“Stop it! Just stop!” I cry out desperately. But of course, neither of them take notice. And so I do the only thing my scattered, chaotic mind can comprehend. My fishing net firmly in hand, I quickly stumble down the hill. “Ash! Duck!” I scream out, my jellied legs unable to stop.
For a millisecond, both boys stop. “A duck? Where? ” Ash calls, looking around in confusion before his eyes widen in terror at the sight of me running blindly towards him. Just in time, he throws himself down as I swing the wooden rod around, catching Ben by surprise. The rod slams into the side of his head and for a few moments he still looks startled. But then Ash takes his chance and pushes him to the ground, pinning his limp arms to the grass while I throw myself over his legs.
It is silent, the only sound being the rustling of the grass and heavy breathing. But then Ash snarls menacingly and Ben stares back up, looking almost intimidated. “Go home, Hastle.” His voice is cold and hard and deadly, everything that he isn’t. Ben only stares back stubbornly, but he does not resist.
We stay like that for a few, tense minutes, locked in an awkward position. Finally I feel a slight shift in the air and once he is sure that Ben will no longer fight, Ash rolls off of him. He gets up and I follow his example, the knees of our jeans marred by grass stains. Ben staggers painfully to his feet, a bruise already starting to develop around his cheek. He turns to us, clothes tattered and eyes defeated.
“You win this time,” he murmurs quietly, the words lingering in the air. “But don’t think this is over yet.” He looks straight at Ash, his expression unreadable. Then, with as much dignity as possible, he jerks his body around and begins to stiffly climb up the hill towards his fallen comrade. We watch him silently until he has scaled the hill, his silhouette limping away tiredly. I turn to inspect my messy haired companion, sighing quietly.
“You’re hurt,” is the first thing I say, my voice hoarse. A bruise, nearly the size of a golf ball has already formed over one eye and dried blood from a nosebleed stains his ashen skin. Blood oozes gently from a small gash on his forehead, trickling over cut lips.
He brings a hand up to swipe away the blood, grimacing. “It’s not that bad,” he says, as though simply wiping away the evidence can erase the whole fight from his memory. I avert my gaze to the ground, ashamed and guilty and how could I let this happen? How could I almost fall for the guy who did this to him?
“Hope?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
I nod mutely and pick up the seemingly innocent fishing net: a weapon in disguise. “Let’s go back,” I say. “You need to clean that cut before it gets infected.”
He nods in response and this time I lead the way.
*****
The journey back is quiet. We wade through the meadow, Ash limping slightly. Of course, because he is a boy, he refuses to admit that he’s in pain and stays silent and stoic. However his valiant effort to keep up with me impresses me so I let him keep his pride by slowing down a miniscule amount, just enough so that he can catch up and walk beside me, rather than behind me. Neither of us talk until we reach the pavement, when Ash breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“What for?”
A small smile cracks through his invisible mask. “You fought with me,” he points out simply. He is peering intently at me now, with an almost admiring look. I blush slightly under his intense gaze, quickly looking away.
“So?” I ask, not understanding the apparent importance of my actions.
I just didn’t expect you to, that’s all.”
Then what had he expected me to do? Stand and watch? “Doing anything else would have been cowardly,” I say. “I had to do something to help. It was two against one, an unfair fight.”
He nods, smile widening. “But still, thank you,” he repeats. “Without your help, I would probably be lying unconscious in the grass at the moment. You see? I was right that day when I said that you’re brave.”
I stay silent, my eyes glued to the ground. It almost makes me feel nauseous, how much he seems to believe in me. Would he still say those things if he knew that I’d been seeing Ben behind his back? I suddenly realise something. I had never been infatuated with Ben. It had simply been curiosity, an inability to say no to him, and nothing else. All I feel towards him now is resentment, the sort you feel towards a bad memory you wish you could forget. I’m relieved. Some of the guilt evaporates, the guilt of knowing that in a way I’ve betrayed Ash, but also knowing that today I’ve made things right again.
Maybe, my heart which has been frozen for so long, is finally beginning to thaw.
Chapter 14: Burn
It takes three whole days filled with plasters, bandages and blueberry pie before the bruises finally fade and the cuts heal. Jenny’s maternal instincts had kicked in immediately when she saw Ash staggering into the house, blood oozing down the side of his face and a large bruise decorating his eye. After her initial worry, the inevitable anger stage finally made an appearance. As a result, Ash is grounded. And to make matters worse, I’m in charge of keeping him under control.
