The Hurricane

by R. J. Prescott

  “This seat taken?”

  I looked down at cherry red leather boots with a killer heel and looked up to see that the voice belonging to them liked to coordinate her cherry red hair with her outfit. Clearly, I was more than backwards when it came to accessorising. My hair didn’t go with anything.

  “Um…” I looked around, desperate to say yes, hoping to remain as anonymous as possible. The lecture theatre was only a third full, at best, and there was no reason why this girl would want to sit next to me. She wore a short denim miniskirt, a fitted black top, and a leather jacket that I would have given my left arm for. With the killer boots and her glossy hair layered artfully around her face, she looked edgy and hot. No wonder half the man geeks were drooling. My first thought was that she was in the wrong place.

  “No,” I replied. Could I have been more socially inept? If she was in the right place, it looked like she’d be beating off the guys with a stick, so what better place to take cover than beside the only other girl in the room.

  “Nikki Martin,” she said, sliding into the adjoining seat.

  “Sorry?” I mumbled.

  “I’m Nikki Martin,” she stated, expectantly awaiting a response.

  “Oh, hi,” I replied, as I went back to copying down the equation from the projector.

  “Oh, my God, you really are one of them,” she laughed, teasingly.

  “One of them?” I answered, glancing up in confusion.

  “The freaks who only speak in numbers and have no social skills whatsoever.”

  “Wow, rude much?” Oh, my God! I’ve never been confrontational, EVER, but with this girl, it just slipped out. She laughed again, probably at the look of sheer horror on my face.

  “So, the kitten has claws. You know, you and me are going to get on just fine.”

  I had no idea what to say to that. This girl was like a beautiful steamroller.

  “Okay, a name would be good about now, unless you want me to call you Mathlexy all term.”

  “Mathlexy?” Yep, I was getting good at repeating everything she said back to her as a question.

  “I can tell you’re a math fiend by the stack of handwritten notes you’ve got there, and you’re the sexiest thing this lot has probably ever seen.” She gestured around the lecture hall, and I wasn’t convinced that the guys would actually wait until the end of class to pounce on her. The wide-eyed looks of disbelief, appreciation, and finally hunger reminded me of starving hyenas, eyeing up their appetiser. I giggled at the image and snorted through my nose at the absurdity of the name. Snorting was neither sexy nor attractive.

  “Emily McCarthy,” I offered up in return, hopeful of rejecting that ridiculous nickname before anyone heard it. The last name was new. I’d only had it for a year, and I was still getting used to it. But I figured that keeping my first name wouldn’t hurt. Emily was a pretty common name and people got suspicious if you didn’t answer to your name when called because you didn’t know it.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily McCarthy,” she answered.

  By the end of the lecture, I had three sides of crisp clean notes, and Nikki had half a page and some lovely heart and floral murals.

  “What’s your next class?” she asked, as we were stuffing things into our bags.

  “I don’t have another one for a couple of hours,” I replied. “I was just going to the library to study.”

  “Perfect, I have a couple of hours free. Let’s go and grab a coffee. My treat.”

  She looped her arm through mine and all but dragged me out, clearly not caring about my plans.

  Latte, espresso, tall, fat, mocha, grande. The board in front of me laid out the endless possible taste sensations, and I agonised over my decision. I loved coffee, but on my budget, regular coffee at Daisy’s was about as good as it got. So, if this was my treat for the month then I was going to make the most of it.

  “Come on, Em,” Nikki moaned, “I’m growing old here!”

  “A cappuccino, please,” I ordered quickly. The barista handed me my drink, and I pulled out the chair next to Nikki. She took a long sip of her coffee, sighed deeply, and turned to me.

  “So...the whole social hermit thing. Is it just for a term or are you committed for life?”

  I WAS SO GRATEFUL to have escaped my former life that living for three years without forming any attachments seemed like a small price to pay for my freedom. The reality was that I had escaped from hell, only to find that fear still incarcerated me in a prison from which there was no escape. I was afraid that the more memorable I became; the more likely it was that I would be found. However irrational that fear was, it made me close myself off from forming any kind of friendship. Until Nikki sat down next to me, it was the only way I knew. I’d been so caught up in surviving and staying free, that I’d forgotten that freedom was a state of mind. I might have escaped physically, but mentally, I was still giving the son of a bitch that power over me. Changing that cycle would need a conscious decision, and making a new friend seemed like a good place to start.

  “Why would you think that I’m a social hermit?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I was curious, though, to find out how she saw me.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve been sitting behind you in class since the start of term. Granted, most of the class seems fairly anti-social, but you don’t talk to anyone, and you seem to avoid catching people’s eye so they don’t initiate a conversation.”

  “You’ve been in that class for a month?” I asked, slightly shocked.

  “See, that’s what I mean. If you’d looked up from your notes occasionally, you’d have seen me.”

  “Sorry,” I apologised. “I’m not much good at making new friends.”

