by Kirsty Eagar
‘You said you wanted to be alone,’ he reminded her, looking straight ahead, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
‘Oh, fuck … you,’ Jess said, the words weak and breathless. She grabbed her bag and got out of the car, slamming the door harder than necessary, and then stood on the kerb, staring at him through the window, feeling her eyes start to burn. There was a faint whirring noise and the window rolled down.
‘Look … I fucking love you, all right?’ Mitch said it angrily, as if it was her fault.
The fact that he’d told her that for the first time, in those circumstances, in that way, was unbearable. ‘Then why would you feed me to him?’ she asked, her voice wavering, eyes welling over. ‘Because that’s what you did this morning. It was like that night on the bus, all over again. Why choose him over me?’
‘It’s not that.’
‘What is it then?’
But Mitch just shook his head, his eyes slitted, his face leached of colour. And somehow Jess knew she’d lost him. Even before he drove off. She just didn’t understand why.
•
Mitch came, though. At just after two in the morning, wide awake and restless, Jess checked her phone for the umpteenth time, wishing he’d text or call, too proud to text or call him. She dropped the phone back on her desk and then curled into the foetal position, buried deep beneath her doona. Her closed window was covered in a layer of condensation.
Her door opened abruptly. She hadn’t locked it.
She sat up wordlessly, recognising his silhouette, even though it was too dark to see his face. She watched him kick off his shoes, pull off his jumper, and she lay back down again, hearing the rattle and snake of his belt coming off, the rasp of denim over skin as he shucked off his jeans, the snap of elastic as he pulled down his trunks. Then he was lifting the doona, pushing her across to make room. She wrapped her arms around him, and his skin felt cold and unyielding, like he was made from stone. He tasted of beer, his kiss hard and demanding. He pulled off her T-shirt, and she raised her hips to help him tug down her underpants, and he was rolling on top of her, and she could hear him breathing, his leg nudging hers apart. He started to push inside her, taking care with it, more than he needed to, because she was growing wet.
‘Stop,’ she said, but Mitch ignored her, moving his hips, pushing harder. He tried to kiss her, and Jess turned her face away. ‘No, stop,’ she said, louder now, and he was still.
He rolled off her. She leaned across him and turned on her reading lamp, angling it away from the bed. Mitch shaded his eyes, looking irritated by the light, but Jess felt it was the scrutiny he didn’t want.
‘Mitch.’
He shifted, dislodging her from his chest, moving backwards, sitting up. And Jess moved too, kneeling, putting her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him there.
‘You heard what I said? I love you.’ Mitch gripped her wrists as he said it, like it was a plea of some kind.
‘I love you, too,’ Jess said, sounding scared. She was scared: her heart pounding. She could feel the ground shifting beneath her feet. ‘I just don’t understand why you’d act like that.’
Mitch let go of her wrists—violently, as if he was casting her away. ‘Because the last person I had sex with was Sylvie. And now you know, all right?’
Jess made a sound like she’d been punched. ‘Since you’ve been with me?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Before.’
And Jess remembered then that he had a before, and that she’d only known him in the after. But if she was stunned, it was because she’d known. She’d always suspected it. And she could understand how something like that might happen, if they were around each other a lot, if they were friends.
Mitch looked stricken, his lips thin, his eyes glassy. She recognised it for what it was: grief.
‘Did Julian find out?’ she asked softly.
He leaned back against the headboard, wrapping his arms around himself, drawing his knees up. ‘He couldn’t believe I’d do that. It killed him.’
Jess swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry, Mitch.’
He didn’t give any sign of having heard her. Just frowned at the ceiling, as if trying to read something written there.
‘You’re always sorry,’ he said suddenly, his voice flat. ‘You are always sorry, but you never shut the fuck up.’
Jess looked away, her eyes skidding off things in the room without seeing them at all. Finally, she found the photo of the two of them on the shelf above the desk and she blinked at it, having trouble bringing it into focus. ‘Do you still have feelings for her? Is that what this is about?’