On Tuesday, the second day of Ash’s imprisonment, I bake cookies. My temporary mean streak has passed. I’m craving something sweet, and it’s the perfect way to stop Ash complaining every ten minutes. When he comes down to the kitchen, obviously attracted by the aroma of baking cookies, he hobbles over to peer through the tinted glass of the oven. I hide a grimace at the limp in his step and the cuts still staining his skin. They’re just cuts, they’ll heal quickly, you did everything you could to help I remind myself.
“What sort of cookies are they?” Ash asks excitedly, eyes suddenly brightening like lamps. “How long are they gonna take? Can I have some? Please?”
“They’re chocolate and almond,” I say. I put on a smile, determinedly banishing the darker thoughts from my mind and focusing on the present instead. “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”
“No,” he replies, still staring at the oven in fascination. It’s endearing in a strange way, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“You’re so easily amused.”
“Only when food’s involved, dear.”
“So true.”
He finally turns away from the oven to quirk an eyebrow at me. “So what’s the deal? What do you want?”
I smile innocently. “Why do you think I want something? Can’t someone bake cookies without an ulterior motive?”
He snorts. “Yes, just not you. This is bribery, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m just being nice. Is that so hard to believe?”
He sighs in frustration, but drops it. “Fine, whatever it is you want, I’m sure the cookies will be worth it anyway.”
“You bet they will.”
Ten minutes later I take the cookies out, the enticing scent wafting out in volumes. “Don’t touch them yet,” I say, looking pointedly at Ash who is staring at the baked goods hungrily. “They’re hot.”
He pouts. “Fine.” Despite his consent though he still hovers over them longingly, like a hawk cornering its prey.
“And don’t drool on them either.” He laughs, moving to sit at the table. After making tea, I join him with two mugs and a plate of the cookies. He immediately grabs one and devours it.
“Nice cookies,” he comments.
“So glad you approve.”
For a while, we both eat silently. This is the perfect time, my chance to finally get some answers. I look at Ash, content as usual, and the memories from the fight flood back to me. I remember Ben, the cold hardness of his eyes, the loathing in them. The way he had relentlessly pummelled Ash’s face in a frenzy of hatred, the way he had looked at me. I suddenly realise that Ben is dangerous. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? What if someone ends up in hospital the next time?
“Ash,” I start tentatively.
“Hmm?”
“How do you know Ben Hastle?” I watch him closely, gauging his reaction. First comes the surprise. Then his eyes har
den. His face is schooled into a calm, practiced expression, my cookies long forgotten. That in itself shows the gravity of the situation.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious.”
He sighs. “He used to go to my school, not very long ago.”
“Were you friends with him?” I ask.
“Yes. He used to be infamous, you know.”
“A bad reputation?”
“Sort of. He was one of those bad-ass, dark mysterious types that all the girls swooned over. I used to admire him, always wanted to be more like him.”
“So he was popular, then?”
“I guess you could say that. He was one of those people though, that others respect more out of fear than anything else,” he explains, then adds with a chuckle: “Except for his fan girls that is. They wouldn’t care if he was a murderer.”
It’s only a joke, but the tone of his voice causes me to shudder slightly. There is a dark look in his eyes. “That’s not true though. He would never actually kill someone, right?” I ask, hoping for some form of reassurance. But when Ash just stares at me, or rather through me, an interesting mixture of morbid curiosity and dread begins to claw its way up my spine.
“No, of course not,” he says in the end. Then he gets up and leaves, oddly subdued. And although he has left, I still feel that prickle of dread, because I had seen it clearly in his eyes.
He lied.
*****
The questions that Ash answered in our conversation only bring up new ones. It is a mystery, one that only half of me wants to solve. The other half is afraid of the answers I’ll find.
I organise with Claire to spend the afternoon at her house, promising cookies as an apology for inviting myself over. She says she’d rather spend it with me than her bipolar little brother anyway so I shouldn’t apologize, but to still bring along the cookies. When I tell Ash of my plans he mutters gloomily under his breath about something, but otherwise does not protest.
Claire’s house reminds me of a large, synthetic marshmallow. There is a glinting silver car embedded into the driveway and probably another one in the fancy garage. A paved path leads through a neatly trimmed lawn to a stark white front door. It’s clean and plastic looking, like a life-size Lego house. I feel intimidated walking up to her porch in my scruffy attire and limp hair, like I’m a stain against all of this perfection.
The door is opened to her bright grin and she quickly ushers me inside. She’s wearing a pretty teal dress today, with a russet cardigan and unnecessary scarf. Despite it being over the top (although I’ve come to not expect anything less) I’m surprised to see her wear something that matches. “My mum bought it for me yesterday,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “She said I should wear stuff that’s more ‘ladylike’ and less ‘childish’. Figures.” It suddenly comes to me that Claire must think I’m the most boring person in existence, as I’m practically sewn into my jeans and grey sweater.