  “Neither am I,” she admitted, which surprised me. “Well, I’m not much good at making girlfriends, anyway. Most of my friends are guys. I guess my tendency to say things as they are, without filtering, puts girls off. If you ask me how you look, and I think your dress makes your arse look fat, I’ll tell you. If you ask me what I think of your boyfriend, and he’s a dick, I’ll tell you. I think that makes me a pretty awesome friend, but most girls don’t agree.” She shrugged, humorously, and I couldn’t help but like her.

  “Anyway, I’m sick of not having anyone to talk to in class, so I thought I’d say hello. If you really don’t want to talk, though, I can go back to sitting behind you.”

  “Like that wouldn’t be weird,” I replied. “I’m glad you sat next to me. It’s nice to make a new friend.”

  “Well, don’t get too attached to me. I’m sure I’ll say something to piss you off by the weekend.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t wear dresses, so we should be fine.”

  She grinned at me, and her smile was infectious.

  “Look, one of the guys on the rugby team is having a party in a couple of weeks. How about you come with me?” she asked.

  I almost choked on my coffee at the thought of dancing around in a tiny skirt and chucking back the shots.

  “Um, thanks Nikki, but I’m kind of working double shifts waitressing to pay for my course. If it’s on a weekend, chances are I’ll be working.”

  “Well, just think on it. You can get ready at my place and borrow some of my clothes and stuff. We’d have a blast.”

  I had no intention of going, but I was blown away that this girl, who hardly knew me at all, would be so generous. I wasn’t used to such random acts of kindness.

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied, knowing my answer wouldn’t change. “So, how come you’re going? Do you know some of the guys on the rugby team?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee and burning my tongue.

  “I’m friends with a few of them, and there’s a few going who I wouldn’t mind being more than friendly with.”

  I looked down and blushed as I thought about O’Connell, who was pretty much the only guy I’d thought about like that in a very long time. When I looked back up, Nikki was staring at me as though she was
mentally sizing me up for a boyfriend.

  “I’m not interested in meeting anyone, Nikki,” I warned. “I’ve got enough on my plate between my job and classes.”

  “Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “You can be my wingman when I’m wearing beer goggles. I have terrible taste in men when I’m drunk. Just pull me away from the ones I’d chew my arm off to get away from in the morning.”

  I burst out laughing at the image, and it was the first time that I could remember laughing in a very long time.

  I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING shaking with fear. It had been a while since I’d dreamt at all, and I’d forgotten just how bad they were. I had no doubt that my conversation with Nikki yesterday had triggered it. New things always did. The nightmare was one of a hundred memories that I’d never be free of.

  I had been about fifteen at the time and taking out the rubbish when Noah Rawlinson, a guy from my class, strolled by my house, walking his dog.

  “Hey, Em, how are you?”

  “Good, thanks. He’s gorgeous, what’s his name?” I asked, as I bent down to rub the coat of the overenthusiastic golden retriever licking at my hand.

  “Umm... Barbie,” he mumbled, his face colouring with embarrassment.

  “Seriously,” I replied.

  “I know, I know,” he laughed, rubbing Barbie’s coat along with me.

  “I wanted a dog when I was a kid and Mum let me choose the dog, but my little sister got to pick the name.”

  I tried not smile but couldn’t help it.

  “That’s pretty tragic. Poor dog.”

  “Poor dog! You should try yelling after this crazy animal in a park full of people. I’m sure he’s disobedient just to make me look stupid.”

  Noah and I had caught each other’s eye a couple of times in class, and I’d been hoping he’d ask me out. He pushed his floppy blond hair out of his eyes and shifted from foot to foot, obviously building up to something. I bit my lip with nervous anticipation.

  “So, were you planning on going to the end of year dance?” he asked. I carried on patting Barbie’s coat. The poor dog would be bald by the time we made a date.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it yet,” I lied. Hello! What girl in my year hadn’t thought about the dance?

  “Well, would you like to go with me?” Noah asked, sheepishly.

  “I’d love to. Thank you,” I replied, after a slight pause.

  “That’s great. So, I guess I’ll see you at school?” he suggested with a happy grin. At my nod and smile, he pulled Barbie along to continue their stroll, lifting his hand to wave goodbye as I walked inside. I was still smiling and contemplating what to wear to the dance, when the slap came out of nowhere and hit with so much force that the side of my face smashed into the kitchen cabinet. As I landed on the floor, Frank’s boot hit me straight in the stomach, and I choked back the bile that would only make him madder.

  “You little fucking slut. You can’t even take the rubbish out without lifting your skirt for the nearest pussy-sniffing son of a bitch out there. Have you fucked him already? You have, haven’t you?” he screamed, not waiting for an answer as a second boot planted in my gut.

  It was a long time before the hits stopped coming. Apart from the one cut to my eye, my clothes would cover the worst of the damage. I didn’t make it off the floor that night, and the next day I made it as far as my bed, but as soon as I was well enough, I gave Noah some lame apology and broke our date. He never asked again, and I stopped looking him in the eye. I stopped looking everyone in the eye. The floor had became my new favourite scenery, and my stepfather’s reign of power had begun.

