Too Good Girl

by Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

She rubbed her eyes and began bouncing her knee. Her voice remained quiet, void of much real emotion. “You’re acting like all of this is news to you. Why are you suddenly on my case?”

  “Really? Are you shitting me? I’m on your fucking case because I walked in on you shooting up in your living room! I knew you were stupid enough to take drugs recreationally, and I knew you’d let it get out of hand, but—” I stopped myself, dropping into the chair opposite her, shoving my hands between by knees. I took a deep breath to calm down, and my voice came out softer. “I’m worried about you. It scared me.” I gave her a sideways glance and a tight smile. “I want you to get some help.”

  She pulled her sleeves down even more until her hands were covered, her knees still bouncing like she couldn’t wait to get out of the place. “I will, baby. I will get help. I just need—”

  “One more hit, right?” I shook my head. “It’s okay. I get it. Addicts only think about how they can get their next one.” I stood up and cleared away the sandwich ingredients, scrubbing extra hard at the countertop after drenching the cloth in bleach first as my words echoed back at me, taunting me for being such a hypocrite. I stopped, squeezing it tightly in my hands, and looked over at my mother. She still sat there, shivering and biting at her nails. My heart hurt for her, but my head refused to let her in. “I think you should go.”

  She looked like she was going to cry, but she nodded and stood up, mumbling a whispered apology as she walked out of my kitchen.

  The front door opened and I heard a quiet exchange and then the door closing, Jack appearing only seconds after. He thumbed behind him, dropping his work bag at his feet. “Your mum, she—”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.” I turned away from him and continued rubbing the cloth back and forth across every available surface of the kitchen before standing at the sink to wash the glass and plate.

  “You sure?” He rounded the counter and grabbed the glass I’d washed, reaching past me to get to the tap. “’Cause it doesn’t look like you don’t want to talk about it.” He leaned back against the counter next to me, one hand tucked under his armpit, the other tipping the water into his mouth.

  I emptied the sink, squeezed the cloth dry and hung it over the mixer tap, moving to grab a towel to dry my hands. “I called round a couple of days ago and caught her shooting up in her living room.”

  Jack’s brows crawled up his forehead and he let out a whistle from between his teeth. “Shit. That’s—”

  “That’s fucked up, right?” I shook my head and pushed myself up to sit on the counter opposite him. “Her doing drugs is no secret. I know she’s a mess. I know she’s moved on from doing it socially to needing a fix—needing to get high more often. The state of her house tells me that without me even having to see her. But injecting heroin?” I dropped my chin to my chest. “Tony was there. He knocked me over and—”

  “He did what?”

  “Forget it. I’m not scared of him. I’m scared for my mum.” I looked up at him and couldn’t miss the look of compassion and sympathy that softened his eyes, the exact look I never wanted to see from him.

  “I’m sorry, Sy. I mean, is she willing to get help? Is that why she was here?”

  “No. She came to apologise for Tony’s behaviour, and then tried to make some excuse for him and for her.” I swung my legs so that my heels bounced off the cupboard door rhythmically. “She won’t change. When she was just snorting once in a while—as much as that is fucking stupid—it didn’t feel as bad. But she’s injecting. She’s got track marks, man. My mum is a freakin’ junkie.” Emotion tightened my throat, but I refused to let him see it.

  Facts. They were all he needed.

  I didn’t want to burden him with my broken heart. I needed to be able to come home from wherever I was and be myself without him asking me how I was all the time. I didn’t want that look in his eyes.

  “Did your dad ever inject?”

  I lifted my head quickly. “Only that once, as far as I know. That one time with a room full of addicts, sharing fucking needles.” I scoffed. “I mean, who even does that? Who? He had everything: me, Mum, a mortgage free house, a bank account full of money—albeit drug money—and then he goes and kills himself for one night of bliss.” I slipped to the floor and filled the kettle. “But he was still my dad. I loved him more than anything.”

  “And she’s still your mum.”

  I turned and gave him a tight smile. “Yep. I just wish she’d remember that.”

  Syra

  Made of Stone by Daughter

  “NEED A LIFT, PRINCESS?”

  I turned my head to see Doug’s Jag slowing down alongside me as I was walking home from my late shift at the supermarket. Tugging my headphones from my ears, letting them hang around my neck, I stopped as his car rolled to a stop, his arm resting on the open window.

  “Not really. I’m almost home.”

  “Come on. Hop in. I’ll take you the rest of the way. It’s getting late.”

  I looked down the street before crossing the road, opening the door and sliding into the cream leather seat beside him. I pulled the seatbelt across my body to fasten it, but before I could, he reached over and covered my hand with his, gifting me a grin and a wink before clicking it into place.

  “Straight home then?”

  I frowned. “Um… yeah, I guess. I mean, where else would I want to go?”

  He put the car into drive, looking over his shoulder and setting off down the coast road. “Well, the night is young. We could go anywhere we liked really.”

  I kept my eyes facing forwards, an uncomfortableness settling in the pit of my stomach.

  “You ever been to my club, Syra?”

  I fiddled with my fingers in my lap and shook my head. “I don’t think I knew you owned a club.”

