Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

by James, Victoria L.

  “Don't get me wrong, it wasn't amazing or anything. I didn't 'explode in an orgasmic trance' the way Mum's Danielle Steele books suggested I would. But it didn't tear me in two, either.”

  My hand flies up to stop her as my stomach rolls. “Ugh. Please.”

  “His dick was so... what's the word?”

  “Hard?” I offer sarcastically.

  “No,” she whispers as she stares off into the distance and scrunches her nose. “Veiny.”

  I shake my head and make a ridiculously over the top gagging gesture. She has no idea how much this kind of talk scares me.

  “It's just a dick.” She laughs.

  “Do you really think I want to hear this shit?”

  “Seriously, Isa-” she stops herself from going any further, right about the same time my head snaps up to give her the death glare.

  “Don't say that name!”

  “Sorry.”

  It’s only been three months since I found out about my father's fourteen year, on-off affair with a woman named Isabella, a woman who he apparently loved enough to spare her the pleasure of meeting his sadistic, abusive side. A woman who he stopped seeing two years ago - right about the time his violence also stepped up a notch.

  “It's just a name,” Paris whispers over at me, her eyes instantly filling with sadness on my behalf.

  “It's more than a name. It's a connection and a constant reminder.”

  “It doesn't have to be. It can be whatever you want it to be.”

  Picking at the ring pull of the can of beer we pinched from her dad's stash, my face scrunches up tight in defeat. “He named me after the woman he committed adultery with, Paris.” My eyes drift up to meet hers. “Someone he knew and loved before I was even born. How could he do that to me? How could he look at me and sleep at night? How could he do that to my mum?”

  “Is this one of those reborrical questions you're always on about, Moffy?”

  “Rhetorical,” I sigh, correcting her.

  Her eyes roll as she mumbles a 'whatever' under her breath. “Do I need to answer?”

  My shoulder shrugs in a defeated manner. “I guess not. What's the point? An arsehole is an arsehole, right?”

  “I don't need to answer that, either. You know my thoughts on your father,” she sneers.

  It's hard for her to watch me live the life I do, much harder for her than it is for me, actually. I make decisions... choices... I have to take the path of ignorance so I don't lose my mother. After the last time he hurt me, she threatened to send me to live with some Aunt I barely even know, who lives in Bournemouth, if I so much as looked at him the wrong way. I have chosen this road of silence to keep the people I love around. I've accepted that now, because I don’t have any other choice.

  Paris doesn't have any option but to watch me suffer. I see how hard it is for her. If I was any kind of friend, I would walk away and let her live her life peacefully, without me always in tow, dragging and slowing her down. But even I'm not that much of a saint. My father's DNA runs through my blood. There is always going to be an element of selfishness in me. Paris Lexi Hemsworth is my weakness. I can't let her go, even if I wanted to. And even if I did, it would be pointless. She would track me down to the ends of the earth, wafting a slipper with a rubber sole around in the air as a weapon of retribution. That slipper would beat my arse to within an inch of my life. She would never be able to let me leave. We are soul sisters, connected by heart if not by blood.

  I love her more than anyone else in this world.

  Even on days like today when she happens to be the most annoying, living, breathing creature on the planet.

  “I made my decision, Goose. Let it go. I no longer want to be referred to as Isa... Isab...” Annoyed by the fact I can no longer even speak the name that sits on my birth certificate; I lift the can to my lips and drain it in several quick, effortless gulps. Something I've learnt to do whenever I need to kill the pain these days.

  “Moffy, though?”

  “People have called me that since nursery anyway.”

  “But as an official name? The lads are having a field day at school with their muff references.”

  “You have any other suggestions?” I quip back, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

  “What about your middle name?”

  “No.”

  “It's not so bad,” she says, trying to hide the twitch in her top lip.

  I raise both brows and glare back at her. “Just shut your pipe hole.”

  “Come on. I think Mary has quite a ring to it.”

