Present
“You should come and visit Braxton. I know that she would love to have you both there during her rowing competition,” I begin, clearing my throat. “But I don’t want her to know about this. It’s supposed to be a big surprise.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, Olie. We kept telling her since the term started that we would love to visit, but she’s always so busy with, you know, her life,” says Mrs. Gretel.
Josephine jumps in front of me. “Yes, yes, please tell me that you are taking us there today. India is so mean. She kept promising that I could come with her,” complains her sister.
Okay, this is much easier than I anticipated. India is going to be pissed if she finds out that I had something to do with this, but her hatred should be a little less apparent when her mum and sister show up unexpectedly. Of course I will play guide, so she won’t have any choice. She would have to spend time with me and she has to be nice to me, because something tells me that deep down she would die before she’d tell her mother what I did.
“And I’ll organise everything, so you can watch how she competes. We can go out for dinner later,” I explain, wondering if I’m ready to hear about Scotland.
Mrs. Gretel looks at me suspiciously and at that point she reminds me so much of India. Their focused stares and even their breathing are the same. “That’s nice, Oliver, I think she will appreciate it. When is the competition?”
“Two months, so we’ve got plenty time to prepare, but, Josephine, remember—it’s a secret.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not a stupid bimbo. I can keep a secret.”
“Great, that’s what we need. Plus, India and I had sort of a serious fight, so this is my apology,” I admit, knowing that it’s better to be safe than sorry and reveal that things between India and me aren’t great.
Her mother frowns watching me, drilling me to the ground with her beautiful eyes. “Whatever it is, I think she will forgive you. It’s a nice gesture, Oliver,” she mutters.
“I hope so, but there is something else that I need to ask you,” I add, breathing through my nose.
“What is it, Oliver?”
“I heard from my neighbour that India sort of looked after my mother when I left. He heard that she was going to Scotland, but then… something happened?”
Mrs. Gretel sighs, moving her hands over her thighs. My heart races away and my jaw is so tight that I’m hurting myself.
“She spent a lot of time with your mother and I think that at some point she wanted to visit you. It was during the evening when your mother… oh God, Oliver. I think maybe I shouldn’t tell you this.”
“No,” I say, feeling like I’m dead inside. “Please tell me.”
Mrs. Gretel swallows hard, finally looking at me again. “India arrived at your mother’s home just in time. I think your mum was trying to end her life; she took too many pills.”
Thunder passes through my body and I can’t move. Darkness, pure and oblivious, blinds my vision. India wanted to visit me in Scotland, but she never made it there. I don’t remember how I managed to say goodbye to Mrs. Gretel and Josephine. In the end I got to the car and drove off, not registering what was happening around me. Unbelievable pain encompassed me. I didn’t care about her feelings and now, looking back, I can’t believe that I was so cruel. Her arrival to Braxton erased all my humanity. I kept hurting her and never took time to actually think about how she might have felt. All those months of causing her so much pain—in the end, that inflicted cruelty became my obsession and her pain didn’t matter.
I park in the middle of nowhere, howling and digging my nails into my face. Disappointment, regret, confusion and more pain swirl through me. She arrived at Braxton and I only hurt her more.
Fuck!
This whole thing seems like a nightmare, but I’m still awake. I had so many chances to end this silly grudge, but I chose not to.
I stay in the same position until I’m able to drive again, but the pressure that embraces me never eases off. The drill in my gut never stops working, and I know that I have to come up with something really fucking special if I want to regain her friendship. Loving her isn’t enough. She needs more, because she is an angel and I should be rotting in hell.
I feel like shit going back to Braxton, but somehow I manage to hide my gloomy mood from Jacob. As soon as we get back, Jacob wants to drive my Audi and I let him. He vanishes for an hour, during which time I try to recoup my energy. Every inch of me is numb, but I have to keep going, come up with a way of getting close to India again.
