He surprises me with a bitter laugh. “There was nothing brave about it,” he says, smirking dryly. “All I did was correct my own mistake. It was my choice to join Ben’s little group in the first place. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t lead to anything good, but I was stupid and reckless and more concerned with my reputation than anything else.” He falters, frowning. “The night he called me and told me to meet him on the outskirts of town, I was glad to be included. He actually told me over the phone what he was planning to do and I still went along anyway. He even gave me the choice to sit it out. I could’ve told someone before, I could have persuaded him out of it, but I didn’t. I was going to go through with it until the last moment when I finally realised how stupid I had been.”
There’s a tense silence and I sit there, curled up in the same position, surprised by his blunt honesty. His eyes are clouded, pained. I can almost feel the guilt and shame radiating off of him. “Ash-” I start.
“I never meant for anyone to get hurt,” he continues. “I never even thought about the consequences. I was stupid and reckless.”
I shake my head stubbornly. “I don’t blame you,” I say. “You did the right thing in the end, and that’s what counts.”
He sends me a small half-smile and I’m compelled to smile back as the serious air hanging over the room starts to dissipate. “See? You’re not as cold-hearted as you pretend to be,” he laughs, then sobers slightly. “Thank you, for saying that.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive Ben, for what he almost did?”
His warm eyes swirl, sparkling amber in the glow coming from the TV. “I was never really angry,” he admits, staring off towards the window on the far side of the room. “Well, not about his pyromania at least. In a way I could even understand him. I was friends with him after all, and that makes it hard to hate him.”
“Hate’s a strong word,” I agree. “It’s hard to really hate anyone, no matter what it is they’ve done.” But even as I say this, I’m not thinking of Ben and Ash anymore. I’m thinking of my sisters.
*****
I suppose what you try to block out always finds a way to squirm past even the most carefully constructed walls. I try to block out my memories, the dreams and any thoughts that concern them. It works for a few hours but by the time I retreat to the confines of my room and get into bed, my mind has subconsciously started remembering again. It’s never a good thing. And tonight, I remember my father.
I’ve never really thought of him as an individual, somehow. Whenever I remember him he is standing with my mother, one arm wrapped lazily around her shoulders just like I remember them; a package deal. He was actually quite similar to Ash, being carefree, jovial, rarely angry and unable to handle responsibility. My mother on the other hand was sensitive, strict and a perfectionist. They say opposites attract, right?
The clearest memory I have of him is the one time I had him all to myself, as selfish as that sounds. It was shortly after my sixth birthday and he took me out to the field that day, to celebrate the last, dying remains of summer and watch the golden leaves rustle in the wind. Although we did not share many things in common, that was the one thing we both loved: autumn.
“The leaves are going to start falling soon,” he said to me and I remember clearly the exact sound of his voice, the exact texture of his large hand smothering mine.
I had grinned up at him, showing off gaps in my teeth. “I know, daddy. The leaves are really pretty when they fall.” Mother always said that I looked more like him, and acted more like her.
“Of course. Everything’s beautiful at some point in its life, after all.”
We stayed in the meadow until the sun finally began to sink behind the clouds, unaware of the time. And then, soon, darkness began to take over. When the darkness consumed the sky, only the stars remained. We had lain down on the grass and stared up into that endless darkness sprinkled with little punctures. It was a perfectly warm night, silent except for the gentle rustle of the grass.
Curling up beside him I whispered quietly: “Do you hate anyone, daddy?” I already knew the answer I wanted to hear and I was asking for reassurance more than anything.
“No, why do you think I hate someone?” he asked, turning worried eyes on me.
“Because everybody hates someone, right?”
“No, that’s not true,” he murmured. I remember he looked older than he really was in that moment, wiser than I’d ever given him credit for. “Hate is a double-bladed sword. It hurts others just as much as it hurts yourself. There’s no point in hating, it only makes more people unhappy.” I hadn’t understood everything he said then, but I smiled and nodded anyway, trusting him. He accepted it and turned to gaze back up at the sky. He showed me the Dog Star that night.
“Look, Hope. That’s the brightest star in the sky,” he explained and pointed up into the bleak darkness. “It’s called Sirius.”
I followed his gaze and found the little white pinprick with confusion. “What is a star, daddy?”
“They’re fireflies, lost in the night.”
“Really?”
“One day,” he continued, smiling softly. “We can catch them all.”
Chapter 16: One for sorrow, two for joy
I remember I wanted to wear orange on the day of our parents’ funeral. Not just any orange, bright carrot orange. It had been their favourite colour. It always had been, ever since father accidentally dyed his hair ginger and realised that he liked it and ever since mother first met her future husband by accidentally causing him to trip face first into a pumpkin pie. It was an interesting story to tell whenever anyone asked how my parents met.
