by L. A. Casey
Rage shot through me.
“Darcy!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
Seriously, what the heck was he doing?
He didn’t look at me or give me an answer; he completely ignored me and focused on Laura. I couldn’t believe it; he was caring for the girl who hurt me.
It hurt me even more that he was clearly siding with her.
“Darcy, she—”
“What happened here?” A deep voice suddenly cut through the loud murmurs of the crowd of students.
A teacher.
Crap.
“Um, well, you see—”
“Neala punched me in me face!” Laura all but wailed.
I don’t know why, but I gasped when Laura ratted me out, as if I were completely innocent of the act, even though I knew good and well that I did hit her.
“Is that true, Neala?”
I noticed the teacher was Mr. Halford and instantly I became scared. He was known to be very tough on students when he was angry.
I was silent for a long moment, and before Mr. Halford could repeat his question, Darcy said, “It’s true, sir. Neala punched Laura.”
The ground might as well have opened up and swallowed me whole.
I felt my jaw drop open, my eyes widen, and my stomach churn. Darcy refused to look at me after he put me on the chopping block; he stayed focused on Laura.
Stupid. Laura.
“Neala, you’ll have to come with me.” Mr. Halford sighed, and then looked down at Darcy. “Bring Laura to the nurse to get checked over.”
Darcy nodded mutely and helped Laura to her feet. I wanted to cry, but I refused to do so in front of so many people. I wanted to scream that none of this was my fault, but I couldn’t get the words out.
It was like I was frozen.
On shaking legs I followed the teacher, while Darcy went off in the direction of the nurse’s office with Laura. I was glad of the separation, because I needed time to think.
I had to plan everything I was going to say to Darcy very carefully, because I wanted him to be really sorry for what he had just done to me.
The next thirty minutes were filled with tears, pleading, and a distressed phone call from the receptionist to my mother when I wouldn’t stop crying.
I was suspended from school; of course I couldn’t stop crying. I was in a lot of trouble, and nobody believed that what I had done was in self-defence.
I don’t really know if it was self-defence, because I was angry when I hit Laura, but she had knocked me over and hurt me. The teachers didn’t believe that, on its own, that deserved suspension-whereas my punching her certainly did.
I was a wreck.
I was sad, angry, and feeling sick with worry about what my parents would do when they eventually arrived at the school to pick me up, but mostly I was gutted about Darcy.
I was really mad at him for not seeing to me. I mean, I was his best friend. Not Laura. She was just some stupid girl he thought was pretty. He shouldn’t have picked a girl over his best friend . . . He just shouldn’t have done that.
It wasn’t right.
He hadn’t even given me a chance to explain, hadn’t bothered to hear me out, which was so unlike him. Everything he had done was very out of character for him. I just didn’t understand any of it.
“Neala?”
I looked up and blinked when I saw Darcy standing in the doorway of the reception.
Speak of the Devil.
I sniffled and looked back down to my lap.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
I nodded even though my hand hurt like hell.
“Laura isn’t,” Darcy replied casually. “Her cheek and eye are bruising because of what you did.”
I jerked my gaze up to his. “She started it! I wouldn’t have touched her if she hadn’t pushed me onto the ground!”
Darcy frowned. “She said you wouldn’t give her the skipping ropes—”
“So that makes it okay for her to push me down?” I cut him off, my sadness turning to blind rage.
“What? No, of course—”
“Why do you even care about her?” I snapped. “I’m your best friend, and you didn’t even see if I was okay. You just ran to her and ratted me out to the teacher! Some best friend you are.”
Darcy paled. “Now just wait a minute—”
“No, you wait a minute, Darcy Hart,” I bellowed as my tears started flowing again. “I would never have chosen someone else over you, ever . . . So why did you choose her over me?”
Darcy blinked. “You hurt her, Neala.”
“She hurt me too! Why don’t you care about that?”
Darcy frowned. “I do care about you, Neala Girl; you know I do.”
Tears flowed from my eyes.
“No,” I cried. “You don’t. You wouldn’t have done any of this if you did. You like her and that matters more to you. She matters more to you than I do.”
Darcy blushed, but didn’t deny the charges.
“Get out!” I shouted. “I never want to see you again.”
Darcy stayed rooted to the spot. “Neala, stop being a baby and just listen—”
“Now I’m a baby? Why don’t you just throw a rock at me head? It’d hurt less.”
He shook his head and looked at me like I was something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
“Neala,” he began, sighing. “We’ll speak later when you aren’t so . . . We’ll just speak later.”
“Don’t bother. Stay with Laura. I’m sure she’d love that.”
He stared at me, his eyes dark. “You know what? Fine. I will.”
“Don’t come around me house anymore either, because I don’t want to see you, talk to you, or be friends with you anymore.”
Darcy raised both eyebrows. “You don’t mean that; you’re just angry and upset—”
“I do mean it. I hate you.”
He stumbled back like I had struck him. “Neala.”