  “Paris...”

  “Mary Moffit,” she snickers, quickly turning away from me to stifle her giggle with her hand.

  “That's not my only middle name,” I snarl.

  “No, I know. Mary Lou Moffit,” she croaks out before falling into a squealing fit of laughter.

  “It’s Mary Louise, actually and I’m so happy my misery amuses you so much.”

  I raise my hand and launch the empty can across the room at her. My sloppy throw is fuelled by a spark of anger causing me to miss her by a mile, and then cringe as it hits one of the many pictures and posters we've taped to the walls.

  Paris rushes across to the over-sized image of Ronan Keating’s head, pretending to stroke his hair in sympathy.

  “There, there, Ronan,” she soothes before snapping her head back to me and narrowing her eyes. “I mean it, Moffy. You need to get yourself shagged. You’re wound up so tight it’s sending you fucking crazy.”

  Rising to my feet, I swiftly dust off my knees and smirk back at her. “Oh, please… please find me a veiny penis, one that will grant me three wishes and magically take away all my stress, just like it has done for you, right?”

  “Stress?” she frowns. “What do you mean? I have no stress.”

  Standing straight, I shove both hands into the pockets of my jeans, sighing hard as I stare right back at her, knowing full well she knows exactly what I am referring to.

  “Oh, I see.”

  I don't reply. I don't need to. The tilt of my head and sarcastic widening of my eyes tells her enough.

  “You think I slept with Karl because of what’s going on with my dad, don’t you?”

  Now is where I would normally tell Paris I didn’t mean to offend her. Now is where I would probably rush my words out in a jumbled mess, trying desperately not to offend her with a truth I know she isn't ready to hear. But I'm worried. Since finding out about her dad's cancer just a few weeks ago, it feels like we have done nothing but fight, bicker and scramble to hold up the safe walls of our friendship, the ones that have always surrounded us both. Things are coming to a head. Something has to give.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I spot the slight twitch of her nose even though she fights to hide it. I've always seen her far more clearly than she has ever seen herself; she just hasn’t figured that out yet. Paris has never had to be a watcher. Her life, pre-cancer bombshell, was as happy as a young girl’s life should be. She’s always been the voice, while I’ve had to be the eyes; the one who takes in her surroundings to make sure everything is safe before stepping forward.

  “You’re wrong. This has nothing to do with my father.”

  “It has everything to do with him and you know it. Eight weeks ago, you told me you didn’t want to go anywhere near Karl at all.”

  She takes a small step closer, her eyes squeezing tight together to fight the moisture that has already taken over. “People change, Moffy,” she says, practically spitting out my new name. “Times change?”

  “In eight weeks?”

  “Yes, in eight weeks! We’re teenagers. Isn’t this what we’re meant to do?”

  “I must have missed the rule book with the checklist telling us how we should live our youth.”

  I know she doesn't deserve my derision, but the truth is I feel just as frustrated as she does. Everything in my head screams at me that I have no right to, that Dan isn't my father. But to me, he seems like more,
like an angel that has been sent to watch over me when times get too rough. The thought of him not making it cripples me every second of every minute of every day, and I am pissed. I'm pissed we aren't pulling together through all this. We should be pressing our backs up against one another’s, uniting, standing tall and showing the world how strong we can be. But instead, we just kept doing this.

  “Lose the chip on your shoulder,” she snaps.

  “Not until you lose yours,” I reply calmly. “Admit it to me.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That you slept with Karl to try and dull the ache that has been living in the pit of your stomach, and in the depths of your chest, since you found out that your dad has cancer,” I whisper softly.

  Her face falls flat, instantly killing me with guilt for pressing her on this, but god damn it, I need her to talk. We have danced around this enough. Two months is a long time when it’s filled with a foreign tension between two people who love each other. I need my friend back.

  “Maybe I just wanted to fuck someone,” she retorts, equally as quiet, but she knows it's a lie as soon as she says it.

