by C.J Duggan
My shoulders sagged in relief; Adam’s room was uncharacteristically tidy, like he had made an effort knowing I was coming. I dumped my belongings next to the door, resisting the urge to text Adam, Where the bloody hell are you? It’s what the Ellie of old would do, the Ellie BC (Before Crush). I had to remind myself all the time. What would old Ellie do? How would she behave? Old Ellie would have swanned up the staircase, dumped her stuff, and not given a second thought of where Adam was; Adam would get here when he got here and that was it. No dramas. That is the Ellie he expects. That is his friend, Ellie. Once I eased myself into that way of thinking I began to relax.
I sat on the edge of his bed, inhaling deeply, thankful that I didn’t have access to my diaries. Out of boredom I would be flicking through the entries, reliving all the angsty, confused writings. But then I realised, I didn’t need to read about it; I had lived it. My memories were very much cemented in my head and there was no shaking them. I groaned, flinging myself backwards on top of the mattress, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. I had to talk to someone, I had to unleash these pent-up feelings, and that meant talking to the only person walking this planet who knew the truth: Tammy. I started to feel the weight lift off my shoulders merely thinking about that. The tension in my frame began to melt a little into the soft mattress top and I could feel my eyelids becoming heavy. It had been an early start. Maybe just a power nap and then I would seek Tammy out, get my head in check before seeing Adam for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. Like most times, even if I tried to fight against it, slowly drifting off, I still managed to dream of Adam.
***
I felt the dip of the bed, the doona lifting, feeling the coolness at my back from where my T-shirt had twisted higher, exposing my skin, then I felt a wall of warmth pressed up against my back and an arm slide across me, cocooning me in. Half asleep, I pressed back into the warmth; it felt nice, safe, familiar. If this was a dream it was a bloody good dream, one I didn’t want to wake up from. I squirmed and buried myself deeper into the doona, nestled further into the embrace, willing myself back into a deeper sleep. Something that was proving difficult due to a ticklish feeling of air hitting my earlobe. I scrunched up my nose and rubbed at my ear as if to swat a fly until the sensation stopped. That wasn’t for long, and then it was back, waking me up from a peaceful slumber to an irritated reality, never more than when a finger dug into my ear.
“Piss off!” I squirmed away, throwing my elbow into a chest that earned a satisfied oomph sound from the perpetrator.
“Jesus, someone shouldn’t take naps during the day.”
Hearing Adam’s voice, my eyes whipped open. I wasn’t sleepy anymore, no longer was I between the dream world and reality. I was fully cemented in the now. I rolled away from his arm onto my stomach, twisting my head to the side, blinking the sleep from my eyes, and tucking a curtain of hair behind my ear. There Adam lay, his head resting on his hand, grinning at my dishevelled, sleepy state.
“What are you looking so smug about?” I croaked, rubbing my eyes and wondering how long I had been asleep for.
“Who doesn’t love finding a girl in their bed?”
I rolled onto my side, mirroring Adam by resting my head on my hand, even matching his cocky little smile.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I teased, watching his expression morph into something darker, his eyes ablaze with incredulous wonder.
“Is that so?” he declared, shifting upwards; those words were all I needed to know that I was in trouble, serious trouble.
“Adam. Don’t,” I warned, holding up my hands in surrender as I tried to roll away from him and make an escape from the bed. But he was too fast, snaring my wrists in his hands and pinning me to the mattress, as he straddled me, imprisoning me with his jean-clad thighs at my hips. I was babbling between laughter, pleas, and outrage as he held my wrists and used them to slap my hands against my cheek in a series of annoying taps that made me blink.
“Stop hitting yourself, Ellie.” Slap-slap-slap ...
“Doooooon’t,” I pleaded, twisting my head aside. “Get off me, you idiot.” And to my surprise, he let go. I wasn’t free. He was just bored from that form of torture and instead moved to the next round.