I heard the hurt in his voice, but instead of getting upset, I reminded myself that he had chosen Laura over me, and a fresh surge of rage flowed through my veins with the knowledge.
“Take it back, Neala.”
I shook my head.
“Neala,” he whispered. “Take it back.”
“We aren’t friends anymore, Darcy. You made your decision today. We’ll never be friends again.”
Darcy’s expression was unreadable as he said, “Just like that?”
I nodded. “Just like that.”
Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the room, and out of my life . . . so to speak.
I sighed as I came back to the present.
As much as I hated to admit it, Darcy had broken my heart that day, and after that I was done. We had been best friends since we could walk; then, in the blink of an eye, we weren’t. I was a very emotional child, so I fought Darcy’s betrayal and anger with my own. After that I didn’t cry in front of him, and I never would. Instead, I became a devilish menace whenever I was in his company, and that turned out to be very often.
You see, Darcy and I were best friends by default. Our mothers were best friends, our older brothers were best friends, our dads were best friends, and even our grandparents, God rest them, were best friends. There was no escaping Darcy or his family after our falling-out, so we both learned to tolerate one another as best as we could . . . which was usually by fighting or pranking one another.
Our hate grew as we got older – he always blamed me for our falling-out, and even dated Laura into our secondary school days, which was like rubbing salt in my wound – while our tolerance for one another’s company lessened. Our families didn’t seem to understand our mutual loathing, because they always tried to force us together so we could learn to ‘get on.’ They still did. Never mind that we were now both twenty-five, and any chance of mending our joke of a friendship was long gone.
Our mothers, God help them, had this silly fantasy that we would get together, fall madly in love, and
give them grand-babies, but I could tell you that was never happening. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell. You had a better chance of fusing oil and water together to form a single liquid than you did of Darcy and me being civil to each other.
We were a lost cause, and as far as I was concerned that wasn’t a bad thing.
“What’s that look for?”
I blinked and shook my head clear of my thoughts, then looked to my mother, who had retaken her seat next to me on the couch. I wasn’t telling her I was thinking about Darcy and our past, because she would take it as a stupid sign that it meant he was my future or some bullshit like that.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing. This is just how I look when I zone out. It’s me duh face.”
My mother grinned and quietly sipped her tea, and it grated on my nerves. I hated when she looked smug after pissing me off about Darcy. I needed to change the topic of discussion to something mundane.
I blew a breath out through my nostrils and asked, “So, breakfast?”
My mother smiled to herself as she stood up and winked. “Yep, let’s go get some brekky. You can tell me how you plan on getting me grandchild that doll for Christmas along the way. I can tell it’s going to be interesting.”
I snorted. “Doubtful.”
“I wouldn’t speak too soon on that, lovely.” My mother winked. “When you’re involved, things are always interesting.”
CHAPTER TWO
My mother and I went to a café in the village and had breakfast. Afterwards, she dropped me off at Smyths on her way to the shopping district. She had some errands to run – a trip to Smyths was included in that – but she didn’t want to come into the shop with me.
I was an in-and-out kind of shopper, and she was . . . not.
I got there forty minutes before most businesses had their lunch hour. I was glad my mother had decided not to come in with me, because I knew I had a limited amount of time left in my mission, so I had to get to it.
My mother wished me good luck in finding a doll for Charli, and I foolishly told her that I didn’t need it. It turned out I needed more than luck – I needed a bloody leprechaun with his pot of gold to appear and accompany me into the shop, because I was royally screwed.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered in dismay as I scanned the doll aisle in the shop for the tenth time in twenty minutes, looking for a Fire Princess doll from a popular children’s film called Blaze.
The film was huge; it had been months since it came out, and all the kids were still bloody crazy about it. That was exactly why I needed this doll. I’d told Charli that I would get it for her for Christmas, and I had already told my brother, Sean, Charli’s father, that I had the damn thing, so I could not go home empty-handed.
If I did, it meant I would have nothing to give her on Christmas morning. She had only asked me to get her the doll, nothing else. I swallowed down bile as images of my crying niece and her disappointed father flooded my mind.
I had to get this doll; there was no room for error.
I knew that if I failed, it would be considered another disappointment in the eyes of those I loved, and it would be added to the list of mistakes I had made over the years.
My family didn’t make the list; I did. It was a form of personal torture. I made a mental note of every time I let someone down. The truth was, in the eyes of my loved ones I wasn’t the most reliable person, and it was no one’s fault but my own.
I always fell short on delivering gifts on time, attending parties on the correct dates, showing up to babysit on time – or even remembering to show up at all – and a bunch of other things that made me suck as a person. I focused too much of my attention on work, instead of on my loved ones.
When I made the promise to my niece that I would get her the doll she wanted, I saw the doubt in my brother’s eyes. I knew, in his mind, he was thinking of an excuse for me in case I fell through on my promise. He would cover for me on Christmas morning if I didn’t come through with the doll – he covered for me a lot and had saved my arse on more than one occasion – but it was a cycle I was putting a stop to.