  “Maybe,” I breathe. “But I think we both know that’s not true.”

  Paris’ head drops down to stare at her hands as they twist around each other, her body radiating nothing but nervous energy and self-loathing. Her bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, the movement so small I’m not sure she even realises what is happening, but I see it. I see it so clearly and I know what's coming.

  “Did it work?” I ask, taking a cautious step towards her, the wooden floor beneath me creaking under the weight.

  She shrugs her shoulders weakly, hoping that’s enough of an answer for me.

  “Did it work, Goose?” I repeat quietly.

  “For a while,” she sniffs, dragging the sleeve of her jumper down over her hand before wiping it across one eye.

  “Was it long enough to make it worth it, to leave you with no regrets?”

  The look on her face breaks my heart and I know I'm faced with two options. Risk upsetting her now but make her see that I don’t want her making decisions that will affect her future happiness, or let it go and watch as she drives herself down the path of self-destruction.

  “Not long enough,” she mumbles, clamping her fabric covered hand over her mouth to stop the audible choke escaping her.

  My feet move quicker than they should. Dandy had told us to be careful when walking in here. It isn't the safest structure around, but in this moment, I don't care. I just need to hold my friend. Before I know it, I'm stood in front of her, throwing both my arms around her body and pulling her face to rest against my shoulder. My hand smoothes her hair down her back as her sobs finally break free. Her body trembles. Her cries of despair bounce off every surface. She is in pieces. She is broken. She is finally letting it all out.

  “Promise me you won’t do this,” I mumble quietly.

  “W-what?” She gasps for air through her tears.

  “Suffer alone.”

  “I’m not the one suffering though, am I? My father is. I have no right to cry. It’s just selfish. Selfish and childish and, and… and…”

  I don’t let her finish, quickly pushing her from me as I grip the tops of her arms and duck my head to make eye contact. “You are suffering more than anyone. Do you hear me? Your mum and dad… they’ll go to bed every night, hold each other tight and say all the things they need to say. They'll comfort, support and get each other through all this. Who do you have? Who are you talking to, Paris? Who? It certainly hasn’t been me. And don’t tell me you’ve been talking to your parents because I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “I don’t need to speak to anyone. It won’t change anything.”

  “Bullshit!” I cry. “Bullshit! You’re a talker. You yap, yap, yap and yap your entire way through life. It’s who you are and how you live. Don’t try fobbing me off with martyr talk. I don’t want to hear it. What I want is my friend to be honest with herself and with me. What I want is for us to go back to how we were before all this adulthood crap started raining down on us a little too prematurely. What I need is for you to keep me close instead of pushing me away, to find comfort in me and not go about your days pretending to find it on the end of Karl Hopkin’s dick. Do you fucking understand, Paris?” My arms shake her limp body in desperation. “My father is an arsehole. I need you to survive. Your dad has cancer. You need me to survive. We’re a team. We’ve got each other this far and I’m not going to let you pretend everything is a-okay when that’s as far from the truth as we can both get right now.” My heavy breaths fill the air. “I won’t let you become someone you’re not. Not now, not in five years, ten years, twenty years or even fifty years time. The sooner you get that into your head, the better.”

  Her eyes widen with every word that passes my lips. She isn't used to me being so vocal. To be honest, neither am I.

  “Now talk to me,” I beg her.

  The heated silence hangs in the air for at least a minute before she gathers enough clarity and strength to speak again.

  “I love you, Maverick,” she eventually whispers.

  My shoulders sag and my grip on her body weakens as nothing more than a slow, heavy sigh escapes me.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I do. I really love you, Mav.”

  “I know, Goose. I love you, too.”

  “I didn’t mean to let you down.”

  I shake my head at her as forcefully as I can, maintaining eye contact so she can see the conviction in my words. “You haven’t.”

  “I've let myself down, haven't I?”

