Stan

by C. J. Duggan

  I should have been happy, I should have rejoiced and thanked my lucky stars my house arrest was over, that I had avoided the cleaning of the toilets, and that I didn’t have to spend another moment with Stan beyond tomorrow. Then why did I feel my heart sink? The thought of being near Stan being over made me feel so … empty.

  I lifted my chin. “I’m still not heading back with you.”

  Stan ran his hand through his hair, cursing under his breath in despair. “Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn? It’s not like I have asked much of you this weekend, or made your life like a living hell like I probably should have.”

  Ha! If only he knew that being near him was my idea of hell.

  “What do you want? A freakin’ medal for being a decent human being? Just because everyone thinks you’re ‘Stan the Man’ doesn’t mean I have to bow down to you.”

  Stan scoffed. “You need to sober up, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, yeah? And how are you going to do that? Force feed me cold pizza and torture me with your music selection?”

  “No, I can think of a better way,” Stan said, an evil smirk lining his lips as he kicked the dirt.

  My brows lowered in confusion, until I followed his cheeky glance to the left. There it was, illuminated by a bug-infested spotlight and surrounded by wire fencing, the hum of the filter circling a beach ball on the water’s surface. My eyes widened, my heart started to race.

  Surely he wouldn’t.

  And just as I glanced back to meet Stan’s eyes, I knew in an instant my answer, and it took a mere second for my instincts to kick in.

  RUN.

  I could have bolted into the night, down the track toward the winding rocky dirt maybe cutting through the bushes and stumbling into no-man’s land. Instead I acted swiftly, heading toward the very direction Stan planned to be my undoing. I darted straight into the pool yard, sprinting toward the other side to dart through the other gate, the gate I had dived through a thousand times before to escape my brothers, the one that led out onto the open expansive grass area that would have me clear and home free. The gate that was no longer there?

  “What the hell?”

  “Ah, yes, about that.”

  Stan was hunched over on the other side of the pool, catching his breath. “There’s no gate there anymore.” He smiled.

  “So I see,” I breathed, edging away from the fence, sidestepping in the opposite direction that Stan followed. I was trapped like a rat. “How things change.”

  Stan shrugged. “Kids were using it as a shortcut to run through, it was dangerous.”

  “And we all know how you feel about running around the pool,” I scoffed.

  “I think I am willing to make an exception,” he said, shutting the gate behind him, clicking it so loud it made me blink.

  My only way out.

  “Well, this is going to be a long night then,” I said, crossing my arms defiantly across my chest.

  “Oh, not really; I can sprint the hundred in under ten seconds.”

  Awesome.

  “The things you don’t know about someone.”

  “Indeed.”

  It was now a battle of wills, a standoff. He watched me, I watched him. Waiting, ready to pounce. There was only one way out and he was standing in front of it. I could fake to the left and then run to the right but it would only take a second for him to pre-empt that. Either way it was not going to end well; I could see it in the way Stan’s eyes glimmered with wicked intent, he was loving this.

  He was finally getting to torture me like he had probably wished he should have all along. I knew it was just a matter a time when he would make his move, and we both knew running was futile. So I did the only logical thing I could do to gain back some resemblance of power. Without tearing my eyes away from his, I slowly slipped off my Converse shoes and stepped forward, my bare feet stepping onto the edge of the pool.

  Stan uncrossed his arms, straightening as he looked at me with a guarded interest.

  I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath as I looked directly at him and smiled.

  “Fuck you, Stan-LEY.”

  And then I jumped.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stan

  She jumped. I can’t believe she jumped.

  Bel resurfaced with a gasp and a squeal, flailing the water into a foamed fury, pushing her hair backwards, getting her bearings. After adjusting to the cold water, she kicked her way to the edge near me, clasping on and looking up at me with those big doe eyes.

  “Help me up?” she asked, still breathless.

  I laughed. “Not a chance.”

  Bel mocked innocence. “What? I’m not going to pull you in.”

  “Sure.”

  “Pfft, whatever,” she said, launching herself backwards, kicking. “You know it’s really not that bad, quite invigorating actually.”

  “Even sobering, you might say?”

  Bel latched onto the aluminium ladder, lifting herself to step out of the pool. “I’m not drunk,” she snapped.

  “Of course not.”

  Bell clambered back onto the concrete, jumping around, whimpering, drenched in her jean shorts and singlet; She really was a pitiful sight. She grabbed her shoes and ran as quickly as she could manage in teeny tiny steps toward where I stood at the gate. I stepped in front of her, earning myself a death stare.

  “Stan, please.”

  “You can head home in a minute.”

  Her brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

  I nodded. “But first follow me.”

  Her demeanour shifted. “Why should I?”

  “Because it involves clean towels and hot water.”

  I brushed past her, heading toward the shower block with only the assumption she might follow. When I heard the pitter patter of feet behind me, I smiled.

  “You can’t go in the women’s shower block.” Her voice echoed incredulously, as I flicked the light on to only the entrance part of the building.

  I turned to her, causing her to pull up abruptly so as not to run into me.