I made a vow that I would keep my promise to Charli, and myself, and I would get her this doll.
I couldn’t fail.
I wouldn’t.
I shook my head and the negative thoughts away.
“Why do they only have the princess’s stupid sidekick?” I muttered aloud as I pushed aside box after box of the poor boy – who was really a prince in the film.
“Excuse me.” I waved to a young man who was stacking boxes down the far end of the aisle.
He straightened up as I approached him. I smiled as he cleared his throat and said, “Can I help you with something, Miss?”
I nodded. “Yeah, you can actually. I need the redheaded Fire Princess doll from that children’s film Blaze. You know, the one where the princess can make fire—”
“Sorry, mate, you couldn’t tell me where the dolls from that popular Blaze film are, could you? I need the red-haired Fire Princess one.”
My mouth lost all hint of a smile, and my stomach churned with the sight of him. My wide eyes narrowed and my hands balled into fists. This was cruel; as if having to put up with a conversation about him earlier wasn’t suffering enough, now God was going to make me face him as well? All in the same day?
Not cool. Not bloody cool at all.
I narrowed my eyes to slits because he was merely feet away from me.
Darcy Hart.
My betrayer.
“Excuse me, are you blind? I’m standing right here, and I was talking to this fella before you were,” I sneered.
Darcy leaned to the left and looked around the lad to see who was speaking to him, and when his eyes landed on mine they instantly narrowed.
“Neala Clarke.”
He always spat out my name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
I smirked at him. “The one and only.”
Darcy gave me a bored once-over before he dismissed me with a glare and turned his attention back to the male worker. “Do you know where the dolls from the Fire Princess film are? I need the red-haired doll.”
He just blanked me.
“You can wait your turn for help, Darcy. I was here first.”
Darcy regarded me with an expression that suggested I was beneath him.
“What the hell is that look supposed to mean?” I asked, ready to curse him out if he said something mean.
The shop lad stepped back from between us. Now we had perfect views of each other. I kept the look of sincere disgust on my face as I stared at Darcy, but my stomach fluttered even though I willed it to stop.
I hated how good-looking the bastard was – he had always had a handsome face, but unlike in our school days, he wasn’t a skinny boy anymore. He was filled out and all man, and from what I heard around the village, he was also now quite the slut . . . or ladies’ man. Whatever.
Back in our school days, Darcy had been the nerdy, lanky pretty boy. He had a baby face that was accompanied by a killer smile, but that was all he had going for him. He had been a pain in my arse the last fifteen years, and I honestly could never see a day where that would ever change.
I blinked my eyes as Darcy’s voice knocked me out of my trance and got my attention.
“It means you have a stick up your arse about waiting a few minutes for something.”
Oh, hell, no.
“That’s not bloody true and you know it, Darcy!” I stated, then flung my hair over my shoulder and quipped, “And for your information, I don’t have anything up me arse.”
He smiled.
I imagined Satan had a similar, if not identical, smile.
“You sure about that?”
I growled. “Me arse is not the topic of discussion here.”
“Why not? You know I love to talk about your perfectly crafted arse, Neala.”
“You disgust me.”
Darcy winked. “Likewise, sweetheart.”
I gave Darcy a dirty look, then turned my attention from him to the young worker, only to find him nowhere in sight. I looked up and down the aisle, but he was gone. He’d vanished into thin air.
I turned my head in Darcy’s direction and hissed, “Look what you did.”
I walked down the aisle, trying to put as much distance as possible between Darcy and myself. He apparently didn’t feel the same way, because he quickly caught up with me until we were walking side by side.
“How is this my fault?” he asked me, keeping his voice low as we passed a couple who were scanning the shelves.
“Are you thick?” I seethed, lowering my voice also. “You scared him off with all your vulgar talk about—”
“Your arse?” he cut me off, grinning. “Yeah, you have a point. Your arse would scare any red-blooded male away. The lad was apparently no exception.”
Dickhead.
“Listen to me, you tit. I’ll have you know no male has ever referred to me arse as scary.”
Darcy gleefully smiled. “Maybe not to your face.”
I was going to kill him.
“I swear to God I will—”
“You’ll what?” he asked as he jumped in front of me, halting my movements.
“Kill you!” I growled, and shoved at his chest with my hands, which he found hilarious.
“Your hands are so tiny,” he cooed in a voice one would use when speaking to an infant.
I wanted to punch him in his smug face.
“They are not.”
Okay, my hands were a bit on the small side, but I wouldn’t have Darcy Hart saying they were. It was beyond childish, I knew that, but I didn’t care.
Darcy chortled. “You’d disagree with me no matter what I say.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
He laughed.
“You hate me, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“You bet your arse I do,” I countered.
“Good. I’m doing something right.”
With that said, he turned away and strolled down the aisle.
“Bloody gobshite,” I muttered to myself.