It was only expected that my sisters had gone deathly pale when they walked in to see me standing in the middle of the room wearing an orange trench coat that was five sizes too big for me, complete with a matching top hat that I had splattered with deep, tangerine paint.
“What are you wearing?” Faith had hissed and Dawn poked her head around the door to find the source of the commotion.
I looked innocently back at her with confused, sad eyes. “Orange,” I whispered. “It was mum and dad’s favourite colour.”
Faith’s eyes softened, if only for a moment, before they turned cold and steely again. “Don’t be foolish,” she spat. “You wear black to funerals, not that.” Then she walked over to my dresser, picked up the neglected black dress that I had originally been planning to wear and threw it at me. “Change, now.”
I faltered for a moment. I almost wanted to protest, but the rebellious part of me had died along with our parents so I only nodded obediently instead.
The black parade was different, like nothing I had experienced before. I never thought about what to expect, maybe a variety of oddly-clothed mourners? Or a party, to celebrate the lives of the ones who had died? Instead it was cold, silent, subdued. A large group of mourners clad in black stood around the two coffins, like a flock of crows or maybe grim reapers. Some were crying quietly, dabbing at their eyes occasionally, acting as if they cared, as if a part of them had died too. Our relatives – the few that we still knew about – were like strangers to the four of us. They were just a small group of elderly people with falsely sympathetic expressions and hardened eyes.
Faith was the one elected out of the four of us to make a speech.
She had been nervous a few days before, but at the funeral she was calm. Her face was set in stone – a cold, expressionless mask as she climbed onto the small platform, positioned the microphone and began to speak. I hardly remember her speech. In fact, the whole day passed almost as if it were a dream, or a nightmare. I stared blankly ahead as if trying to see through the solid walls of the coffins. I caught bits of her speech, bits like ‘we will always remember them’ and ‘they were undeserving of death’. She read out a poem, one which she had been working on for a long time, and it was beautiful. She spoke of endless nights, withering flames and glimmers of light in the dark. B
eside me, Lily’s hands were clenched tightly into fists as if she was fighting against tears, while Dawn had simply given up the struggle and let the moisture stream down her cheeks.
I did not cry. I couldn’t cry.
I remember all I felt that day was an overwhelming numbness; an icy cold that seeped through my body and froze my heart. It was only afterwards, after the Vicar made his speech, after the coffins were lowered into the ground, after the dirt was shovelled on top and after all of the fake mourners paid their respects and left, that the four of us stayed behind. There was a silent understanding between us. We didn’t have to say anything; each of us knew that all of our thoughts were the same.
Now, when I remember those few moments, I think of them. I think of all three of them and remember that despite their words and that despite everything, we are still four quarters of one whole. The loss of our parents brought us all together for those few, precious moments before we were torn apart again.
It’s sad to think that it took a tragedy to unify us for the first time.
*****
The day I meet Ben for the last time, I tell myself, I already know that something is going to go wrong. I have a knack for predicting horrible events. Just beforehand I get a jittery feeling in my stomach, like there’s a hive of bees inside me trying to burst out, and my hands go clammy. Or maybe it’s just because I’m nervous. I also start noticing things; bad omens, the weather. Today there’s a single magpie on the field.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But when I finally see Ben in the distance, I begin to think that it’s a mistake. Because when I see his eyes, they aren’t the eyes of the boy who had taken me out to dinner. They are cold and hard, flashing with anger; dangerous. I’m actually scared. I suddenly wish I had told Ash where I was going, so that at least I would have help if I need it.
“You,” he accuses once he’s close enough, spitting the word out. “You should have taken my side during that fight, not Ash’s.”
“I can take whoever’s side I want to,” I say, trying to look calmer than I actually am. “Look, I’m sorry for leading you on. I should never have agreed to go out with you. I realise now that I made a mistake.”
He narrows his eyes, mouth curling into a sneer. “Don’t give me that. I know you like me, just like all of those other stupid girls. You want me.”
How deluded is this guy? “I would rather date a cactus than you,” I snap. “I didn’t see it at the beginning, but I do now. You’re crazy. I know what happened, what you almost did, and I don’t blame Ash for that.”
He looks surprised for a moment, but then the expression solidifies into absolute fury. “That’s why,” he mutters. “This is about Ash, isn’t it? That idiot. I was trying to help him all that time, don’t you see? Without me, he was insignificant. I made people respect him, I made him popular.”
“You tried to force him to burn down the town council building! If he’d actually gone through with it, he would’ve been put in prison. But you would have gotten away easily, no punishment at all. You used him.”
“No, I taught him. I did everything I could to help him, and what did he do in return? He stabbed me in the back, turned on me at the last minute. And now he’s trying to convince you that he’s the victim here. That bastard.”
