Underdog

by Tobias Madden

  I know he dreams of being an environmental scientist, not a lawyer, that he listens to the song ‘Julia’ by The Beatles on repeat before he goes to sleep and doesn’t know why, that he sees a psychologist once a week because he says he’s empty inside, that his favourite colour is forest green, and that if I blow a raspberry on him it never fails to make him laugh.

  ‘I love…’ I pause. I want to say it, because I mean it, and I’m not sure why I can’t. The words hang between us. He knows I love him, he must. ‘…spending time with you.’

  He lifts my head from his lap and lies down next to me. I kiss him with all my unsaid feelings and he puts his hands on my waist and brings me into him. I am trapped in a bear hug, my body enveloped by his long arms and legs, my head lost somewhere in the soft folds of his jumper. His arms are tight around me and everything is dark and warm. I am in a cave made completely out of Romy.

  ‘Same,’ he says.

  I smile into his hoodie. I can feel him smiling too. I lie there for what seems like an eternity.

  ‘We’re lucky your parents are never home.’ The words come out muffled and barely recognisable.

  ‘What’s that?’ he jokes. ‘You want to play chess?’

  When I open my eyes again I’m in the lounge, still lying on Romy’s lap. His fingertips are gentle on my scalp and on my shoulder and on my chest, making faint patterns on my body. His ghost fingers glide underneath my clothes and through my hair. I can almost pretend it’s real.

  ‘Romy, did someone find out about us?’

  He traces the letters Y E S onto my skin. The letters burn me. I recall the sickening fear, the feeling of dread, the heavy weight in the pit of my stomach that comes when a secret is no longer a secret, when your one sanctuary has been discovered by people who wish it never existed.

  I crawl away and dry retch, but the dread is too heavy for me to expel. It just sits there in the depths of my stomach, slowly chewing its way through the lining so it can enter my bloodstream. I can feel it bubbling within me. I want it out.

  My stomach heaves. Black sludge dribbles from my mouth. It’s thick and vile.

  It’s made from shame.

  I crawl over to the potted plant by the window and empty my guts into the soil. Toxic fumes evaporate from the gunk, and the leaves curl over and die.

  ‘I feel much better now,’ I mumble. I am released. I am lighter than air. ‘Are my teeth black?’ I flash Romy a big smile.

  ‘That was really disgusting.’ He hands me a tissue. ‘You look like death.’

  ‘Hilarious.’ I wipe my face clean, dispose of the tissue and pull him up from the rug. He places one of his hands on my waist and clasps the other around my own bruised one. I lead him into a slow dance. I make him spin me in circles and dip me, so that my spine arches towards the floor and my hair hangs almost to the ground. He hums his song.

  There’s something else to it though, to the song. In the background, a very faint, very rhythmic, beeping.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ I ask.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘That noise.’

  It’s weak and I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

  ‘I don’t hear a noise.’

  I stop the dancing and listen more closely. It’s all around me, getting louder. There is no source.

  Beep beep beep

  Constant.

  I cover my ears but it’s inside my head. Every six beats—beep.

  Romy looks at me strangely.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t hear it?’ I say. ‘It won’t stop.’

  Beep beep beep

  ‘Ugh, this is torture!’ I go and try the door again. He wanders around with a confused look on his face, searching for a sound he can’t hear. I shake the handle. I need to leave this place. I’ve had enough now. I take a few steps back and hurl myself at the door with all my strength.

  Still nothing.

  I feel nothing.

  Nothing feels real.

  Nothing except for the bruises that are just blooming on the crease of my elbow. The skin is tender there, and if I touch the right place there is a sharp sting. My head is clouded by this maddening beeping noise and the pain from my head wound and the soreness from the bruises all over my body. All at once they consume my senses and disorientate me. I feel like these things keep happening to me but not because of me. It’s infuriating.

  ‘Let me out!’ I have no control, I realise. I have no way to move on.

  To move on?