“Has living in the city made you less ticklish?” Adam asked, his expression serious as if what he was asking was an interesting question.
Oh God, I knew where this was going; I had suffered the same fate at the hands of this boy a million times before.
I clenched my jaw. “Don’t,” I bit out, glancing up to see the twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes; he loved every minute of this.
“Don’t what?” he asked, looking authentically perplexed by my words, apart from the little smirk that tilted the side of his mouth.
I never tore my burning eyes from his; it was a silent warning, one I was trying to channel all my rage into, but he didn’t seem worried, not in the slightest.
“Don’t do this?” he asked, before digging his fingers into my ribcage. I instantly recoiled and screamed.
“No, Adam, stop, please, stop,” I begged, but all that did was earn me another assault onto the opposite side, twisting me into a ball of agonised sensation that had me laughing, crying, and gasping in a fit of agony.
“Ah, so you are still ticklish.” He laughed, enjoying my despair.
“Yes, YES! Now, please, stop.” I wrestled with his hands, pushing them away and eventually linking my fingers with his holding me prisoner. I fought to gather the air into my lungs. Adam was breathless too; I could feel his frame vibrating from laughter and I so wanted to lash out and wipe that cocky smile from his face.
“Enough,” I breathed out.
“Or what? You’ll get big bad boy Rory to beat me up?” Adam laughed, but it didn’t elicit the same response from me. If anything, it jarred me. With all the lead-up and angst of coming back home I had completely forgotten about my little white lie about Rory and how amazing our date had been. I had even forgotten to come up with a worthy excuse for not bringing him: he was killed in a freak goal-post-snapping accident, his head got taken clean off by the centre bounce. Believe me, I had fantasised about all the possibilities, but as I looked into Adam’s questioning brown eyes above me I could feel my defences coming down. Besides, I had been keeping enough secrets as it were.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, gently letting my fingers unlace from his but still unmoving until I answered the question.
I breathed in, summoning the courage of admission, and then blurted it out.
“Rory is a dick, okay? A big fat dick!” I exclaimed. There, I had said it. I should have felt like a weight had lifted off me, but considering there was a literal weight on top of me in the shape of Adam Henderson, the words uttered didn’t have the same kind of freeing effect. Neither did the humour spread across Adam’s face.
“Thanks, Ellie, but I really don’t need to know about your personal life,” he joked.
My brows lowered, until the penny dropped. “Oh, you’re gross; no, I meant he’s a dick, not … Oh, shut up and get off me.” I slapped at his legs and to my surprise he actually moved, allowing me to scoot up into a sitting position, pressing my back against the bedhead.
Adam sat on the edge of the bed; my toes touched the side of his jeans ever so lightly but I could still feel the heat from him. It was strangely comforting.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Adam asked in all seriousness. He was looking down at the doona, picking at a frayed thread as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. The casual little act made me feel calm.
“The date was a disaster,” I confessed. I didn’t even know why I was telling him this; the reality was mortifying.
Adam stayed silent, as if urging me to continue, so I did. I relayed the fast car, the square-tip Italian leather shoes, the custom-designed suit, his insistence in ordering from the menu for me.
“Oh, so he set feminism back about fifty years then.”
I smiled. “That’s exactly what I thought.” Once again our minds were in sync, I thought affectionately, momentarily making me feel happy until I inevitably had to finish the story with the rather mortifying admission about the mistaken text.
Adam’s expression was all thunder until I relayed the moment I threw my red wine in his face. He burst into a deep-bellied laugh as he repeated, “Enjoy your duck, you dick.”
I smiled broadly, taking in Adam’s explosive laughter, his head thrown back in abandonment as he convulsed in hysterics.
“That is fucking priceless, Parker.” Adam shook his head.
