by M R Field
“He didn’t deserve you. No one has the right to make you feel insignificant, baby.”
“You never made me feel like that … until today.”
My chest tightens as the burn from her words stings like the tip of a soldering iron. “I’m so sorry, Hazel,” I plead. “As soon as I saw his name, I lost control. My brain left my body and my mouth just shot off.”
“I noticed,” she replies drily.
“I’m sorry, Hazel. Please let me make it up to you. What we have is far too special not to. I stopped fucking around years ago.” She blinks at me but I continue. “Now, that I finally have you, I’m not letting you go.”
“He never had me, Robbie. But he was jealous, funnily enough, over you. ”
“How does he know about me?”
She sighs and walks past me, and I long to reach out and grab her. Instead, I watch her pick up her laptop from the couch and open it, while turning and sitting down.
“Come and sit,” she murmurs. I move quickly and sit next to her while she clicks through her web browser. Her sweet scent drifts towards me, and my mouth waters in a pit of wanton agony. Her email opens and her fingertips move across the touchpad to a file marked “RV”. She pauses before biting her lip.
“Brace yourself, Roberto Vera,” she says, and clicks to open the folder. For a moment, all I notice are a bunch of emails with FW in the subject title. A fearful thought enters my mind. Has he been threatening her about me? But my concern is brought to a standstill as she randomly selects an email and opens it.
Hey Ginger Ninja!
Saw a little ginge today in the mall and thought it could be a long-lost cousin of yours. How was your solo? Did you teach the Poms how to act yet? –R.
I’m stunned. “I remember that,” I murmur.
She continues to scroll down the page and I see that we are on page one of two hundred and ten. Two hundred and ten pages of emails … all containing messages from me.
“What are all these?” I ask.
“This …” She brushes her fingertip across the touchpad to click on page 210. “Is what has kept me sane.”
She scrolls down to the very bottom and double clicks. My breath catches in my throat.
Hazel,
Can you let me know if those girls leave Trice alone? Mum wants me to stay out of it, but I’m willing to come in if she needs me. Thank you for convincing her to tell us. -R
“Whoa.” The memory of that message hits me like a freight train. “That was after Trice told us about those girls bullying her.”
“Yep.” She rubs her lip between her teeth, nervously gnawing at it.
“You held onto my hand as I watched my sister self-destruct on stage.”
Hazel holds my gaze and nods.
“What? You kept all these?”
“I … I know it’s stalker-ish,” she stutters, slamming the laptop shut and hastily standing up. She walks over to the TV cabinet and places it on the floor, then weaves her fingers together again, avoiding my gaze. “I know I’m pathetic. Jerry saw it and was livid. He told me to delete the folder, but I couldn’t. Instead, I just moved it to another one and renamed it.” She pushes her shoulders back and raises her eyes to meet mine. “You stopped me from fading into a lonely stupor, Robbie. When I was alone, when I felt the sting of my parents’ indifference that left jagged emotional scars on me, I read them again. Each moment where they ignored me or when my sisters attacked me hurt. So I read them again.”
She loosens her fingers and runs them up her arms, as though she is suffering the cold on this hot summer’s day. “My family has a knack for leaving a mark. They tend to leave good ones, too, ignoring my pain while their words cover me in splinters. I think I’ve gotten over them, and plucked them all out, but all I find is another one and the scars return and bury deeper.” A breath of frustration pushes through her lips. “I keep pushing at them to leave me, and they keep finding me.”
She pauses for a moment. “Your messages, Robbie, they made me believe. They made me believe that there were families out there that did care. Now you know the extent of what you mean to me.” Her soft voice casts a tone of regret now that she’s unleashed a secret that could change everything.
But it doesn’t.
My feelings have gone into overdrive, and she’s going to need to brace herself. I plant my uninjured palm flat on the couch and boost myself up, and her eyes stare at me in apprehension.