  I HAD WORK SOON, and I needed to get my head in the right place. Using a technique I’d first read about on the Internet, I grabbed the scented candle on my bedside table, lit it, and inhaled deeply, savouring the candle’s sweet vanilla fragrance. Holding my breath, I focused on clearing my mind of everything and exhaled. After a few minutes, the panic had receded. I was always afraid, but I could think past the anxiety now. Looking at my watch, I saw I only had thirty minutes before my shift started. For the second day in a row, I was running to work again.

  “GOOD MORNIN’, SUNSHINE,” Danny croaked, in his usual gruff voice. He sounded like he smoked twenty a day, but it was probably more like fifty. The tips of his fingers gave away his habit as much as his voice.

  “Morning, Danny. How are you today?” I asked. Danny looked up from the menu. He always read the menu, and I had no idea why, because he ordered the same thing every day.

  “What happened?” he barked at me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, frowning in confusion.

  “You asked me a question. Aside from asking me what I want for breakfast, you never do that. So I want to know what’s up.”

  I could feel myself clamming up. I looked down instinctively and bit my lip.

  “Now, don’t you start cowering on me, girl. Something’s happened to you, and I’m nosy enough to want to know what it is. You should know me well enough by now to know that my bark is worse than my bite, so stop looking at the floor and better still, take a seat and talk to me a little bit.”

  He nodded at the seat across the booth from his. I looked up and met his gaze. You could tell a lot from a person’s eyes. I wasn’t the world’s best judge of character, but I could usually tell when a smile on the face hid meanness behind the eyes.

  “I can’t, Danny. I don’t think Mike would much like me sitting down on the job.”

  “Don’t you get breaks?”

  “Danny, you’re always my first customer of the day. It’s a little early for a break, don’t you think?”

  “Rhona?” Danny barked, as she headed toward the kitchen.

  “Can you spare our girl for five minutes?” He nodded toward me, and I was stunned.

  “Course I can. We won’t get many in till half past. Just keep an eye out for anyone in your section,” she called back, seeming unperturbed. So far, Danny was my only customer, so pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down in the booth opposite him. He waited patiently.

  “Don’t you want to order your breakfast while we wait?”

  “I’ve got all day,” he said. “You can put my order in when the next table fills up.”

  “So?” he barked.

  “I made a new friend,” I answered. His expression didn’t change, but the tone was more inquisitive.

  “Boy or girl?” he asked.

  “Err, girl,” I replied, embarrassed.

  “Good. I hope she’s got a bit of spunk about her. You need someone to bring you out of yourself.”

  “How do you know this isn’t the extrovert me?”

  “Huh,” he grunted. “If this is the extrovert you then the introvert you must be bloody mute.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.

  “So, this is the reason why you’re so cheerful then?” he enquired.

  “I guess,” I replied, swirling the spoon around my coffee. “She’s very different to me, but she seems really nice.”

  “It’s about time you made some new friends and starting living a little. Life is for the living, my girl, and anything else is just marking time.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m going to become a social butterfly overnight. It’ll just be nice to have some company at school, that’s all. Making friends is fine but going out with friends usually requires money. I need as many shifts as I can get at Daisy’s to pay for school. You know that,” I explained as I sipped my coffee.

  “’Bout that. I’ve been having a think to myself, and I reckon we could help each other out, you and me.”

  “How do you mean?” I replied.

  “Do you trust me?” Of course, I trusted him. Up until yesterday, he was probably my only friend in the world. But when someone asked if you trusted them, it was usually because they were about to put that trust to the test.

  “I trust you, but I’m not sure how you think we can help each other.”

  “T
hing is, I’ve got a business down on Barking Road here in Canning Town. It’s not really all that big, so up until now I’ve been doing all the books myself. Ain’t much work, just a couple of nights a week, but I’m ticking on now and most nights I’m just too tired to take care of it. Now, last few years business has been good, so I’m thinking to myself that a bookkeeper is a mighty fine idea. Course, I’m not paying through the nose for it.”

  I listened politely until his meaning sank in, and I was floored.

  “You want me to do your bookkeeping?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, girl, I think that would be a grand idea.”

  “But how do you know if I’m any good, and more importantly, how do you know if I’m trustworthy?”

  “You’re not much good at interviews, are you, girl?” His question was obviously rhetorical, and before I could say anything else, he continued.

  “I’ve known you for over a year. You’re polite, punctual, and smart.” Only Danny could bark out my best qualities like he was reading stats off a baseball card.

  “I can check on your work, and as for being trustworthy, you’d have to get up early in the morning to get one over on me. So, what do you say?”

  “Thanks for the offer, Danny, but I don’t think I can add another job in with school and the shifts I’m already doing.”

  It sure was tempting, though. Most days my feet ached and my back hurt. The chance to get paid to sit at a desk and do something that for me was bread and butter was one I should be snapping Danny’s hand off to take. But Mike had been good to me, and if nothing else, I was loyal.