‘God, why are you so fixated on her? It’s not even about her. We were just drunk. Off our faces. She didn’t mean a fucking thing. That’s the problem.’
‘You said you didn’t want her knowing about us. That night in the car park.’
‘She’s a loose cannon. I didn’t want her overreacting. Telling the boys.’
In the silence that followed, Jess could hear her own breathing. It sounded too loud, not really human, like it was coming from an animal.
‘The boys.’
‘They wouldn’t understand. Sleeping with your best mate’s girl is a low thing to do. Sleeping with a teammate’s girl is possibly even lower.’
‘You wouldn’t be captain material.’
‘That’s not it.’ Mitch looked sick, his skin grey, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. ‘I did a really bad thing. I didn’t want them to know about it because it would change everything. Instead, I tried to be different.’
Jess pressed her fingertips to her temples, staring at him. ‘So you stopped drinking, and you stopped having sex, and you thought that was being different?’ She lowered her hands, studied the way they were shaking. ‘What about being honest, Mitch? That would be different. Because you having sex with Sylvie? That’s just a mistake. It means you’re human. But you’re not, are you? Because if you were, you’d treat people with some decency.’
Mitch opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, her voice rising: ‘You just said, Sylvie didn’t mean a thing. You just said, it wasn’t even about her. So you must think that. Of course it’s about her! Julian was her boyfriend and that means she lost him, too. But for some reason, in your eyes, all that means is that she’s his property. Some fucking sex toy that the rest of you aren’t allowed to touch. God, Mitch.’ Jess exhaled. ‘You make me sick.’
Mitch was silent.
After a long time, Jess looked at him again. And when she did, her face was empty, expressionless. Mitch stared back at her through lowered lids, his head tilted against the headboard. And they were both naked, their bodies touching, skin against skin. But there was no warmth or compassion, no intimacy.
Only the sense that they’d exhausted each other.
CHAPTER 40
WISH I WAS
Nine days later, Jess split the cab fare home with three other Unity residents who’d gone on the Economics Society pub crawl with her. Then she dragged herself up the seven flights of steps to T-floor, wishing she was drunker, or drugged, or anything else that might render her oblivious. She heard someone playing Ayla softly on S-floor as she passed, but apart from that the college was quiet, most rooms in darkness, a halo of mist around the security lights. And as Jess climbed, her steps became slower and slower, because thinking you might be coming home to a cold, empty bed and actually arriving there were two different things. So her heart lurched when she saw the silhouette of a tall, well-built guy sitting with his back against a door halfway down the hallway.
But the guy was Michael, not Mitch, and the door was Allie’s, not hers, and hope drained away.
‘Flash,’ Michael said in a gloomy voice. His arms were resting on his knees, and he didn’t look at her, but stared at his fingers. ‘Don’t even ask. Talk about high maintenance.’
‘Who? You or Allie? What’d you say this time?’
‘Fucked if I know. Something.’ Michael gave a sniff. ‘Bu
t you girls—you’ve got to start looking at actions, not words. I mean, whatever it is that I said, I’m sitting out here, aren’t I? Waiting for Her Majesty to relent and open the door. ’Cause if I don’t—if I just go back to my room and get some sleep, which would be the rational course of action—there’ll be hell to pay for that, too.’ He glanced up at her and his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you pissed?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jess said in a thick voice. ‘But I think I’m going to cry.’
‘Aw, Christ, not you, too.’ Michael patted the carpet beside him and Jess sat down. ‘Problems with Crawford?’ he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.
‘You know?’
‘Well, I got used to seeing him around.’ Michael’s voice deepened, almost imperceptibly. ‘Used to run into him in the bathroom sometimes. We’d talk rugby and stuff.’
Jess pressed her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. ‘People must be laughing their heads off,’ she told him, not actually caring, just trying to divert his attention from the fact that she was losing it.
‘Why would they be laughing?’
‘Have we met? I’m the girl who was making speeches at the toga party pre-drinks.’
‘Not really,’ Michael said with zero guile. ‘They’re still trying to work out if it’s all off.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Call him.’