We sit down on the living room rug, out of reach of the billowing scarlet curtains and just in front of the leather sofa. She informs me that her parents are both out, at work, and she’s babysitting her brother. Said brother makes his appearance in the room just as I’m unwrapping the cookies.
“Oh, it’s you again,” he says in contempt. Claire sends him a chastising glare which he ignores.
“Will you hate me less if I give you a cookie?” I ask, holding out the box.
He wavers for a moment, before joining us on the floor and accepting one. “Thanks.”
“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” Claire sighs.
“Why? Does my presence annoy you, sis?”
“Yeah, it’s like having a fly constantly buzzing in my ear.”
“Then I think I’ll stick around for a while.”
She scowls, turning to me instead. “So anyway, Hope, how’s life with Ash?”
“It’s fine. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened lately.” Big, fat lie.
“He hasn’t driven you mad yet?” Daniel pipes up.
“Not quite,” I joke. “I’m pretty hard core.”
“Sure.” He pauses. “How long did you say you were living with him for?”
“Just until the end of summer, unless I choose to stay permanently. Jenny’s already said I can, if I really like it here.”
“You should,” Claire encourages, and she does her special crinkle-eyed smile which I sorely need to practice. “You could join my school and be in my form. It’d be great.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I haven’t decided yet, but that sounds good.” I do another pass-around of the cookies. “You said there was another school around here though, didn’t you? The one Ben Hastle goes to?” I catch the slight set of her jaw at his name. Daniel seems unfazed, but I know that Claire will not like this new direction of our conversation. Despite this, I press on. I can feel guilty over making her uncomfortable later.
“Yeah, there is, on the other side of town. You wouldn’t like it there, trust me.” She sighs. “You’re not still trying to find out more about him, are you?”
I laugh nervously. If only you knew, I think to myself. “Actually we came across him and his groupies the other day you know,” I say.
Daniel scoffs. “Big deal. Did anything actually happen?”
“Sure did. We fought.”
Claire looks horrified. “You fought them?” she repeats in astonishment. Daniel looks taken aback, and there’s something akin to respect in his eyes.
“But you’re a girl,” he states.
I feel a flicker of indignation. “You think I can’t fight just because I’m a girl?”
“You can, just not as well.”
Prick. I feel a vein in my forehead pulsate comically, like a cartoon character. But before I can say anything, Claire interrupts with concern written all over her features. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Is Ash okay? Were you hurt?”
“Its fine,” I fend her off. “We’re both fine. Just a few cuts and bruises, but we got Ben to back off in the end. I wacked him in the forehead with a fishing net.”
Daniel laughs. Claire frowns disapprovingly. “That was a pretty stupid thing to do,” she says.
“I was defending myself and Ash!”
“Not that, I meant getting involved in the fight in the first place.”
“If I hadn’t, Ash would have been crushed, quite literally. It was two against one, it wasn’t even fair. I couldn’t just stand by and watch, useless like always. I had to help him.”
She sighs in exasperation, but I can detect a smile beneath it. “It was pretty stupid, but at the same time it was brave of you as well.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Even Daniel smiles slightly. “Ben had it coming,” he supplies.
“Yeah. You’re right about that.” I pause. “Do either of you know what happened to make Ben and Ash hate each other so much?”
“You shouldn’t-” Claire starts, but I quickly cut her off.
“Claire,” I murmur. “I can handle myself. Hell, I’ve fought him, isn’t it only fair I know why?”
She seems ready to argue, lips pressed into a thin line, but in the end she just gives a dejected sigh. “Fine,” she says, and shares a meaningful glance with Daniel. “I’d tell you, except we’re not sure of the whole story ourselves.”
I force back the surge of defeat that threatens to overwhelm me. “Isn’t there anyone else…?”
“There is one person who might tell you,” Daniel says quietly. “If you can convince her to, that is.”
“Who?”
His face is grim as he answers. “Tia Hastle. Ben’s little sister.”
*****
Claire agrees to show me to the house. Although we offer for Daniel to come with us, out of obligation more than anything, he refuses.
“I dated her last year,” he explains with a grin, as though proud of this fact. “Ended badly though. She found out I’d been lying to her about my age and wouldn’t go out with a young
er man. Scary twelve year old she was back then. She threatened to send me through the wall.” He chuckles. “Good luck interrogating her.”
It makes me wonder how Claire’s parents cope. “You’re bother’s sadistic, if you don’t mind me saying,” I mutter to her once we begin our trek.
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