  I turn to Romy, who is looking more tired by the minute. At this moment I know he’s not here with me. That this is not his death, and that his happened in a different way, in a different time and space. He’s here because of me, but he isn’t being kept here like I am.

  ‘Romy, what if… what if I’m stuck here? What if this place is my hell?’ The thought is terrifying. I see my afterlife stretching out before me in its infinity—an eternal nonexistence awaits. Death isn’t fair, I muse bitterly.

  ‘You’re not trapped, Jewel,’ he says. My chest spasms at the mention of his name for me. ‘I’m trying to get you to remember.’

  ‘Well it’s hard when all I can hear is this freaking beeping noise in my head!’ I know it’s wrong to take it out on him, and I immediately want to take it back.

  ‘Just close your eyes for a minute,’ he says, and I do.

  ‘I feel so guilty,’ says Romy. It’s his turn, and he moves one of his pawns to protect his queen. We’re sitting on his bed with the chess board lying crookedly between us.

  ‘I feel so alive!’ I say it overdramatically but it’s true—I don’t feel bad at all. I’m used to it now, the lying to my parents and sneaking over to Romy’s place. It’s the only way we can be alone together—without judgement and without fear. I move my castle out, ready to attack.

  ‘I mean, I wouldn’t change anything, I just wish we didn’t have to be so secretive.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have to be if you were a Turkish boy,’ I tease him. I smile as I say it but I feel so sad inside because I know it’s true. Anne and baba would love Romy if they gave him a chance. He is polite and clever and never refuses food. But I know them. They would be… disappointed if I brought him to dinner, and I know it would be the same with Romy’s parents.

  ‘Or if you weren’t a Muslim girl.’

  ‘That too.’ It’s something we both understand. Just one of those things. An offhand comment, a subtle suggestion, never outwardly dissuaded. Everything is okay as long as it’s not your child. It’s not fair. I know it would be fine eventually, after time. But we’re not quite there yet. I want to make sure it’s worth the trouble.

  Romy moves his bishop and takes out my castle.

  ‘I should have seen that coming!’ I take a moment to think a few moves ahead. He’s made his king vulnerable without realising. We move pieces back and forth across the board and I attempt to set a trap. Most of the pieces have been taken. He still has a few powerful players: his queen, both castles, and some pawns. I’ve lost both my castles now, and my queen, but I’ve got my knights and my bishops and a couple of pawns to see me through.

  We’re silent for a while. It takes longer and longer to make each decision. I move my knight into prime king-killing position. He doesn’t see it coming.

  ‘Checkmate.’ I take his most valuable piece.

  He gives me a mischievous grin.

  ‘That’s how you got your black eye,’ I say to Romy, ‘you got into a fight.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’ He curls over like he’s just been punched in the stomach, and stumbles backwards a little. He’s been winded and he gasps for breath. The sound is raspy and pitiful.

  ‘It was my brother,’ I realise.

  I remember.

  Selim saw us in the library that day, during last period. We didn’t know at the time. I let Romy walk me part-way home from school after class. We only live one street over from each other, but usually I walk with my brother or by myself. He was insistent. He said he
wasn’t feeling good but couldn’t explain why. ‘I just want to be near you,’ he said.

  About halfway I heard a shout behind me. It was Selim. Romy let go of my hand without drawing attention to it. I wasn’t too worried. I could explain Romy walking me home for just today.

  ‘I saw you,’ he said. Selim closed the gap between us so quickly it scared me. It took a moment to figure out what was going on. I stepped forward to ask what he meant but he interrupted me. He took Romy by the jumper. ‘I saw you with my sister.’ Selim’s eyes were vicious. Romy put his hands up.

  ‘I care about her,’ he said.

  ‘You were taking advantage of her,’ Selim replied.

  ‘You’re being ridicious,’ I said, ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Shut up, Hülya,’ Selim said. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He pushed Romy back and advanced again.

