Just great.
Heavy metal was so not my thing. I was in the minority, though—again—and the pub was full to bursting. The dance floor had become a writhing mosh pit and the only safe spot I could find to avoid being whipped and potentially blinded by all the flying hair was wedged in tight next to a speaker.
Hayden played guitar brilliantly, his performance faultless. He looked the part, too, dressed in his uniform black, this time wearing leather trousers and a sleeveless vest, showing off the tattoos on his arms, his green eyes ringed with a heavy line of black. Sadly, this other side to him just didn’t do anything for me. I was more inclined to ask him for some tips on applying kohl eyeliner than try to discuss anything else. Thankfully, he was too caught up in the music to pay any attention to me; they didn’t even take a half-time interval, so I got away with playing Candy Crush and Angry Birds.
By the time Screwed reached the end of their set and completed their second encore, I’d drained my phone battery and was convinced my ears were bleeding internally. More alarmingly, I hadn’t figured out how to politely decline if Hayden asked me out again. He stepped off the foot-high stage and came straight for me, his eyes wild, pumped from all the energy in the room. Trapped with no way out, I felt my pulse spike and my heels smacked into the speaker. He wasted no time in grabbing me and pulling me against his soaking wet body, dripping with sweat. I opened my mouth to protest but he took the opportunity to plunge his wet, slimy tongue inside, shoving it so far back he triggered my gag reflex.
Hayden tasted of stale cigarettes and salt, and I barely controlled the urge to retch. A shudder ripped through me, which he immediately took the wrong way. He dropped his hands to grope my backside, pulling me even more firmly against him so I could feel something else stirring to life inside his leather trousers. It was exactly how I imagined being a groupie to be, all I needed was ‘property of …’ stamped somewhere on me. How long until he asked me to step outside, or to pop back to the van, or maybe he was happy to get it on right there under cover of the speaker. Losing my virginity with a guy I didn’t remotely fancy any more in a crowded room full of pissed-up metal-heads didn’t appeal. Neither did the kissing, or, rather, the gross tongue-thrusting.
He had to notice I wasn’t joining in soon, surely.
Apparently not.
Hayden shoved his hand down the front of my jeans and roughly fumbled to get past the next barrier blocking his path. No way was he getting his fingers—or anything else, for that matter—inside my lacy hipsters. Not now, not ever. I raised my hands to his chest and shoved so hard he went flying backwards, tripped over some guy’s foot and ended up on his arse. His wide eyes narrowed and he closed his gaping mouth, then he sprang back onto his feet and lurched towards me, his whole body tense.
‘What the hell is your problem?’ he hissed.
‘My problem?’ I put my hands on my hips and matched his aggressive tone. ‘Do you make a habit of shoving your hand into a girl’s pants on the first date?’
The last thing I expected him to do was laugh.
‘Oi, Hayden,’ Max called, his voice hoarse after all that shrieking. ‘Put your piece of arse down for five minutes and get over here, this stuff doesn’t pack itself away.’
Piece of arse?
‘Be right there,’ Hayden shouted, not even attempting to put Max straight or stick up for me.
My hands clenched into fists. ‘I am not your “piece of arse”, Hayden.’
‘No, you’re not, are you? You’re feisty.’ He stepped into my space again and circled around me, trailing his hand over my butt. ‘I like it when a girl plays hard to get.’
‘I am not playing hard to get.’
‘No?’ Hayden aimed his lopsided grin at me, back on the charm offensive. I swear he must practise the look in front of a mirror every night to get it just right. It wasn’t working on me any more, though; my fingers itched to wipe it off his face. ‘So would it be OK on the second date, or are you going to push me all the way to the third?’
Jeez, the guy was delusional. And a little bit creepy.
Why hadn’t I just bailed when the first song drilled a hole into my sinuses?
If I had any battery left on my phone, I’d be using it right now to get someone to pick me up. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi, I didn’t even know where I was, which meant I was stuck with Hayden and his stupid bandmates for the time being. Hayden misread my sigh and shot me a wink as he backed away to join the rest of the band on stage.