  He smirked and grinned over at me again. “There’s lots about me you don’t know.” He patted my knee and I flinched. “May as well pop in on our way back, let you have a look inside, and then I’ll take you home. It’s not far.”

  I felt the moment my heart picked up its pace, and I swallowed down, hoping my voice would come out at the right pitch. “Maybe another time, Doug, yeah?”

  He shrugged. “Okay. Thought it might be a way for you to unwind, have a drink, chill…” He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter with his right hand and tapped my knee again. “No biggie. Another time.”

  He clicked on the indicator to turn right, and I curled my toes in my Vans.

  Although I’d known Doug for two years, I’d never spent time alone with him like this, and I didn’t mind admitting to myself that I was nervous as hell, but carefully watching the direction he steered the car and seeing he was indeed heading in the direction of home, I finally allowed myself to breathe easy. Nothing more was said between us until we came to a stop outside my house. I moved my hand to undo my seat belt giving him a tight smile and leaning forwards to pick my bag up from between my feet.

  Doug twisted his body to face me, his arm across the back of my seat.

  “So, thanks. Y’know, for the lift.” I reached for the handle and pulled the door open but stilled as Doug’s fingers found themselves on the back of my neck, giving it a squeeze.

  “Anytime, princess. You know I’m here to help.”

  I smiled again and opened the door wider.

  “Y’know, the club really is a good place to—I dunno—lose yourself. If you ever needed to. Just so you know.”

  I nodded and climbed out, turning around and ducking my head to look at him. “Thanks, Doug.” I slammed the door and swung my bag over my head, walking away quickly to the sound of his revving engine, and came to a halt to find my mother squatting on my doorstep, shivering and desperate.

  “Fuck’s sake.” The words came out of my mouth as a mutter, and I reached over her to unlock the door. “Why are you here, Mum?” I stepped over her and waited for her to follow me in.

  “
I need money.”

  Throwing my keys onto the side, I dropped my bag to the floor as I toed off my shoes. “Has Tony run out?”

  “Syra, please. I’m desperate.”

  “Jack?” I shouted up the stairs and heard him scuffling around. “No, Mum. I’m not feeding your habits. Get help, and then come and see me.”

  I felt her bony hands grabbing onto me before I realised she’d stepped up behind me, and I turned on her, yanking her from me. “I’m serious. Go and get money from somewhere else. Where is Tony anyway?” I walked into the kitchen with her following me. “Jack?”

  “What’s up?” He came running down the stairs.

  “Have you got a car out back?”

  He stood and looked between my mum and me, a frown twitching at his brow. “Yeah, why?”

  “Please can you drive Mum back home so I know she’s safe?” I looked up at him, holding his eyes, imploring, begging him not to make a fuss and to get her out of the house. He swiped his thumb under his nose and gave me a little nod, running back up the stairs, two at a time. Mum remained fidgeting in the hallway, and I clenched down on my back teeth before digging into my bag and pulling a ten pound note from my purse. “This is the only time I will do this, do you understand me?” I held out the money, and she practically snatched it out of my hand, shoving it into the front pocket of her oversized hoodie. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded as Jack came back down, a black beanie on his head, number plates under his arm and a set of car keys in his hand. We didn’t need to say anything. I was positive he could see the raging emotions in my eyes, and so guiding my mum through to the back door, he left silently as I picked up my phone and called Doug’s number.

  He answered on the third ring. “Changed your mind, princess?”

  ***

  Coming to a stop outside The Release, I almost blurted out that I was having second thoughts, but the speed at which Doug got out of his car, running around to open the door for me, meant my words were swallowed down without being voiced. He helped me out of the car and cupped my elbow, leading me to the front entrance, past two huge bouncers in all-black uniforms. Both of them gave him a nod and me a once-over before moving back together to guard the door.

  A huge carpeted entrance hall, lined with floor lights and neon overhead strips, led to a set of wide, shallow steps that took us down past the paying booth and opened out into what I assumed was the main room. A continuous bar lined the perimeter, again lit with neon strip lights and low hanging lamps. The barmen and women were smartly dressed in crisp white shirts and black bow ties, some of them performing tricks with cocktail shakers, much to the delight of groups of girls who giggled and pointed. I stuck close to Doug as he guided me through the throngs and huddles of punters, my eyes roaming across the room to the dancefloor that was filling quickly.

  We stopped at the section of the bar at the back of the room, and Doug leaned in, shouting into my ear above the base of the music that thrummed through my whole body. “What’s your poison?”

  “A beer is fine. Please.” I looked at the barman who flicked his eyes between me and Doug, giving him a smirk, which had my stomach flipping with nervous energy. With my drink in hand, I turned to face the room, leaning my back against the bar, and observed the comings and goings of the club. There were small circular tables dotted around the outskirts of the dance floor, and looking up, I saw a balcony that housed a row of booths, all of which were taken up with groups or couples wanting a bit more privacy and a little less noise.

