Too Good Girl

by Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

  Jack handed me the tea and sat down on the chair in the corner of the room. “So your mum got home safe.”

  I winced. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. And thank you.”

  “I hung around for a while to make sure she stayed home.”

  Sipping noisily on the tea, I watched him, knowing he wasn’t done. His eyes were crystal clear and never left my face.

  “She didn’t.”

  “Oh.” Dropping my feet to the floor, I put the mug on the bedside table.

  “Once she thought I’d gone, she slipped back out. I followed her in the car for a bit but then lost her down one of the back alleys at the south end of the beach.”

  “Christ’s sake.” I gathered my dreads into a ponytail, reaching for an elastic and tying it up before taking another slurp of my drink.

  “You gave her some money didn’t you?”

  I closed my eyes. “She’s my mum. What else am I supposed to do?”

  Jack scraped his hair from his face and shook his head. “I know. I’m not judging.”

  “Good, because I don’t need lecturing.”

  “Ah. Well then, do you mind leaving the room while I say the next bit?”

  I rolled my eyes at him, crossing my legs underneath me and wrapping both hands around the mug. “Out with it.”

  He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking to the window. There was a perfect view of the harbour from there—a private glimpse into the lives of the wealthy. Huge yachts and luxury pontoons bobbed on the surface of the water all year round, and I watched as he perused the comings and goings of the morning.

  “I waited until I saw her come back out and followed her home. I waited for her to go into the house and then drove back.” At this point he turned to look at me again, his finger and thumb pinching at the corners of his eyes. “I saw you getting out of Doug’s car.”

  I blinked, guilt rushing up my neck and to my cheeks, something I knew I couldn’t hide. I had nothing to feel guilty about. I was an adult, or near as damnit, and I could do what the hell I wanted. But that small plastic bag hidden in my boot almost stuck in my throat, preventing me from speaking.

  He sat at the end of the bed, his eyes soft, full of that concern I didn’t want from him. “Sy, please listen to me when I tell you the man is dangerous.”

  I continued to look at him, feeling like a child who’d been caught with her fingers in the biscuit tin. I couldn't look away, despite wanting to crawl out of my own skin.

  “There’s so much more to him than he chooses to show people. Trust me. I know. I’m not going into the reasons why because the less you know, the better off you’ll be if anything ever kicks off, but Sy, please. I’m begging you. Stay away from him. Okay?”

  I nodded gently, my voice still squeezed tightly inside that little plastic bag.

  “I don’t need to know why you were with him; it’s none of my business. But—” He huffed out of his nose, shaking his head as if to dismiss his thoughts. “Okay. I gotta go.” Giving me a tight smile, he planted his palms on his thighs, standing and leaving me to wonder what he’d stopped himself from saying.

  ***

  I walked out of work the next day to the sight of him grinning, leaning up against a huge black Harley. A leather jacket was slung across the seat and a helmet dangled from each of his hands. Yes. Two helmets. I flicked my eyes between them and then back up at his face, which was still beaming, and laughed. “Not on your fucking life.”

  “Oh, come on.” He winked and pushed himself away from the bike, walking towards me with purpose and slinging his arm over my shoulder.

  “Not on a stolen bike, Jack.” I shrugged away from him and made to walk off. He clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer, though, as he caught hold of my bag strap, pulling me backwards before freeing me of it and stuffing it into the compartment in the seat of the bike. He spun me around and shoved the smaller helmet over my head, giving me no time to respond, flicking up the visor and peering in at me so our noses were almost touching. “Not stolen. Borrowed.”

  “From whom?” My voice was muffled, and he frowned. “Who. Did. You. Borrow. It. From?”

  Tapping the side of his nose, he put his helmet on and swung his leg over the seat, patting the space behind him, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I scowled and took my seat, wrapping my arms around his waist a split second before he kickstarted the bike, revved the engine and set off down the street at an alarmingly high speed.

  There was nothing I could do except hold on for dear life.