“Farfalla.” I walk over to her in measured strides. “Now that we have that sorted, it’s time you let me speak.” She nods uneasily, but I continue. “For starters, let me apologise again. I am so fucking sorry. I will never make you feel like that again. I also promise you …” I step closer. “That no one else will ever make you feel like that again.”
She flinches as she stares at me in a daze.
“You keeping those messages just goes to show that you knew there was something between us. That time I spent shovelling rocks around in that hot dust bowl, working my arse off, was not in vain. You may have kept those messages, but I kept every moment from the second we kissed up here,” I say as I tap the side of my head. “And here.” I lower my hand to my chest. “All the bullshit was worth it, because it led me to this moment, right here with you.” She stands stock still, her eyes staring into mine, while I continue. “Once our lips touched, you branded my thoughts. They were no longer mine. You owned me.” She holds the sides of her arms as she stares at me in suspended shock. I walk closer to her and raise my arms out. “You were always on my mind, Farfalla. Right now, I’d really fuckin’ appreciate it if you came over here as I need to kiss you.”
A sole tear runs down her face as she nods. Her feet, however, are still glued to the ground. I chuckle. I can’t take this anymore.
“Fuck it.” My arms reach out and I grab her, hauling her to my chest. I lift her chin with my thumb and crash my lips against hers. I kiss away the salt from her tears, I kiss away her neglect, and I kiss away her heartache. She’s mine and mine alone to worship. She is the goddess and I’m her happy fuckin’ servant.
She wraps her arms around me and threads her fingers through my hair. I break the kiss for a moment and say jokingly, “Should I cut my hair?”
Her answer is to grip her fingers through my curls and pull.
“Nope,” she says between planting kisses around my mouth and neck. “Don’t even think about it.”
I laugh and am about to kiss her again when we are both stopped by the rumbling of her belly.
“My farfalla missed lunch today.” I stroke my finger down her cheek. “We best be off to feed you. After all, I want to test those theories on makeup sex.”
“Which are?”
“That it’s incredible. You are already phenomenal, so I’m expecting my head to explode. We’ll need sustenance. I’m predicting at least two rest breaks to replenish— possibly, three.”
“Well …” she grabs my hand and strolls towards her front door. “Let’s go get our energy supplements, stud.”
I laugh, and dip my head quickly for a kiss.
She stills for a moment and grabs my face in her hands. “He …” Her tone is bitter and angry. “Used to say I was a broken canvas and needed a makeover. Thank you for not making me feel like that.”
I lean my forward against her face for a moment and squeeze her hips with my hands. “Farfalla, you’re a fucking masterpiece,” I mutter against her skin. “Don’t you dare change a thing.”
We head downstairs, my arm draped over her shoulders, drawing her closer to me. The sun warms our faces as we leisurely stroll towards the pizzeria. All the while, a prickle behind my neck distracts me, and I can’t help thinking that we’re being watched.
“I don’t entirely approve of some of the things I have done, or am, or have been. But I’m me. God knows, I’m me.”
Elizabeth Taylor
HAZEL
One month later
The summer heat carries on, stifling us as we walk the bitumen
back streets in the city. Trinity and Trice walk beside me, smiles radiating across their faces as we head to the comic store that was apparently hidden beside a delicious gelati bar. I’m here for the gelati.
“Far out, it’s boiling today.” Trice whines on the other side of me. She reaches into her hair and adjusts her top bun, tucking the stray hairs back into it. “Even my sweat is sweating.”
I wrinkle my nose at her. Her sunglasses have slid down a fraction so through the gap, she gives me a wink. Cheeky minx.
“Yuck, hon.”
She smiles and pushes her sunglasses back up her nose. We continue down the laneways that are lined with tiny shops and cafes. For a moment, we are in inner city Melbourne, but once you turn down the laneways, a European carefree vibe resonates around us. Small round tables, pine arched-back chairs and long narrow chalk menu boards line the narrow walkways as we stroll past the other heat-ridden passers-by.