  Doug clinked his glass with mine and leaned back next to me. “Welcome to The Release.” He surveyed his kingdom and smiled. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”

  We weaved in and out of the crowds as Doug pointed out the DJ booth and the quiet room that played more chilled tunes. There was a hardcore dance room upstairs and a champagne bar in the VIP area. My eyes drank in the changing sights, the clientele and how their attire and class differed from room to room. Tugging at the sleeves on my hoody—feeling uncomfortable as I watched the privileged sip from crystal glasses, the diamonds on their fingers and wrists glinting in the low lighting—my eye caught the small group sitting in a darkened corner, and I froze.

  There were two women, scantily dressed with plunging necklines and hemlines that barely covered their arses. Four men sat amongst them in sharp suits, expensive-looking shoes and with equally expensive-looking haircuts. There were buckets of champagne at either ends of the low, glass-topped table—glasses filled with the sparkling liquid scattered around—but it was the long-haired brunette in the middle of the plush leather sofa that had me swallowing uncomfortably. She sat on the edge of the seat, her body folded in half as she leaned over the table, a rolled up twenty between her fingers and pure white powder in neat lines in front of her.

  “I need to go.” The words were for Doug but my eyes wouldn’t budge from the picture in front of me. The whole crowd was laughing, their heads thrown back in careless abandon, and I was drawn to them like a moth to the moon. I couldn’t look away. There was such a contrast between this and how I saw my mother. There was no personal neglect. Their hair was shiny, their skin clear and bright. Each one of them reeked of money and status, and I couldn’t help thinking of my father.

  Had this been his scene?

  I hadn’t known back then, but after his death, the truth about his involvement in drug trafficking had been made clear to me.

  It didn’t look so bad from where I was standing.

  It looked glamorous.

  I forced myself to turn away and faced Doug. “Take me home, please.”

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth, my eyes were back to the group. One of the girls was sitting in the lap of the dark-haired man. His hand was skirting the inside of her thigh, climbing higher under her dress. She didn’t seem to care. She was, in fact, carefree.

  I saw Doug watching me.

  “You sure you want to go home? Seems to me like you very much want to stay.”

  “Who are they?”

  He rested his arm on my shoulder and leaned in to speak into my ear. “Just people who want to forget for a while, princess—people who want a bit of release. Hence the name of my club.” He knocked his drink back and slid the empty glass onto the bar. “We all need a little time out, Syra. Right?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’ve seen first hand what drugs can do to a person. I’m not sure the release is worth it.”

  He shrugged and focused on the people in question, who were now all hands and legs and fluttering eyelids. “I would beg to differ.” He gave a little nod towards them and something inside of me had to agree.

  That something inside of me craved the look on their faces, the way they seemed not to have a worry in the world. It was a feeling I’d never managed to acquire, no matter what I tried, and the idea that it was now within arm’s reach kept me rooted to the spot until the sound of smashing glass had my head whipping to the side to see the barman swearing, breaking the invisible thread that’d had me tied to an impossible scenario.

  I shook my head and started to walk away. “I’m going home, Doug. This isn’t for me.”

  He was by my side in a couple of long strides. “I’ll take you.”

  I didn’t argue. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could, and within a few minutes, I was buckling myself back into the passenger seat of his car.

  Pulling up outside my house for the second time that night, I was ready to be out faster—ready to slam the door on my huge mistake—but right before I closed it, Doug reached out and pressed something into my hand.

  “In case you have a change of heart.”

  “I don’t—”

  He leaned over and pulled the door closed, speeding off down the road, leaving me staring at the exhaust fumes, my fingers curled around a small plastic bag.

  ***

  I lay flat on my bed, my arms perpendicular to my body, and the bag held loose
ly between my forefingers and thumbs. The light from my small desk lamp in the corner and the moon that shined through my open curtains highlighted the two pink pills, both of them stamped with a smiley face.

  I flicked at them with my fingers, causing the bag to rock back and forth.

  They really were so small—harmless even.

  They could’ve been paracetamol, or ibuprofen.

  They could’ve been exactly what I needed to take away my pain.

  Moving to a sitting position against my pillows, I crossed my legs and hunched over, tipping the tiny pills into my hand, rolling them around a little before bringing them to my nose to sniff. There was a faint smell of aniseed, which surprised me, but nothing more.

  I stacked one on top of the other and then let the two of them tumble down my palm back into the bag. Smoothing my fingers across the top to fasten it, I stuffed it under my pillow, turned the light out and rolled into a ball on my side.

  Every sound outside was amplified and the pills were like rocks under my head.

  Sitting up quickly, I pulled them out, crawling to the end of the mattress and stuffing them inside my boot under the bed before flopping back down and dragging the duvet over my head, my eyes remaining wide and my mind a whirr.

  Syra

  Good Girl by Aquilo

  A LIGHT TAP on my bedroom door had me rubbing my eyes and squinting at the sunlight that streamed in through the still-open curtains. Jack never came into my personal space, so I lay for a few moments, wondering what could be wrong until I remembered my mum. Opening the door cautiously, I narrowed my eyes at him standing on the other side of the threshold, fully dressed and with a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “For me?”

  “Depends.” His lips pulled into a thin line.

  “On what?”

  He began to move forwards, forcing me to step backwards and open the door even wider. “Well come on in,” I muttered, plonking myself back on my bed and pulling my knees to my chest.