  “Why not? I’m good enough to clean them.” I looked at her pointedly. “Besides, I think the coast is clear, no one in their right mind would go swimming at this time of night. Honestly, Bel, I don’t know what you were thinking,” I teased.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, pushing past me.

  She dumped her shoes on the bench inside before working to dislodge some water out of her ear, and mumbling under her breath in frustration.

  I bit my lip, stifling a laugh as I pushed open the door to the largest cubicle and turned the taps on to get the shower running.

  “All yours.” I motioned with a sweep of my arm.

  “Gee, thanks, you’re a real freakin’ gentleman.” Bel glowered, walking past me and pausing in the door. “I’m leaving my clothes on by the way,” she said quickly.

  “Good for you.”

  Bel gave me one more death stare before slamming the door shut after her.

  The angrier she got, the funnier it was. I slotted in the key from my key chain to work on unfastening the locker that housed the towels. Grabbing the plush navy towel, I slammed and locked the door, whistling ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ as I headed over to Bel’s cubicle to hook a towel over the edge of her door.

  I broke off mid-whistle when I couldn’t see Bel’s head over the door. By all rights she should have been visible from the shoulders up, but there was nothing other than a stream of hot water and rising steam.

  Had she done another runner?

  I cursed under my breath. “Bloody pig-headed, stubborn, bloody wom—” I ripped the door open, ready to slam the taps off when I stilled. Bel was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, her back against the tiles, the shower head spraying over her, causing trails of water to fall over her face and cascade down her chin. My heart ached at the sight. She looked so small, so helpless, that if I reached out and touched her she might break. I knelt before her, cupping her face, the spray dre
nching me as I looked into her eyes.

  “Bel?”

  Her defeated eyes told me all I needed to know but she voiced it anyway. “I don’t feel well.” Her chin trembled and I cursed myself for chasing her and forcing her to jump in the pool.

  I swallowed, wiping the hair from her eyes. “I know.” My chest was tight and my heart raced in panic seeing her like this.

  Her eyes blinked, trying to focus as she looked down at my arms that still had a hold of her.

  “You’re getting wet,” she protested.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, slamming off the taps and slinging the towel over my shoulder.

  “I’m going to pick you up, okay? Put your arm around my shoulder.”

  She did without a word of argument. She must have been sick. I lifted her limp, exhausted body off the floor, bringing her out to sit on the bench. The shower cubicle was only faintly lit from what light filtered through from outside; I hadn’t wanted to draw attention to us being here. I knelt in front of Bel who rested her palms on my shoulders to keep upright.

  “You right? Just take a few deep breaths, okay?” I pulled the towel from my shoulder, unfolding it and flicking it around hers, before lifting it up and over her head, rubbing briskly to dry her hair best I could.

  “Ow, careful.” Her muffled words cried out from under the towel.

  “Shit, sorry,” I said, before letting the towel settle around her shoulders again.

  “Bel, we’re going to have to get these wet clothes off you,” I said quietly, looking down to the drops of water pooling onto the cement. I didn’t look up until I felt the deep inhale from her tiny frame, and the soft, almost inaudible response.

  “Okay.”

  My eyes flicked up, reading the expression on her face in case I had misheard her. But when she nodded her head in agreement I knew I had heard right. I nodded back, and without words I just worked on what needed to be done.

  I swallowed, and with as steady hands as I could manage, I let the towel fall from her shoulders, my fingers dancing gently to gather the sodden fabric and hem.

  “Arms up,” I said, and she obliged.

  I peeled the pale pink singlet from her, letting it fall to a rolled-up, wet heap on the floor next to her. I was grateful for the bad lighting as my eyes were in line with a white bra and what I could make out, a pink bow in the middle. I quickly shifted my eyes as I worked my clumsy hands to the button of her jeans, the backs of my fingers brushing against her soft belly. It took all my strength not to focus on the sensation and just work on bloody unbuttoning the damp denim, something that felt like it took ages to manage. I could feel Bel’s eyes looking down on me. She leant back a little, resting on the back of her hands, the navy towel draped around her. I didn’t dare look up, not once.

  Come on, come on. Got it!

  Finally freeing the top button I worked her zip down. I didn’t need to ask for the next direction as she instinctively lifted for me to edge the wet denim down over her hips, slowly sliding them down her thighs, down, down her legs. My fingers grazed a path; I could feel the goose bumps that puckered her flesh, thinking it had more to do with being cold than anything I was bumbling my way through. Once the denim hit the concrete next to her top, I breathed a sigh of relief, quickly moving to wrap the towel tight around her like a cocoon as I rubbed briskly.

  “Better?” I asked. Once again she managed a head nod.

  Bel Evans out of words. Now that was really something.

  I scooped up Bel’s wet clothes and shoes and heading toward the same locker block as the towels, opened, and chucked them inside.

  “I’ll grab them when I do the rounds tomorrow,” I said, mainly to myself. Pocketing the keys, I made my way back to Bel.

  “My shoes?” She blinked, probably wondering why I had taken them.

  I smiled. “You won’t be needing them,” and before she could question that very fact, I scooped her up in my arms and made my way out of the shower block. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, and how dismal the girl in my arms felt, nothing had ever felt more right. She felt right in my arms. And I was taking her home.