Trin turns down the end towards the high-rise buildings that surround us and leads us down another turn that I hadn’t ever been to, and before we know it, we are stepping into a narrow shadowed doorway that leads to a dark and bleary staircase. Thudding beats sound from below, and the skin at the back of my neck prickles.
“Um, this is kinda like a horror movie,” Trice jokes. “A really bad B-grade one.”
The wooden steps creak as Trin starts to step down. I am apprehensive, but this is where she rushes to go once a month. Surely, it’s not some mad-arse cult or something.
“It’s not, girls. We’d all be virgins if it was a bad B-grade.” She smiles, and I chuckle, while she flicks her purple-streaked hair over her shoulder. How she can wear it out in this heat, I will never know.
We follow her down narrow grey steps with black walls on either side. Barely any light is around us, but as we walk down, the muffled techno beats become clearer and more light begins to surface.
We follow Trinity to the ground floor and immediately, our eyes begin to adjust to the dimly lit room. The walls are a deep purple with black beams running across, while droplights spotted across the room. I brace myself against the banister on the last step to take it all in. I have seen funky shops like this back in Camden Markets in London, but this is unlike anything I have seen before in Australia.
From the ceiling, comic figurines hang down with wisps of fake cobwebs, giving the shop the eerie feeling of a haunted house. Between the figurines, bits of torn magazine and novel covers hang crumpled. Red painted trestle tables fill the room and are lined with purple and black worn out crates, each filled with what seemed to be magazines, each individually wrapped in plastic and in pristine condition. Several stalls line the outer floor space, each section in different genres of graphic novels, and each signed with bright red neon writing. A DJ stands in the corner, mixing electro-funk music while several patrons stand in front of him, moving in time to the beats. Interesting, but cool.
Trin’s eyes light up as she walks over to the far end of the shelves, leaving us to scamper after her.
“Move it or lose it,” she taunts as she approaches the shelves. Her right arm darts out as she runs her fingers along the edge of the sill, guiding herself to the back of the shelf. Her lips purse as her eyes brighten in excitement. “It’s here!” she squeals. She leaps forward to retrieve her favourite graphic novel. She holds it to her chest for a moment and hugs it, her shoulders shaking in merriment.
“You can’t blow us off to read that, you know that, right?” Trice jokes. “You can read it tomorrow; today is ladies’ day!”
Trin clutches the novel to her chest and her face creases in pain for a moment, a deep sigh escaping her lips. “I won’t run off … yet. Damn you ladies drive a hard bargain!”
The cashier is a tall and lanky guy with more piercings in his face than I have received cheers on stage. I feel too neat, standing there in my short red shift dress, my metallic red sandals suddenly too bright against this alternative scene. His hand reaches out to retrieve the money from Trin’s hand, and I notice he has fingerless gloves on. I haven’t seen those in forever. Since I was a child and my great-aunt bought me a pair in secret as my mother didn’t approve of them. I loved those gloves.
Glancing down at my dress and sandals, I wish I had worn my old pair of Chucks that I bought in a tiny act of rebellion against my mother. I should’ve teamed them with those gloves.
Standing here, looking at that guy’s face, I want to do something rebellious.
“I want to get pierced,” I blurt out, staring vaguely at the guy, not really taking anything else in.
“What?” Trin splutters, flicking her labret, and my eyes narrow in on it.
“I want a piercing. Something … maybe I can get one like yours?”
Trin’s eyes open in astonishment as her head leans back slightly. “Did you get enough sleep last night? Or does he screw you into sleep deprivation?”
“Eww.” Trice smacks Trin in the arm. “That’s my brother. I already know too much.”
I raise my eyebrow at Trice and stare at her pointedly. Trice rolls her eyes and mutters, “Yeah, yeah, those friggin’ thin walls.”
“So, what are you thinking to pierce, Haze? Clit, nip or lip?” Trin asks.