  And I did.

  My heart raced. I squeezed my eyes shut, screaming Jack’s name as he took the corners like we were on rails. He drove us up and out of the town, along the coast road and the cliff tops before heading back down again at the north cove, the cold wind causing our jackets to flap around.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was barely there over the roar of the engine, but I nodded, squeezing a little tighter to let him know I’d heard him. It seemed enough for him, so he gave it more gas, and we continued to drive in silence for the next twenty minutes as he expertly managed the acceleration and leaned at the right time to get us round corners to the point where I felt we were defying gravity.

  I could smell everything: the salty ocean, the sand, the burning tarmac beneath us, the grass and the exhaust fumes. I could smell the leather of Jack’s jacket and the subtlety of his aftershave. I could feel everything. I felt when the temperature dropped as we sped past the reservoir, the way it got warmer the instant we came out from under the copse of trees that hung like an archway over the main road as we headed back towards the coast road.

  It was terrifying.

  It was exhilarating.

  And for that hour, I got lost in my senses and smiled.

  We pulled up at the end of our street so he could wheel the bike down the alley to the back yard, and I released my grip, my arms aching. Jack waited for me to climb off before kicking the foot stand and swinging his leg over to join me on the pavement. Breathless and with my heart still racing, I took my helmet off, a grin plastered across my face as I shook my hair out. “Oh my God! That was so fuc—” I caught Jack’s eyes and stopped, my chest now heaving for an entirely different reason. He was giving me that look again: the one from the beach. It made me uncomfortable, and my grin slipped. It made me nervous, and I swallowed down before blinking and looking away. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  I opened the compartment in the seat and retrieved my bag from inside, slinging the strap over my head. “Don’t look at me like that.” Turning in the direction of the house, I began to walk away, the carefree feeling from moments ago almost forgotten, but he wasn’t going to leave me alone.

  “Why?”

  I didn’t want to continue with the conversation so chose to continue walking the two hundred yards to our front door instead. I heard him swearing under his breath and knew he’d be shoving his hair back with his hand in frustration at me. I was only in the house for a couple of minutes before he came barging through the back door into the kitchen.

  “Why, Sy? Why shouldn’t I look at you like that, huh?” He toed his boots off, slinging them in the corner as he moved to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Not now, Jack.”

  He shook his wet hands and turned to grab the tea towel. “It’s always ‘not now’ with you, though. You never want to talk to me about anything. You never let me in.” Turning to face me, he leaned back against the sink as I poured hot water into a mug.

  “Well I wonder why that is, huh?” I shook my head a little. “Tea?”

  “Please.”

  “I don’t want any complications. My life is complicated enough.”

  “Well thanks. I wasn’t aware I was merely an added complication.” He pulled the bobble from his hair, scraping the thick blonde strands back into a new, neater and less wind-swept ponytail at the nape of his neck. “I thought we were frien
ds.”

  “We are.” I cradled my mug and looked up at him over the steam, my voice quieter now. “You’re probably my only friend.” Blowing the hot liquid, I took a sip, my eyes still on his. “But friends don’t always have to know everything, do they? They don’t have to be intricately involved in each others affairs of the heart.”

  Something shifted in his expression—something I couldn’t interpret—and he crossed his ankles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I sighed and shrugged a little. “I don’t know. Just—” It was true. I didn’t know. I didn’t really know what I was trying to say and didn’t know what to say to him without hurting his feelings—exactly why we shouldn’t have gotten into the conversation in the first place. “If you’re at arm’s length, well, then I can’t get hurt, can I. The less you know about how I feel, the less you’ll care and the less I’ll care back.” It sounded even more harsh now the words were in the air between us, and I winced as his jaw ticked before he walked out of the kitchen muttering.

  “It’s too fucking late, Syra. I already care.”

  And there was that thundering in my chest again.

  Damn him.