‘How many times? I’ve left so many messages. I’m sure his fingers aren’t broken.’
The first two messages Jess had left Mitch had been harsh and full of demands. The next eight or nine had taken a different tone. She’d told him she missed him. She’d told him she loved him. She’d said things like, Can you just come and see me? Talk to me? And as time passed, disbelief had turned into a quiet, permanent state of panic. She knew she’d ripped into him the night he’d come to her room, and the memory of his face, just before he’d shut down, shut her out, haunted her. But surely he wouldn’t just leave things there, cut himself off from her without further explanation?
Then again, maybe he would. He had form for it. That’s how he’d treated every other girl he’d been with, so why not her?
The last time Jess had called him had been two days ago. By then she couldn’t think of anything new, and the message she’d left had been a short period of nothing, eloquent in itself.
‘Go see him. Now, if you want—I’ll walk you over there.’ Michael shrugged. ‘Got nothing better to do. Just sitting here, getting carpet burn on my arse.’ Jess smiled at that. Then her smile faded, and Michael pushed at his glasses, asking nervously, ‘What did I say wrong now?’
‘I don’t even know his room number.’
Michael’s eyes widened. ‘Man, that’s ruthless.’
‘Arm’s length, right?’ Jess asked, feeling winded. Michael nodded. Jess took a shuddery breath. ‘Guess that makes it official then. Not only have we broken up, but we were probably never really together. Wish I was smarter.’
‘Sorry, Flash,’ Michael said with genuine sympathy. After a while, he added, ‘If it makes you feel any better, we’ve broken up, too.’
‘But you guys probably break up a lot, right?’ Jess pointed out, and Michael nodded, conceding the point. ‘I think we’re only going to break up once.’ She went quiet, her eyes burning, then she made a small noise, something like a whimper, and whispered, ‘Oh fuck, it hurts, Michael,’ and he gripped her shoulder and squeezed it hard.
They sat like that without talking for a long time, Jess crying noiselessly, Michael politely pretending not to notice.
‘You know what’s funny?’ he said suddenly, seeming strangely shy. ‘I used to wish that I’d gone there. To Knights. Because it meant you were the best or something.’
Jess sniffed. ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Because you’re a good guy.’
He pushed at his glasses. ‘I’m not really.’
She patted his leg. ‘You’re good enough.’
CHAPTER 41
FIRE MEET GASOLINE
‘Will we be wanting to Instagram this?’ Leanne asked Jess.
Jess shrugged, not really holding a view either way. They were on the roof in their normal spot, sitting on the ventilation housing, and what Leanne intended to capture was the scene in front of them: the Unity girls at pre-drinks, all of them dressed for the Business Ball, but in a Unity kind of way, which meant sequins and satin had been paired with Docs and tiaras and wands and fairy wings and amazing stockings and the occasional sash. And the hair: tipped pink, tipped blue, rainbowed, messy side braids, pixie cuts, feathers, chain headbands. There was a roaring fire in the cylinder, but it wasn’t necessary for anything other than mood on a balmy spring night in September. Jugs of ginger mule were doing the rounds, choked with limes and mixed strong enough to kick, and the student council’s speakers were blasting out Sia.
The T-floor girls had organised an op-shop crawl especially for the occasion. Jess had gone for boho-glam, matching a cream lace corset with a skirt made from layers of tulle, finishing the ensemble with a deep-red satin cummerbund and her cowboy boots. But best of all were the strings of crystals and diamantes she’d wrapped around her neck and wrists, glittering every time she moved.
Leanne showed Jess the caption: That one time when we ate Cinderella. Jess frowned. ‘Exactly how long have you had my phone, by the way?’
‘Only had a couple of calls to make. Nothing expensive.’
‘Jesus. I can’t believe you’ve lasted the whole year without one,’ Jess drawled lazily, tilting her head back to view the night sky. She stayed that way, transfixed by stars that seemed to pulse and spin.
‘You feeling it by any chance?’ Leanne asked.
Jess’s laugh was low and throaty. ‘Girl, I am feeling it.’
