitive eyes. They wanted to know our business, wanted us to fit inside their boxes, pick a group. But Trina and I weren’t group material. We were an ‘us’ and we fell somewhere on the outside of the social hierarchy. And outsiders made insiders uncomfortable. In high school, we weren’t left alone.
For a while, we managed to stay together, hanging out on our own since we didn’t really know that many people in our classes. But slowly, the status quo got to us and we started making other friends and bending so we fit in.
Katrina was encouraged to sit with a group of girls at lunchtime. I liked to call them the ‘celebs’ because everyone seemed to know their names. They flattered her, made her feel important, and since high school is difficult enough without being an outcast, I didn’t try to stand in her way. I spent most of my time out on the oval kicking a ball around with the guys, anyway. So it was no big deal. Trina and I still saw each other—we weren’t growing apart in the slightest—we were just becoming what we always were: a girl and a guy with separate interests.
But as soon as the day finished, it was our time. We shed our social norms and slotted right back into being us. Trina and David. Best buddies till we die. Once we were off the bus, I would either go to her house, or she would come to mine. We’d do homework, we’d watch TV, or we’d just talk. We never got tired of being together and were happy in the ease of each other’s company. We survived entering the big world of high school and it seemed like nothing could change us.
And we were right in a way. We didn’t change. I did. When my mum and dad started fighting all the time, I became angry and withdrawn.
My dad seemed to hate the sight of me for some reason. I don’t know if he resented having to take care of mum and me, or whether he just hated everyone in general. He’d always been a big drinker. But by the time I was fourteen, it had gotten out of hand. He was gambling too. Both parents tried to act normal when I was around, but they would fight like crazy at night. Each time they fought, I woke up, and each time, I’d lie awake, listening to the argument.
One night I was woken by the sound of a slamming door, followed shortly by the car starting before a crashing then a thud came from the kitchen. I raced out of my room, thinking something had happened to Mum. Instead, I found my father lying on the floor, a bottle of scotch glugging itself empty beside him. In his hand, he clutched the base of a broken glass while he snored loudly.
“Shit,” I said to myself, leaning over him to pick up the bottle and remove the glass from his hand. I placed them both on the bench and stood over him, wondering what I was going to do. I wasn’t strong enough to pick him up and move him, and I couldn’t just leave him lying there.
Before I even considered trying to rouse him, I threw down a bunch of paper towel to soak up as much scotch as I could and cleaned up the broken glass.
“Dad,” I whispered when I was finished, shaking him gently.
Realising he wasn’t going to wake easily, I rolled my eyes and yelled instead. “Dad! Wake up!” I shook him more firmly.
“What? What are you doing, boy?!” he growled, sliding his knee up and nearly clocking me in the face with it. I quickly jerked my head back to avoid it. But in doing so, I managed to earn the wrath of my father. “What are you flinching for? You think I’m gonna hurt you? You think you’re better than me?” His face scrunched up in a scowl as he glared right at me, the stench of alcohol coming off him in waves. “Don’t deny it. I can see the way you’re lookin’ at me. Let me tell you somethin’, boy. You are me, so get a good look. This’ll be you in a few years. You’ll fuck up everything you touch. Just like I do.”
My stomach bottomed out hearing those words. My mother always said alcohol brought out the truth in people and it hurt to hear the resentment bleeding from his tongue. Still, when he tried to stand, grunting and puffing before he stumbled back to the floor, I reached forward, offering my hand. “Dad, let me help.”
Snatching his arm away from me, he pushed me backwards, causing me to fall on my arse and adding insult to injury. “Fuck off,” he spat. “I don’t need the help of a good-for-nothing kid like you. Get the fuck back to your room.”
A good-for-nothing kid like me.
My hand burned from the rejection while my heart ached and a seed of hatred took root in my chest. I looked down on him, the man who was half of my makeup, the man I was supposed to look up to, and all I could see was a mean drunk who cared for no one but himself.