  “Just focus on the here and now and do things because you want to do them, not because you think they will help you forget the pain you’re in.”

  “You know,” she starts, arching a brow as she shuffles nervously. “You’re kinda hot when you’re angry.”

  My laughter erupts into a snort as I pull her down and ruffle her hair. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah…”

  “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

  I'm more than relieved when she starts to laugh back. It may not be her usual infectious sort, more of a quiet acceptance of defeat mixed with the hysteria of the moment, but I'll take it.

  “Matt would totally dig you like that.”

  Pushing her away, I kick her shin playfully and roll my eyes. “Matt’s a dork.”

  “A dork who totally wants inside your chastity belt,” she jokes.

  “Wanting and getting are two totally different things.”

  “Five quid says he’s bagged you before the end of the year,” she challenges. Fuck! She loves a gamble. Always has done, always will. I want to say no, to tell her to leave off and get a new hobby besides obsessing over my virgin status, but she knows I never back down from a bet. Holding my arm out strong, I offer her my hand and lower my chin to show her my game face.

  “You, my little friend, are on.”

  Four

  8th November, 1998

  This party sucks. At least, that's what I keep trying to convince myself. I'm hanging on to sobriety by a thread and I have no idea where Paris is. I know who she's with, though. Karl Hopkins has got his grubby little claws in to her again, whilst I'm stood here in the corner of Matt Cooper's kitchen, looking and feeling like a total loser.

  Since making that bet with Paris, just five weeks ago, the attention I've been receiving from Matt at school has multiplied by a ridiculously significant amount. I've found myself with a new lab buddy in all my science classes - one who never paid this much attention to me, before.

  There's been endless innuendo talk over explosions, Bunsen burners and even tripods, which I will admit to snorting at, at least once. Okay, twice. Chemistry has been intense, biology has been awkward and physics... well, that's just remained as dull as ever. The classes he isn't in with me are almost a relief. I don't blush my way through the teacher’s ramblings, my palms aren't sweaty and my h
ead is actually in the lesson. But every time class ends, I walk out of that door knowing full well Matt Cooper is going to be leaning up against the wall, waiting for me.

  It's almost like I've become a challenge for him. The last remaining virgin in the whole of year twelve whose cherry he can pop. Even the I.T. geeks have been at it in the library while I've just clung on to my inherent fear of sex with no immediate plans to let it go.

  Not until I win my bet. Especially now I'm convinced Paris is using dirty tricks to get her measly five pound. Matt's 'impromptu' house party has my best friend's name written all over it. It's a Hemsworth classic to create a distraction big enough to hide the secret intent behind it. If I didn't know any better, I would say her and Matt were in cahoots.

  Which only makes me even more determined to hold on to what is mine for as long as I can.

  Taking another sip of beer from my red plastic cup, my eyes wander around the room as my foot taps to the ear scratching, happy hard-core tunes that fill the air. If the other kids here knew I would much rather be listening to Elvis or The Carpenters, I would be the laughing stock of the entire school.

  Lowering my arms, I hold my drink in both hands, trying desperately not to look as lonely and pathetic as I feel. My eyes roam down to the tight, black, crushed velvet dress that Paris made me wear. I'm not one for dresses. I'm the ultimate tomboy. Jeans, trainers, hair pulled back, sports bras instead of push ups, you know how it goes. I've never been interested in raising attention to myself. My body has been slow to catch up with the other girls in our school. Whilst they have been talking about boob growth and period frequency since they turned twelve, I have been hiding my flat chest behind baggy sweaters and avoiding talk of anything puberty related by hanging around with the guys.

  I've always been a friend of the lads, never a target. I'm the best friend of the most beautiful girl in school. I know they question why she hangs so close to me. I see their whispers and funny looks but I don't give a shit and neither does she. I almost find myself wanting one of them to ask her what she finds so appealing about our friendship, just so I can laugh when they fall on their arse as she knocks them clean out.