‘What the actual fuck is the theme of this ball, anyway?’ Leanne asked.
Jess turned to look at her, her cheek pressed to her shoulder, and said, in a dreamy voice, ‘The bold and the beautiful.’
Leanne frowned. She was wearing a bow tie and a black velvet smoking jacket over a kilt and fishnet stockings, her red hair slicked down. ‘So what are we then?’
‘Bold and beautiful.’
Leanne grinned suddenly. ‘Your pupils are ridiculous.’
Farren joined them, taking a seat beside Jess, resplendent in blue taffeta and lace. ‘What are you two deviants talking about?’
Jess prodded her in the cheek. ‘About how you can’t leave us next year.’
‘Don’t be needy,’ Farren said. To Leanne: ‘Her pupils are fucking ridiculous.’
‘That’s what I said.’ Leanne gave a jolt. ‘Whoa. We’ve got a call. I set it to vibrate. Get it?’ She flicked the phone’s cover open, frowned at the screen, and then closed it again. ‘So who are these girls you’re moving in with?’ she asked, leaning forwards to see Farren.
‘They’re doing my course,’ Farren said.
‘Hang on,’ Jess said, blinking. ‘Who was trying to call?’
‘We’ll have to meet them sometime,’ Leanne said, continuing her conversation with Farren, but with a grim look on her face.
And Jess knew then.
•
The ball was held at the Brisbane Conference and Exhibition centre, a cavernous space festooned with thousands of balloons, swathes of satin, and hundreds of tiny lights twinkling from a ceiling that was vast and high and crisscrossed with catwalks. There were close to two thousand people there, the ball committee having caved to pressure to open the event up to students other than just those enrolled in business, economics and law. Predictably, the Unity crowd arrived late, missing the sit-down dinner and speeches, and by the time they got there, the T-floor girls were at full steam, needing to dance or die. They danced and danced and danced for what seemed like years before people started to peel off. Allie was the first when Michael came up to claim her, whispering something in her ear that Jess hoped was the right thing to say. Farren was the second to go, when she found out one of the fresher girls was already so drun
k she’d vomited, and was spotted by security doing so, which meant having to organise someone to escort her home. And not long after that, Jess came to, realising she was thirsty. It was as she was heading to the bar that someone tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Hey, Jess.’ Mitch was holding a beer and had obviously been drinking, but his speech was clear, his eyes were almost too bright, and he looked painfully good in a tux. He’d broken away from his group to talk to her: four guys stood in a rough circle behind him. Tipene was one of them; the others Jess hadn’t seen before. They glanced at her and Mitch, and then continued their conversation.
‘How are you?’ Jess asked, getting jostled by the people behind her. Mitch put out a hand to steady her and then stopped himself when she flinched.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said.
Jess shrugged. ‘Well pretty much everybody in college decided it was an event, so …’ She looked around as if somebody was waiting for her, and then back at him.
Mitch nodded, his lips pressed together, obviously wanting to drive things in a certain direction, just not sure how. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his eyes making too much of the compliment, and Jess realised with a sudden lurch in her stomach just where he might be trying to go.
‘Thanks, but I’m hot and I’m sweaty, I’m wearing cowboy boots, and my hair’s all messed up,’ she said flatly. ‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Not that much. Listen, I tried to call you tonight. I wanted to—’
‘Sorry, but I’d better—’
‘Come and meet the guys,’ Mitch said abruptly, slipping his arm around her waist. Before she could stop him or protest, he’d pushed her into the group, interrupting their conversation to make the introductions, starting with Tipene.
‘I think we’ve met before,’ Tipene said in his deep voice, shaking her hand.
Jess nodded, giving him a tight smile. ‘Thank you for what you did that night.’
Mitch moved on to the next guy, who turned out to also be from Knights. He kept his arm around Jess, making her feel like she was a ventriloquist’s dummy, having to nod and smile and pretend to be interested. The other two were guys Mitch had met playing Rugby Sevens at the university games. The four of them in turn seemed almost too polite, carefully respectful, and Jess started to suspect that they might have been prepped for the occasion.