  ‘Just stop it,’ I said, ‘please.’ Selim had anger issues. It might be because things always came slowly for him. He would get upset—overreact, get emotional, always be quick to judge. But he was loyal and caring, too. He was just overprotective.

  ‘You stay away from her.’

  ‘She can make up her own mind.’

  ‘She doesn’t know what you boys are like.’ Push, push, push. Voices raised. Romy with his hands in the air.

  ‘Well she knows me better than you think.’ It sounded worse than he meant it. Selim shoved Romy to the ground.

  The memory fades, and I notice that bits of wallpaper are starting to flake from the walls around us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell Romy, ‘about my brother.’ Blood starts pouring out of his nose while he’s crouched on the ground protecting his stomach. He groans a little.

  ‘Not… your… fault.’ He takes a sharp breath between each word. His right hand is covered in dried blood. He unclenches his fist and shakes it.

  It’s raining little sheets of pearly grey above us. They float from the walls into my hair and onto my clothes. They’re slightly damp.

  ‘You broke his nose.’

  ‘It was… an accident.’

  ‘None of it should have happened.’ I’m so angry.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Run,’ I had said to Romy. ‘I’ll take care of this.’ He looked wrecked, standing strangely, breathing cautiously. Selim was clutching his face, which was caked with blood. It was hard to tell who looked worse after it all. Romy looked worried but left.

  Now, there is blood dripping from his nose to the floor. I take his mottled fist gently in my hands.

  ‘Lift your head to the sky,’ I tell him.

  Romy looks up. ‘Is it snowing?’

  ‘Jewel, I feel like I’m broken.’

  The chess board lies on the ground, the pieces scattered and fallen. He says the words so quietly, as if he is scared for them to exist in the open. I am curled up like a cat. I twist my head so I can see his face. He looks asleep and, for a moment, I think I have imagined it.

  ‘What do you mean?’ We are the only people in the house but I whisper the words.

  ‘I don’t know how to explain it…’ He pauses. He’s silent for so long I think he may have fallen asleep. ‘Right now, for example. This is perfect, just me and you. This is where I want to be. But I’m so unhappy, Jewel. I don’t know if unhappy is the right word. Something is missing. It’s like there’s this weight on my brain and I can’t think properly.’

  I hear his voice break when he says the word ‘unhappy’. I see the pills on his bedside table. I see his brows creased from trying to find the right way to say this.

  ‘I don’t feel… right,’ he says. He’s looking at me like he wants me to understand. His expression is so vulnerable that it worries me.

  ‘I want to help.’ I pull him closer. At the moment it’s all I can do.

  ‘You do help.’

  The day I died, Romy was in my house. My parents had taken Selim to the emergency room after his fight with Romy. I was home alone and he just showed up on my doorstep. He looked dreadful. His words were unintelligible. He was a mess. He stumbled into the house and I sat him on the couch in the lounge. I told him to wait a moment while I got my phone so we could call someone. I couldn’t remember where I’d put it. When I finally found it and came back, he wasn’t breathing.

  I look at Romy now and see him staring at me. ‘How is your nose now?’ I ask.

  ‘I think it’s stopped bleeding,’ he says.

  The wallpaper around us peels off in bigger and bigger chunks. Most glide through the air like paper aeroplanes, drifting around the room until they cover the ground, but some merely drop, too soaked with water to float down. Above, the ceiling is heavy. I haven’t got long until it falls through.

  I get up and trace the outline of the half-fallen wallpaper. The plasterboard behind it is glistening wet. The walls are crying. Droplets run down from the ceiling.

  Romy pulls me to the couch and we sit down, knees pulled up and touching.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he says.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘I didn’t try to kill myself.’

  ‘You overdosed.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘But why?’

  He shifts uneasily. I can tell he’s ashamed. He casts his gaze downwards and inhales deeply.