The cashier bursts out in a raucous laughter, and all our eyes dart to him. My face flames in embarrassment, but he simply shrugs and reaches beneath the desk to pick up a magazine that he’s reading, as if we aren’t even standing there. Weird.
“Maybe my nose?” I point to the right side, rubbing my finger in a gentle circle. “Just a flat one, tiny even. Just something.” I sigh.
“Well, we can do it today, if you want?” Trice prods.
“Not today,” I reply, a sense of uncertainty washing over me. “But soon. I want to think about which side. But it’s happening!”
A small sense of me begins to settle. I have a wonderful guy, a new career, and now something unique to think about. If my parents knew … I shudder at the thought. Well, it’s not their nose.
We walk back up the stairs to the street level as Trin impatiently tears the plastic off her novel.
“I just want to take a peek,” she says, as she pushes the paper advertisement off the top. Her mouth drops and her eyes bug out of her head as she stares at the cover. A lone female figurine stands dressed in denim short shorts, a black tank with her arms crossed, her head tilted to the side with a mischievous smirk that lines her face. Her short hair has purple tips and is brushed across her face; her eyes are bright and blue, staring straight back at us.
“Wow,” Trice breathes. “That’s a cool drawing. She kinda looks like you.”
“I know,” Trin says. “She is pretty kick-arse too. I always feel like I know her.” She flips the magazine over to the artist’s logo and runs her fingers over the TTE. “Whoever this guy is, I’m going to find out. I don’t care if he’s fat, bald or old, I will climb him like a tree.”
We giggle as she tucks her novel into her sachet carefully.
“I will ride it like I stole it.” We walk back down the laneways to the train station, darting around the pedestrians who walk towards us.
“I’ll do him like a dinner,” Trin continues.
“How does that even make sense? You eat your dinner, you numbnut.”
“I’ll just do him—”
“Yeah, we got it,” Trice mutters.
“I’ll lay him like a concreter …”
“Babe.” I flinch. “We got it.”
“I know you gals did. But I just wanted to make myself clear. If he’s single, he can make me tingle.”
“Well, let’s cool you down with some gelati.” I point to the Gelobar.
“I’ll need a bucket to sit in,” Trin adds. Trice scrunches up her face and places her fingers to her lips, pretending to gag.
We order our cones, and I relish the taste of chocolate fudge as it melts in my mouth.
“Divine,” I moan, as I indulge. I pull my phone out and take a selfie with my ice cream and send the
pic to Robbie with:
Me: Jealous? Gelati!
Only a few moments pass until he sends his reply.
Tesoro: Yes. I really want 2 b that cone right now.
Me: You already know ur my favourite flavour : )
Tesoro: Aw. I’m at the bar. Alone. Get here now.
I giggle and continue eating my ice cream. The past couple of months have been heaven. It is a pleasant change to not face scrutiny over whatever I ate. Gone are the days of ‘Must you eat that, Hazel? We have auditions next week.’ Jerry was deluded in thinking that I would leave Robbie and return to him, a condescending fool. Biting my lip, I check that the girls are watching me as I type:
Me: I’ll text when I’m on my way. Be prepared and naked.
Tesoro: I’m stripping now …
I stop texting as my cheeks feel hot, and not even this decadent gelati is cooling me down.
We finish our gelati and continue making our way to the train station when my phone begins to ring. “Trouble” by P!nk blares as I dive into my bag, searching for my phone. Private number flashes on the screen and my brow scrunches as I answer it. My sister’s always have their numbers blocked, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to call. Hence the ringtone. After all, how can you put in an order for meth and have the guy know your number? How can you have the dealers track you down if you haven’t sourced out the funds from Daddy? I answer the call and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” By now we are facing Flinders Street Station by the traffic lights. I hold my other hand over my other ear to muffle the sounds of traffic as it whizzes past us. The “don’t walk figurine” blinks at us as I wait for the caller to answer.