  “Time for home,” I said.

  “Home?” Bel’s soft lips brushed tauntingly close to my jaw line, her arms wrapped around my neck. I smiled broadly, peering down at her as I readjusted her weight in my arms.

  “My home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bel

  I awoke in a twisted pile of sheets.

  Groaning against the strip of sunlight that had somehow penetrated its way through a gap in the curtain and right across my eyeline, I grimaced, rolling away from the offending beam. Clasping my temples to prevent the pounding assaulting me, only to realise it wasn’t anything to do with my head, which by all accounts, now that was I was coming to my senses and waking slowly from my sleep, felt good and was not in fact pounding. The pounding was coming from somewhere in the house. I sat up quickly, alerting myself to listen intently until my attention snapped down, and then under my sheets I gasped.

  Naked … so, so naked.

  I delved in the fuzzy edges of my mind to try and piece together how exactly that had happened. I don’t remember much else after the fresh night air hit me as Stan carried me back to the house. I don’t remember taking my bra and undies off, but surely I would have bloody noticed if Stan did?

  Oh, God.

  I hid under the covers, wanting to die. Not only because the mystery was still a mystery to me, but because an image flashed of me being sick, passed out on Max’s floor.

  Shame-shame-shame.

  If I could ever bear to face the world again, I would have to apologise, change my name, and assume another identity to save a lifetime of humiliation. Stan will never let me live this down, never.

  The pounding continued, causing me again to sit up and listen intently to the distant noise. I wrapped the sheet around me, shifting to the edge of the bed, only to pause.

  There, folded on the chair in the corner were my clothes from last night. Clean and dry. I stood, shuffling over to touch them, to see if they were real. They smelled like fabric softener as I lifted them and rubbed the fabric affectionately against my cheek with a smile.

  Stan.

  I unfolded them hoping to find my bra and undies and when they weren’t amongst them, a sudden memory flashed through my mind. Sure enough, I peeled the covers back and there they were at the base of the bed. A bubble of relief surfaced inside me; I took them off myself. I laughed, pulling them out and shoving them into the deep side pocket of my bag.

  Seriously, I was a danger to myself.

  ***

  The pounding had long since stopped, and as I dressed and had tamed my fuzzy head of hair best I could, I wandered from my bedroom, down the long hall, closing in on the voices that were muffled beyond the door. I cautiously twisted the handle, readying myself for an awaiting audience and the flooding of natural light that would hit me as I made my way into the living room.

  Sure enough, I grimaced against the adjustment and sheepishly walked in to see Glen and Paula Remington fussing in the kitchen with a bench full of wines and bags of assortments from their weekend away. Paula noticed me first, standing awkwardly before the door.

  “Oh, sweetheart, we didn’t wake you, did we?” Paula pouted.

  “Oh, no, it’s fine.”

  What time was it?

  I searched for the wall clock but was interrupted by Stan’s dad.

  “By all accounts it sounds like you needed a sleep in.” Glen chuckled.

  My spine straightened; I could feel my cheeks flood with heat as the old familiar feeling of mortification flooded me.

  Oh, God, what had Stan told them?

  “Seems like you had quite the weekend,” added Paula.

  I wanted to die. I wanted to search for the quickest escape and never come back to Onslow ever again. I may have sabotaged Stan’s weekend but he would have the last laugh as Mum and Dad had me under house arrest for
life.

  “Stan said you were a real trooper, that he couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Wait. What?

  Paula laughed. “There’s no need to seem so surprised. Stan doesn’t hand out compliments easily, my dear. In fact, I am amazed he was able to delegate any tasks to you; it’s rather miraculous.”

  Glen smiled broadly, nodding as he leant against the counter. “You kids did good, we’re really proud of you.”

  I closed my mouth, thinking it not the best look if I looked like a stunned mullet. At best I had to act as if I knew what they were talking about, and I sure as hell didn’t.

  “Where is Stan?” The sentence fell out before I could stop it.

  “We’ve given him the day off, I think he has earned it,” said Paula, as she re-stocked the fruit bowl.

  I gave a small smile. “Yeah, absolutely; in fact, he probably deserves a weekend off, I think. I don’t know how he does it seven days a week.”

  Maybe I was a bit out of line, but if there was one thing I did know about Stan Remington was that he was a hard worker. Up at dawn, running around looking after everyone’s needs before his own, I could see how easy it was to take advantage of such a quality in someone.

  “I mean, it must feel nice to come back home after a few days off,” I added thoughtfully.

  Paula smiled. “Yes, it was just what we needed, hey, dahl?”

  Paula’s words seem to snap Glen out of his thoughts. “Oh yeah, yeah, absolutely.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t do near as much as Stan probably said I did. It was all him.”

  “Well, no good turn goes unrewarded.” Paula reached for her purse, fishing out some golden notes.

  My brows lowered as she came over to me, picking up my hand and placing the money into my palm.

  “I know you will probably not want this, but we really do appreciate your help.”

  Paula walked away and I stared horrified at the fist of money, the money I had not earned, the money I did not deserve. I shook my head, walking over to the kitchen bench, and placed the money on the counter, much to the surprise of Stan’s parents.