I thought I had wanted Adam to say something deep, something meaningful to defuse my misery. Cup my face dramatically and look into my eyes and tell me I was the smartest, most beautiful girl he had ever known, and that Rory was a fool to let me go, a damn fool. The fantasy had Adam talking like a posh actor from an old black-and-white movie, then of course I realised the outburst of Adam’s infectious laugh was what I needed. That was better than any fantasy or clichéd speech about how amazing I was. His pleasure in my revenge uplifted me in ways I never thought possible. He was by my side, wiping a tear from his right eye and shaking his head, looking at me like I was some kind of rock star.
“Let’s hope it dribbled down to the wanker’s shoes,” Adam added, causing me to envision a new fantasy.
“Soaked into the interior of his penis extension of a car,” I said wistfully.
Adam breathed out a laugh, taking in the maddened look of satisfaction in my eyes. He didn’t add anything, he simply just looked at me, letting me have my moment. He allowed me to glorify in what had been a rather disastrous date, but had ended pretty bloody awesome, really. The ultimate revenge. My knowing smile matched Adam’s and I was suddenly ever so grateful for confiding in him. He never looked at me with pity, or gave me a ‘there, there’ pat on the back. He just was … Adam.
Breaking the moment, Adam playfully bumped my chin with his fist, which only made me smirk bigger.
“Want to have dinner tonight? I promise not to order for you,” Adam said, moving to stand.
“You better bloody order for me, you know what I like.”
“Pot and a parmi?”
“See! You know.”
“You know what else I know?”
“What?”
“That I’m going to get you absolutely shit-faced tonight.”
“Adam, no!”
“What? You’ve had a cat nap, you’re good to go.” Adam made his way to the bedroom door, dismissing my reaction as if the deal was non-negotiable.
“I am not writing myself off this time, Adam.”
Adam paused in the doorway. “You forget one thing, Ellie Parker.”
I lifted my chin. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
“This weekend, you belong to me.” Adam winked, backing out of the door, leaving me cross-legged on his bed, and a flutter of butterflies stirring my insides.
With a boy I couldn’t say no to, I was in so much trouble.
Chapter Eight
“Chug-chug-chug-chug.”
“No, I caaaaan’t. No more.” I pushed the pot of beer away from my lips, begging for mercy as Adam and I sat in the back bar trying to outdrink one another.
“Ah, you always were a two-pot screamer,” said Adam as he took my designated beer and downed it for me.
“Well, I’ll have you know I am a rather delicate flower,” I said, pointing my finger into his chest and slurring my words a little.
“Yeah, yeah, and pure as the driven snow.” Adam winked before sipping on his beer, a wink that made me all goofy and smiley. Oh God, booze meant lost inhibitions. This was bad, very bad. I shook my head in an effort to shake off the powerful death rays of Henderson charm. I did my best to plaster on a serious expression as I stood up from my stool.
“I’m going to the ladies’ to powder my nose. Whoa.” I swayed, latching on to the bar as I threatened to fall over my own feet.
“Easy now, you sure you’re capable?”
“I’m fine.” I waved his words away dismissively. “Back in a jiffy.”
“Okay, but make sure you use the toilets out back; remember, you are not to be spotted in the front bar, we don’t want word getting out you’re in town.” Adam eyed me dubiously, as if the very thought of me walking a line to the ladies’ room was a terrifying notion.
I slapped the counter top. “Batter up!” I declared, thinking I really didn’t need another drink but what the hell.
“Okay, I’ll go hunt and gather, but straight there and straight back, okay?”
“Yes, Mum,” I said, tilting my head with a little smirk.
Adam simply shook his head, like he had gotten more than he bargained for. It was always a very outweighed partnership in the drinking stakes, I thought, as I zigzagged my way through the restaurant tables to the back toilets. Adam was like a tank and could drink me under the table any day of the week. It usually ended with him escorting me home and dumping my corpse into bed. Taking off my shoes and socks and covering me in a blanket like a true friend should.