  I slammed my mug down on the counter, curling my fingers into fists and dipping my head between my shoulders. Damn him, because I fucking cared too. Aside from my mother, he was the only thing in my life worth caring about, but leaving him outside my personal circle was the best place for him. He didn’t need to be burdened with the shit I carried around with me every day. He didn’t need to see me at my lowest when I was crying and clawing at my skin to try to escape the life I’d been thrown into. Guilt stabbed at my chest as I thought about how presumptuous I’d been in asking him to take my mother home. I was inadvertently inviting him into my hell and then pushing him away when he got too close, and that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t being a good friend at all.

  So why did he want to see inside so badly?

  ***

  It was dark.

  The crashing of nighttime waves could be heard from my open window and I made a conscious effort to sneak out silently. I needed to try harder to keep my life out of his line of sight. He needed to be the one I could come home to and bullshit with about world news or the state of the roads. Shoving my jumper over my head, I donned my biker boots and grabbed my bag from the back of the door. Sleep had eluded me for three hours now, so, as usual, I reverted to my dirty little secret. Except it wasn’t such a secret to Jack. He knew where I went when I couldn't climb out of my head. He knew I gave my body up in order to try empty my mind.

  But he never judged.

  Not once.

  Closing my bedroom door as quietly as I could, I placed my palm flat on the wood, turning the handle until it clicked and flinching at the noise. I walked painfully slowly along the landing towards the stairs, halting cartoon style as I heard a noise from Jack’s room. I squeezed my eyes shut and was still hunched over in the same position when his door opened. I’d been caught, and I gave in immediately, standing straight and turning to see him leaning against his doorway in a pair of grey joggers, his hair loose and wild from sleep.

  I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I thumbed behind me. “I’m just going to—”

  “Why?”

  I sighed loudly. “What is it with all the fucking whys, Jack? Why can’t you let me be to do what I need to do?”

  He came out of his room into the landing and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Because I care.” His head was slightly cocked to one side, and those fucking green eyes were looking at me like I was the most coveted thing on the planet.

  “Will you stop doing that, Jack!” I reached up and slapped my hand over his face to cover it up so I couldn’t see him, but he caught hold of my wrist, pulling it down between us and me closer to him at the same time.

  He didn’t let go.

  “I can’t. Whatever it is I am doing to make you so uncomfortable, I can’t stop doing it.”

  I huffed like a teenager. “I’m going out.”

  I attempted to twist out of his grip, but he tightened his hold slightly, making it impossible.

  “What do you go there for, huh? What do they give you that you crave so much?”

  “Did you listen to a word I said to you earlier? We are not doing this.”

  “Do they make you feel good? I mean inside. In your heart. Do they make your body come alive? What is it, Sy? Why do you go to these nameless and faceless men?”

  I was losing my temper and losing control of my ability to keep him away. “Because it fucking hurts, Okay? It hurts when I don’t go and it hurts when I do. I’m numb all the fucking time, but full to the brim with every goddamned emotion known to man. But when they’re using me—when they’re taking out their frustrations on me—the pain is purely physical, and that’s not quite so bad.” My chest was heaving with emotion now, my eyes welling with tears he’d never seen, and I fought so fucking hard to keep them at bay. “I go to them to lose control and forget the pain, Jack. The pain of losing my dad, the pain of finding out after thirteen years what he really was, the pain of watching my mum kill herself slowly in the same damned way... I go to them because—”

  Jack’s lips covered my own, stopping my last words from escaping. He dropped my arm, reaching up to cup my face with his warm hands, and everything I’d screamed at him dissolved into white noise. I felt my body move without instruction as I lifted up onto my toes, my hands reaching up to cup his forearms as he held me in a gentle embrace.

  Time stood still, and history whirred to a stop. In the dark, with just his smell, the feel of him on me, I was somewhere else entirely, and for a handful of sweet, intoxicating minutes, we remained pressed together, silently connected.

  I think if I’d allowed myself to, I would have smiled.

  But of course, I didn’t.