“He did the right thing,” I glare. “He knew it was wrong, so he stood up for himself. I thought you said that’s what you liked about me, that I stand up for myself.”
“Oh, I do,” a mischievous smirk suddenly spreads across Ben’s face. He takes a step closer, grabbing my wrist before I can wrench it away. “In fact, I love it when you’re difficult. You make things so much more interesting.” He leans in close to my ear, so close I can feel his disgustingly warm breath on my skin. “I want you all to myself,” he whispers.
Before I can shout out for help, he pushes me to the ground and pounces, holding my wrists against the grass and straddling me. The fear works its way through my system like a drug until I want nothing more than to scream my lungs out, but he slaps a hand over my mouth. “You want me too, say it,” he orders, grinning maniacally.
I shake my head, eyes wide. Please stop I think, but it does no good. I know he won’t listen to my pathetic pleas. In fact he seems turned on by them. What a sadist. He leans down and forces his lips onto mine, almost choking me. His hands roam my body, tugging at my clothes, and I suddenly know how things will play out. He’s going to rape me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him, I realise. I feel tears budding in my eyes as I inwardly berate myself for being stupid enough to come out here alone and meet up with someone I had known was a little insane and a pyromaniac. What next? Picnics with wild bears? I do the only thing I can think of. I bite down hard on his lip and he lets out a whine of pain, springing up with a livid expression.
“Brat,” he snarls. “You’ll regret that.” I feel a sharp stinging across my cheek as he slaps me. Damn, I’ve only made things worse I think, and prepare myself for more pain. I’ve resigned myself to it, knowing I can’t fight back. He grins, sensing my defeat like a predator circling injured prey. I’m just about to close my eyes in resignation, when something amazing happens.
“Get the hell off her right now you bastard, or you’ll regret it.”
I open my eyes just in time to see Ash tackle Ben off of me and hit the boy, rather hard I notice with satisfaction, in the head. I sit there speechless, shocked by his arrival, silently wondering ‘how did he know I was here?’ But then, I don’t especially care why he’s here. I’m just eternally grateful that he is.
Ash has the upper hand and stands, dragging Ben with him by his collar. The blond boy seems dazed, and barely has the energy left to stand on his own. Ash’s eyes blaze furiously, a fire brighter than I have ever seen, one that makes me realise that I’m safe. Everything’s okay now. Because Ash is here, and he will take care of it, and Ben won’t hurt me anymore. It makes me realise that I was stupid to ever give up hope in the first place, that I should’ve known he would be there, just like he always has been.
“If you dare hurt her again, or even come near us, I will call the police,” Ash threatens, and for once Ben actually looks intimidated. “Hope will testify against you. I’m a witness. We could so easily have you charged for attempted rape. Do you understand?”
There’s a tense pause, one that fills the space between us and saturates the air. Finally Ben nods, and for once he looks solemn. He knows he’s lost. “Why not call the police now?” he asks quietly. “Why are you giving me another chance?”
“You don’t deserve it,” Ash mutters. “But let’s just say that now we’re equal. A truce, so there won’t be any more fights.” Ash lets go, and Ben doesn’t say anything more. He sends me one last glare, but I see that when he looks at Ash there’s something different in his eyes; something more than hate, something similar to admiration. He leaves quickly, stumbling away. And somehow, there is a silent understanding that a score has been settled, that this is finally the end.
As soon as Ben leaves Ash turns to me, eyes bright with concern, mouth already in a frown. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks, coming over to help me up. My knees knobble precariously beneath me. I try to speak, but the words don’t come. Because really, I’m not okay. I’m stupid and helpless and I got myself into this mess.
“I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, my whole body shaking with leftover adrenaline. Then the tears come. “I’m so sorry Ash, this is all my fault.”
He wraps his arms around me. “It’s not your fault, Hope, I should have warned you.”
“You don’t understand - ”
“Yes, I do. Tia told me everything.”
I gasp against his chest. “Is that how you found me?”
“Yeah. She was worried about you, so she called, telling me where you were. She also told me about your other…meetings.”
This just makes me cry harder. “I’m sorry,�
� I repeat, hoping desperately he won’t hate me. “I should never have done it. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologising,” he scolds gently. “I’m not angry at you for it. You didn’t know about what happened, or what a psycho he is.” I just nod mutely, silently thanking him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I will be, anyway. Just a bit shaken.”
“Let’s go home,” he says softly, and begins to lead me through the field. “Do you want to talk about this?”
“No,” I mumble. Finally I get a grip and manage to control my shivers. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s because of his arm that’s still around me. “Can we just pretend this never happened?”
He pauses for a minute, hesitant, then sighs. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. But it’s pointless, really, because he already knows.
Cold Water Page 17