“Fuck off,” he grunted, eyes wild, throat gurgling.
I shuffled back, out of his reach, my eyes burning as I scrambled to my feet and rushed for my room while he continued to yell obscenities in my wake. I didn’t want to, but I cried that night. Sat on the floor beside my bed, listening to him shout and yell and mutter, my head in my hands as my tears fell while his words sliced my heart. Sticks and stones.
Over the next month, I did my best to avoid my dad whenever possible. If I got home and saw my dad’s car in the driveway, I’d go back to Trina’s house and tell them Mum was working late. If I did that, they’d let me stay for dinner. And I got to feel wanted for a couple of hours.
Trina was my rock during this time. She listened to me go on and on about how pissed I was with my father, never once rolled her eyes because I was repeating myself. And she never tried to tell me what to do. She was just there for me, being exactly the person I needed, when I needed her. Because that’s what best friends do. They stay. They listen.
On the nights Dad wasn’t home, I took the opportunity to spend a little time with my mother. We got along really well, and she did her best to make the most of what we had at the time. We were constantly broke because my father was burning through the family funds faster than the money could be made, but we made do. Chicken noodles weren’t the most nutritious, but they kept the hunger at bay.
Since neither of us wanted to talk about what was really happening, most of our time together was spent reading. We were sharing George R.R Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice series. She read the first book years ago, but had never read the others. So, while I read the first, she read the second and so on. I looked forward to these nights with my mum. I could almost pretend like we were one of those happy families they depict on TV shows, and I’d go to bed with the hope that Dad wouldn’t bother coming home and I’d actually get to sleep through the night….
“I’m so sick of your fucking bullshit!”
It was the first sentence I heard after being pulled from my sleep by my parents’ fighting. It was my mother. She was yelling at my father for spending all our money. Again.
“You have a wife and a fourteen-year-old son. But all you give a shit about is fucking gambling and drinking. I’ve had it with you!”
My ears reverberated from the shrill pitch of her voice. I could hear my dad say something in return, but it only came through the wall as a muffled yell.
Sighing, I decided I’d had it too. I couldn’t stand another night listening to them argue. I got up and pulled on a pair of tracksuit pants and my runners. Then I climbed out the window and headed to Katrina’s place, jumped her side fence and tapped on her window.
“Trina,” I whispered as loud as I could w
ithout talking. “Trina.”
After a few moments, her blind went up and a bleary-eyed Trina was looking confused on the other side of the glass. It was probably the first time I really saw her—as a girl, I mean. She was wearing a sports crop top and a pair of satin Mickey Mouse boxer shorts, and with me still going through puberty at the time, I felt a bit of a stirring down below.
Immediately, I dropped my gaze, pushing any thoughts that were at odds with our friendship as deep down as I could.
She pushed the window open. “David?”
“Jesus Trina. Put some clothes on.”
“What?” she said, looking down at herself. “This is what I sleep in.”
I keep my eyes averted, not trusting myself not to stare at her chest. “Just put on a shirt or something.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, grabbing a shirt from the back of her desk chair. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Can I crash here? Mum and dad are screaming at each other again.”
“Sure,” she said immediately, popping out the fly screen so I could climb through. “You’ll have to bunk in with me though. If I go wandering about the house to get you blankets and a pillow, someone might hear and go off their nut.”
Pulling myself through the window, I picked up the screen and repositioned it. “You don’t think it’ll be a bit weird having me sleep in your bed with you?”
“How is it going to be weird?” she asked me, hands on hips. “You’re like my brother.”
For reasons I didn’t understand at the time, a heavy feeling landed with a thud in the pit of my stomach. “Your brother?”
“Well, yeah. We practically grew up together.”
I glanced between the bed and her then rubbed my hand across the back of my neck. “I guess.”
“Get in,” she said with a sweeping gesture. “You get to sleep against the wall.”
“Fine,” I conceded, taking off my shoes. “You know we could sleep either end. Head to toe type thing.”
Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4 Page 30