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said, putting ideas in my head.
Like hell was I going to stand around like some kind of trophy! I wandered out into the car park the moment his back was turned and sucked in a deep breath. The car park was virtually empty already, just a couple of cars and the band’s van, parked side on with its rear doors wide open, illuminated by the car park’s up-lighters. Waiting in the van was better than standing around like a fool, so I set off towards it. Hayden would find me all too soon, anyway. I climbed aboard the van just in time to disturb the drummer, Pete, as he snorted a line of white powder.
Oh, man!
He turned to face me, his eyes glazed and unfocused. ‘Want some?’ he asked, offering me the straw he’d just a second ago had up his nose.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, putting the straw back up his nose and blocking the other nostril with his index finger.
Unable to tear my gaze away, I watched him hoover up the last of the dust before unrolling the straw to reveal a twenty pound note, which he slipped back inside his wallet, then into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall of the van, inhaling deeply through his nose, then exhaling slowly through his mouth, looking utterly at peace as a contented smile teased the corners of his mouth.
Pete heard the voices the same time I did. He opened his eyes and stared past me, his pupils the most dilated I’d ever seen on anyone. Hayden appeared at the door first, his guitar slung over his back as he carried an amplifier in his arms. The bass guitarist, whose name escaped me, rammed the microphone stands into my outstretched legs.
‘You could have just asked her to move her legs, bro,’ Hayden said, finally coming to me defence. I wish I could say I was relieved to see him. He hopped up and came to sit right beside me, grabbing hold of my hand. Pete stayed at the far end, the bass guitarist stepped over me to join him, closely followed by Chris on keyboards, then Max climbed in and closed the doors behind him so we were all crammed in the back of the Transit. Just when I didn’t think things could get any more surreal, Max held the van keys out to me.
‘I don’t suppose you drive?’ he said.
‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘Not yet.’
Max cursed and shook his head. ‘Here you go, then, Pete, it looks like it’s up to you to get us home tonight.’ Max tossed the keys over to Pete, who missed them completely and they crashed to the van floor.
‘Pete?’ I blurted, my voice raised enough to bounce back of the walls. ‘But he’s—’
‘Hayden, why don’t you and your lady come up front with me?’ Pete asked, cutting me off. ‘Give the boys some room to spread out?’
‘Lady’ was a darn sight better than ‘piece of arse’ at least.
‘No, it’s OK.’ Hayden put his arm possessively around me. ‘Lena’s cool.’
I am?
Max shrugged. ‘If you say so, bro.’
By way of assurance, Hayden shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a couple of bank notes, one folded into a small square, the other folded in half and slightly rumpled from being wedged up tight against his arse. If it was possible to feel sympathy for a piece of paper, then I did. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a bank card, the same bank as mine as it happened, not that I was desperate to find anything in common with him or anything.
Mesmerised, I watched him turn the card over so that the magnetic strip faced up and prop it on h
is bent knees. Hayden pressed the crisper banknote against his thigh to straighten it, then nimbly rolled into a tight cylinder.
What the …?
Oh, Valentina Bell, you are so naïve.
It wasn’t just Pete on the happy dust: they were all at it. The puzzle pieces that had been bugging me all evening suddenly slotted together to form a complete picture in high definition: the pre-gig pep talk that I wasn’t invited to, the high-energy performance, the sweating, the copious amounts of water they’d all been drinking, Hayden’s wild eyes, his personality transplant … And there was I thinking Hayden had been on a natural high when he’d come off stage. No wonder he’d always come across as mysterious on the bus: he was more than likely either stoned or coming down.
With his straw constructed to his satisfaction, Hayden unfolded the second banknote carefully, then bent it in half horizontally. Keeping his knees perfectly still, he tipped a line of white powder onto the back of the bank card. As if he could feel my boggle-eyed gaze boring into him, Hayden turned to look at me.