  I inhaled deeply through my nose and then pushed at his chest, stepping backwards and watching his arms drop to his side. A small frown twitched at my brow and my voice drifted out as a whisper, my eyes narrowing in sudden disbelief as reality caught up with me, reminding me that this could not happen. “What the hell are you doing?” I didn’t wait for a reply. I shoved past him, running down the stairs, out of the front door and onto the dimly lit street. I turned to look back over my shoulder as I crossed the road, taking a quick glance up to his bedroom window where I knew for sure he would be watching me.

  His palm was flat against the glass, his eyes full of sadness and that emotion I couldn’t yet read.

  Damn you, Jack Palmer.

  Syra

  You Don’t Know What It’s Like by Katelyn Tarver

  I AVOIDED SEEING him for the next few days. He was still a strange tingle on my lips, but I stayed out of the house when I knew he’d be there—warming Gavin’s bed or staying late with Liam to cash up before letting him bang me up against the warehouse wall. I sneaked into my own house like a cat burglar, well after Jack was in bed, and even if he heard me come in, he left me alone.

  I hadn’t heard from or seen Doug since the night at the club, but walking back from my early shift a few days later, there he was again, crawling the curb like I was some hooker he was hoping to pick up.

  “Princess! It’s been a while. How goes it? Need a lift?”

  I shrugged my bag higher up onto my shoulder and gripped tightly to the strap. “Not today. Thanks.”

  “Fair enough. Your loss.” He was about to wind the window up when he turned back to me. “How did that little gift work out for you, huh? Take you somewhere nice for the night?”

  I pursed my lips and continued walking, not wanting to even discuss the fact the tiny pink pills were still in my room. They had a new hiding place every few days and currently sat at the bottom of my knicker drawer. I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t taken them yet, but strangely, at the same time, I almost wanted him to think I had. “I’ll catch you later, Dou
g.”

  He smirked and sped off, leaving me with a fast ticking pulse. Truth was, I pulled the bag out every damn night to look at it, and that thought alone scared the shit out of me.

  I arrived at Mum’s ten minutes later, letting myself in and finding the place exactly as I’d left it a few days before. I knew I’d find her in a heap somewhere because she didn’t have a shift at the pub that day. What I didn’t expect—which was perhaps a little naive of me—was for Tony to stumble in while I was trying to get her to eat something, and for him to steal money from my purse from under my nose.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I reached forwards and grabbed at him, attempting to yank it from his grip. He was too fast, and the force of him pulling it away had me falling forwards and stumbling into his chest.

  “Hello, darlin’.” He sneered and yanked me back to a standing position with my hair.

  “Get the fuck off me, Tony. Give my purse back.”

  He held it in the air, out of my reach, and laughed. “I’ll pay you back. We’re family, init.”

  I made one more attempt to retrieve what was mine by grabbing at his arm but paid for it when his fist flew through the air and punched my cheekbone, causing me to fall to the floor in pain. I pressed the back of my hand against it and winced at the way it stung. Tony remained above me, rifling through my purse, and once he’d taken out the small amount of cash I had in there, he discarded my purse, tossing it aside, before strutting out of the house with a bang to the front door.

  Lying there, my cheek throbbing and my head pounding, I felt my eyes roll into the back of my head so forced myself to stand, staggering into the kitchen to find something cold. Opening the freezer, I was greeted with nothing other than drawers iced shut. I squeezed my eyes closed at the pain and slid down the cupboards until I was sitting on the cold tiles, the tears I’d held in all week finally tipping over my lashes, hot and plentiful and chasing each other silently until they soaked into the neck of my hoodie.

  I was beaten and bruised on my mother’s fucking kitchen floor, and all I wanted was for her to come to me—to sit down next to me and wrap me up in her arms like she used to when I was small. I wanted her to cradle me and stroke my hair, to kiss away my tears and tell me things would work out. Of course, reality meant she was lying off her face on the sofa in the other room with no fucking idea what had happened.