I had managed to return to the bar without toilet paper stuck to my shoe or anything tucked into where it shouldn’t be, so go me! Adam still wasn’t back from the main bar with our drinks, and seeing as Chris hadn’t made an appearance in the back section of the bar for a while, it was only a guess that it must have been a pretty busy Friday night. I’m not sure if it was my dulled-down senses, or being left alone out back while the rest of the world enjoyed their freedom out front, but time really dragged on. It felt like an hour, although it had probably been more like fifteen minutes that Adam had been gone. He hadn’t been so drunk as to forget about me, surely? And if the bar was that busy, Chris would be having a heart attack; maybe he had called in Adam to help out for a bit, but then why hadn’t he come out the back and told me so? A girl could die of dehydration out here, or worse … get sober.
Oh, hell, no, I thought, moving to stand and shoving my purse under my arm. I’ll just stick my head into the forbidden zone and see what was going on. Adam would no doubt get the shits and prove the point that I was indeed the most impatient person he knew, which was clearly the truth as I tiptoed my way through the restaurant toward the flimsy divider that cordoned off the front of the hotel to the back. Not sure why I was tiptoeing: between the loud, animated chatter from the bar and the music pounding from the jukebox, it’s not like anyone would even hear me coming with bells sown to my thongs and a mariachi band in toe.
“Sneaky, sneaky does it,” I said lowly, creeping to the divider and pushing my face up to the slither of a crack to spy the entire calamity in the next room. My heart pounded in my chest; I felt like I was doing something wrong, something forbidden, that if I were to be caught it would mean almost certain death. Okay, perhaps a bit dramatic; still, the feeling was intense. My heart ached a little spotting the old familiar faces: Ringer cocked up at the bar, talking to Max who was enjoying a rare night off. I shifted around at an awkward angle to spy my ex, Stan, sitting at a small table near the door with his girlfriend, Bel, a pretty little slip of a thing that I kind of hated without any real reason. She was nice enough but still, her and Stan, just weird. I couldn’t quite see into the poolroom but I didn’t have to, I could hear Sean’s bellows from a mile away. As usual, talking trash and playing pool: some things never changed. I wondered if that was where Adam was, in the poolroom having a quick game? Maybe he had hoped to ditch the dead weight in me and have some real fun. Maybe that’s why he wanted to load me up with beer in the hope I would pass out in the ladies’ toilets. My paranoia really knew no bounds, and if that was the case and he was in there living it up, I would be seriously pissed. I had all but convinced myself that was exactly where he was, unable to spot him amidst the sea of people. I was ready to rip open the divider and storm my way into the poolroom with dramatic flair. Then maybe people would turn their heads, mouths agape, and declare, “Ellie is back.” I was wo
rking myself up to do exactly that; Lord knows I had enough liquid courage in me to do it and regret it the next day. And just as I was about to step out of hiding, something stopped me. The crowd shifted; a small group broke away from the bar with their drinks heading toward the poolroom. I stilled, thinking I would wait for them to exit and make room for my grand entrance. But then, my eyes fixed onto the now-visible bar and froze, blinking once, twice.
Oh my God.
Adam’s laughter filled my senses, causing my blood to run cold as I took in the sight before me.
Adam was talking to a girl at the bar, but not just any girl, it was the ghost of girlfriends past:
Megsy Fucking Swanston.
Chapter Nine
The dreaded feeling of your world dropping away. In slow motion, your stomach plunges and your surroundings stand still. It was enough to have any girl running up to her room in sobs of despair, throwing herself onto her bed, and wailing about how life was unfair. Well, thing is, I wasn’t like most girls: I’ve known this for long enough because a) I had been told often enough and b) any reaction any normal girl was destined to have, well, I always seemed to do the polar opposite. Like letting my rage push me forward instead of back, quite literally, as I pulled the divider apart in dramatic flair, unveiling my existence to the entire front bar. Even though I was meant to be low key to ensure a flawless surprise for Tess tomorrow night, I refused to be tucked away in a back bar somewhere.