‘Do you want to go first?’ he asked, offering me the rolled-up twenty.
‘No, you’re OK,’ I said, ‘Thanks, though,’ I added, trying not to sound like a total dork.
‘Seriously, I don’t mind sharing,’ he said. ‘Besides, I can pick up more at the party.’
‘It’s just that … well … I don’t really do drugs.’
Hayden’s eyebrows arched. ‘What? Not any?’
‘Does caffeine count?’ I forced a smile onto my face.
‘No way?’ He eyed me with total disbelief. Even the other band members stopped mid inhale to stare at me. Prize freak time again. ‘You’re missing out,’ he said finally, accompanying it with a shrug.
Thinking back to the look of rapture on Pete’s face, I realised that Hayden probably had a point.
‘You go right ahead, though, before you twitch, or sneeze or something.’
Hayden nodded, then inserted the makeshift straw partway up his nose and, whoosh, half of the dust was gone. He made it look so easy.
‘I feel like a right shit leaving you out, Lena. Here—’ he tried handing me the straw again ‘—you have the rest.’
If I’d said I wasn’t even slightly tempted, it would be an outright lie. What if I liked it, though—really liked it? I’d be on a very slippery slope indeed.
‘No, you’re all right, Hayden,’ I said. ‘I think I will join Pete up front, after all.’
‘Why?’
‘Just to give you more space like Pete said. And, you know, to not put you off.’
‘Fuck. You’re freaking out, aren’t you?’ Hayden said. ‘Look at you, gnawing on your lip.’
Bugger, I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. ‘Of course I’m not freaking out.’
‘Bullshit. I honestly thought it might just be an act for college but you really are Miss Goody Two Shoes, aren’t you?’
Gee, thanks, Hayden.
‘So what if I am?’
‘It’s just so … boring. Don’t you think?’
I couldn’t even bring myself to reply. Instead, I sighed and mentally scribbled over his name from the shortlist in thick, black, permanent marker pen as he snorted up the last of the line. Impossible as it seemed after his earlier sleaze-factor, he’d sunk even lower in my estimation. Saved from having to come up with a polite decline, I got to my feet and clambered over his and Max’s legs, thankful I’d worn trousers—not that anybody was paying attention to me, anyway—and I reached the doors easily enough, but they wouldn’t budge.
‘Mind yourself.’ Pete’s voice in my ear made me jump to the side, narrowly missing Max’s fingers.
Pete turned side on, his back to me, then bumped his hip against the door at the same time as he pushed. On the second go, the door swung open and let in a surge of deliciously fresh air. Inhaling sharply, I filled my lungs, then stepped out onto the concrete to make my way to the front door. I flopped into the passenger seat, or rather my end of the bench, and tugged sharply on the wide ribbon to make sure the locking mechanism worked before I clipped myself in.
Funnily enough, it didn’t make me feel any better.
The sounds of tapping and then snorting from the back didn’t help, either.
Pete took his seat behind the wheel and fired up the engine. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and bumped up and over the kerb to the protests from the back. I clung onto the door handle with both hands as he then pulled out onto the road without even looking, driving way too fast. Never in my life had I wanted to break the law so badly. Why hadn’t I lied and got us the hell out of there? I stood just as good a chance as Pete of getting us all home safely, probably better, even without a licence.
‘Um … you might want to put the headlights on, Pete.’
‘Oh, yeah. Cheers.’
We lurched so fast around one bend, the snare drum landed with a crash. Instead of slowing down, as any sane guy would, Pete seemed to accept it as a challenge and took the next bend even faster. I jammed my eyes closed but that only seemed to make my other senses stronger, so I knew the exact moment two of the wheels left the road.
I’m going to die.
My eyelids flew open on instinct and the world was on a peculiar, terrifying angle. I didn’t dare breathe out, my lips clamped shut, just in case it made all the difference between rolling the van onto its side and down the bank, and getting all four wheels back on the ground. Finally, we tipped the right way, landing with a thump. I yelped, winded by the force of the impact, but Pete just laughed, and gunned the accelerator even harder.