  ‘I was really down that day, even before the fight. Then that happened and I panicked. I thought I was going to lose you and I was just so overwhelmed. I wasn’t thinking clearly and I was in so much pain. I broke down. There was no one home. I was so sick of being alone. I just wanted to calm down a bit. I took the rest of my pills and some of Mum’s pain medication. I didn’t realise how strong it was. After I did it I freaked out, and for some reason I thought you’d know what to do.’ He laughs humourlessly. ‘I know it doesn’t make sense now, but I guess it did at the time.’

  Knowing that all this was an accident almost kills me again. I can’t bear the way Romy looks at me now. I can see he’s in pain and it hurts me because it’s all too late. So instead I look around. It’s raining harder than ever. The room has begun to flood. Water flows between my toes. I smell antiseptic and disinfectant. It’s the smell of a hospital. The ceiling cracks open and water gushes into the lounge. The room begins to fill.

  I realise I can feel things again. Not just weird localised feelings of pain, but everything and everywhere. It’s so cold. I’ve got goosebumps and I’m shivering all over. The world around me is seeping into my pores.

  I’m not sure if I’m a ghost any longer.

  ‘Why haven’t you asked me what happened to my head?’

  ‘I already know,’ Romy says.

  ‘But how? It happened after you died.’ I have to shout to be heard over the rushing of the water. I remember now. I was distraught when I found him. I screamed. Angry tears rolled down my cheeks and my life was ruined. He was gone. I loved him and he was gone, forever and ever, and he was not coming back. That was all I could feel and nothing else but the burning anger in my throat.

  I smashed my fists on the hardwood floor and called an ambulance. I punched a wall hard, swivelled on my heels and flung myself onto his body, which was warm, I think. Still warm. I sobbed and screamed his name and didn’t want to wait for the fucking ambulance because my life was over.

  Then I got up too fast.

  I felt dizzy.

  I was dehydrated.

  I had cried all the water out of my body and it was now a salty mess drying on my cheeks and on my neck. We were in my lounge room.

  On the floor was the rug that my family brought back from Istanbul, on our last visit to see my dede and anneanne in Turkey. It was an antique hah, handspun by young women in a mountain village of Anatolia. We bought it from a rug dealer who was a friend of the family. He talked for what seemed like hours about the symbolism of the woven images. I forget almost all of what he said, except about how some patterns repeat themselves infinitely.

  I stepped back and tripped on
the rug.

  I fell

  and fell

  and fell

  quickly and endlessly.

  And then nothing.

  Most of the ceiling has caved in, and it’s like a waterfall is pouring through the roof. The water has reached my waist. We’re going to drown.

  I wade through the flotsam. I’ve lost him.

  Beep beep beep

  Rushing water. Antiseptic. Raining inside.

  Bruises in the creases of my elbows.

  Water creeping up my body.

  My head in pain.

  Swimming.

  Time is water.

  ‘Jewel, can you hear me?’ A gentle voice. His voice.

  ‘Where are you?’ My arms and legs work tirelessly to keep me afloat. Furniture knocks into me. I frantically look around.

  ‘I’m here.’

  I let myself sink.

  ‘Jewel, I’m right next to you.’

  And when I wake up, he is.

  Olive’s fingers speed over the keys on her phone. She presses Share on her ‘Saturday arvo study sesh’ post. An image of her textbooks, notepad, pens and green tea is posted online.

  Rose comes into the kitchen and peers over Olive’s shoulder to see what she’s doing. ‘Let me guess,’ Rose muses, ‘Eat, Sleep, Study, Repeat?’

  Damn it. Olive likes that caption better and contemplates editing her post.

  ‘Tell Mum and Dad I’ve gone to the movies,’ Rose says, grabbing the car keys.

  ‘I thought you were going to finish your essay?’

  Rose shrugs. ‘It can wait.’

  Can it? Olive knows it’s due Monday. And when Rose told their parents earlier that she was going to finish her English essay, Olive knew she meant start her essay.

  ‘You’ve got a problem with me going out?’ Rose’s eyes are wide, her eyebrows arching, as she reads Olive’s response.