Enough.
‘Stop!’
‘Huh?’ Pete took his eyes off the road and looked at me. Talk about wired, it was a wonder he hadn’t killed the lot of us already.
‘Stop the van, I want to get out.’ My voice caught in my throat and my eyes implored him to slow down. ‘Please …’
‘It’s fine …’ Pete took one hand off the wheel and stopped looking at the road altogether. I bit back a whimper and tightened my grip on the handle. Pete fumbled around for something, I didn’t know what, unable to tear my gaze off the road whizzing by. Half of a rollup cigarette appeared in front of my nose, the smell telling me there was more than tobacco in there. ‘Here, get a light on this and have a few drags. It’ll help you relax.’
‘Like hell it will.’ I slapped his hand away. Manners weren’t working, time to try a different approach. ‘I said stop the van, Pete. I want to get out. Now.’
‘Fine.’ He slammed on the brakes and brought us to a screeching halt.
I didn’t even have time to react, let alone get into a brace position, but the seatbelt did its job. For a nanosecond, I hadn’t been sure and visions of flying through the windscreen were all too vivid. Curses fired at Pete from the rear as equipment crashed and rolled around the floor. I almost felt sorry for the stoned idiots in the back. Not enough to make me stick around, though. All fingers and thumbs, I fought with the seatbelt, struggling to get free.
Pete banged his knuckles against the metal divide and shouted, ‘Hayden, your lady is leaving. Are you staying or going?’
‘He’s staying,’ I muttered, before Hayden had a chance to answer. The seatbelt finally released me and I wrenched on the handle to open the door. Ignoring the step, I leaped straight down on the road.
Freedom.
Pete revved the engine and made the wheels spin, presumably trying to goad me, but I refused to make eye contact. I turned back just long enough to slam the door shut on the heap of junk, then ran to the side of the road. He peeled away, earning more disgruntled shouts. From the sanctuary of the grass verge, I watched the red tail lights race around the next bend before disappearing, leaving only silence and blackness in its wake.
Pitched into total darkness, I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. I turned in a circle, my chest tightening with each breath. Nothing was familiar. There were no landmarks, no signposts, not one thing to give me a clue to my location. I was
stuck in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a dead phone.
Omigod, what have I done?
Chapter Four
CHASE
Giving up and sinking to the kerb would have been easy—understandable, given the circumstances—but I forced myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, and followed the road in the direction the van had taken. The silence wasn’t so silent after all. Leaves rustled in the trees overhead, nocturnal creatures scurried in the undergrowth, and I kept hearing a weird squeaking sound, which turned out to be bats flying above me in the starless sky.
Time didn’t mean anything to me—without my phone, I was useless—so I counted paces instead. I didn’t know how true it was, but I’d once read a thing about the Roman Empire and how the army used to count each time the left foot hit the ground. Why it stuck in my mind was anyone’s guess. Since I’d started counting, I’d walked over four thousand steps, so, going by Roman army theory, I’d already walked over two miles. An orange haze glowed some way ahead, spurring me on, and, after a further fifteen hundred steps, the sounds of nature slowly faded away, replaced by faint traffic sounds.
Another two thousand steps—another mile—and I came to a junction but with no road signs to guide me. The new road had street lamps at least, which had to mean civilisation—eventually—but which way to turn? Left or right? I stood on the corner of the junction and I stared in each direction, finally convincing myself that the glow seemed stronger coming from the left. Setting off again, I’d walked only another five hundred and twenty-seven steps when I spotted a bus stop glinting in the distance.
Yes!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t like the modern ones I was used to, with the digital board telling you the time and when the next bus was due. There was a timetable on the wall, though. And that meant I could study the route and finally work out where I was and try to figure out a way home. A car sped past, the first one I’d heard for ages, but I didn’t think anything of it until car doors banged and I realised the car had stopped a little further up the road.
Popping the Cherry Page 4