“Man, this car sounds sweet! Can’t believe your mother kept it in the garage all this time,” Jacob says, as he stops on the street next to the house. My mother tried to talk to me before we left, but I couldn’t deal with her. All of a sudden she is pretending that she wants to fix my life. She didn’t tell me about the rape, but it’s not her fault. I’m the one in the wrong. If only I’d known about her fall. Someone should have told me that she was trying to kill herself. I cut all the ties because I didn’t want to be associated with my past, so it’s all my fault. India was there for my mother and I was too pathetic to keep in touch.
“I don’t know, I might sell it,” I say. “If I want India to trust me again, I can’t drive around in this. My brother had great style, but this car will trigger her memories, and I don’t want that.”
Jacob suggests we get some pizza and buzz for later in the week, so we head to the supermarket. Jhonny has some good shit and I’m planning to get stoned because I don’t want to feel anything. Then I remember the letter that I sent to India before we left. She probably received it on Saturday. My stomach feels like it’s filled with a pile of bricks because now I know that this isn’t going to be enough. I don’t want to think about Gargle. So, while sitting in the car that’s parked in front of our doorstep, I open a beer and drink to shut down the roaring guilt, to ease off the pressure and needles in my heart.
“Oh crap, don’t tell me that she’s really here,” Jacob murmurs.
Dora shows up from around the corner, looking pissed, like a baby that is just about to start screaming. This doesn’t look good at all for my friend sitting next to me. That frown in the middle of her forehead deepens as she spots my car.
“What’s her problem anyway? I thought that you two needed space?”
“Can you actually get any space from girl like Dora? She is more determined than anyone I ever knew.”
We both get out of the car and I can see how Dora’s face changes from red to ashen as her eyes move around the Audi. She fucking knows about Christian, she has to.
“Jacob, where the hell have you been the whole weekend?” she snarls, eyeing me with those angry eyes.
“Dora, give it a rest. I went with Oliver to visit his mother. Besides, I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“So you’re choosing him after what he’s done to India? He doesn’t deserve your friendship. He is a dirty, fucked-up psycho, worse than his own brother.”
“Shut your mouth, Dora! I’m nothing like my brother!” I bark, running my hand through my hair. I say that I’m not like him, but after today I start believing that I might be worse than him.
“If you were different you never would have done anything to hurt India,” she yells in the middle of the street.
“Dora, let’s just go,” says Jacob. “We will talk about this at home.”
She curses, calling me a few more names, but finally agrees to go with Jacob, who mutters a silent apology. I stand in the entrance of our house, watching as they drive off. Jacob has to keep Dora happy. He cares for her too much.
A few minutes later it starts drizzling and the harsh crisp wind blows my hair. The weather has turned for the worse because I came back. Regret, warm, solid and deep, settles in my stomach when I think about all the lost years when I thought that I was happy being away from Gargle. The time when I started moving away from that Goth look and started fucking every girl with long, skinny legs. During tha
t time it was all about memories. Memories about India kept fucking with my head. Every girl that I looked at reminded me of India.
Past
“Take off your bra; I want to see you naked,” I ordered a pretty, blond-haired bird that I brought home straight after rugby practice. I had been in Braxton only a couple of days and it was exactly how India had always described it. Quiet and whacky at the same time. It had been a few months since I started working out. It wasn’t long after Christian died that a trainer from another town saw something in me and I started playing mostly on weekends and some evenings, travelling thirty miles each way. Yeah, after years of watching and practicing with Christian I gained some skills and got lucky. A scout spotted me and the rest was history. The scholarship was in my hands and I was in Scotland first, then in Braxton. I was supposed to be living that perfect life.
The girl in front of me giggled, biting her lip in that sexy manner. Then she pulled her hair behind her ears. She had nice eyes, but when I stared at her I had the image of India in front of me. India was everywhere, but I was such a coward.
“What if I don’t, what are you going to do to me?” she asked, flirtatiously widening her eyes. Okay, I was fucking horny as hell and she looked like she was eager. Sex had been my distraction lately every time my mind wandered off somewhere else—or to be more specific, to someone else.
In a matter of seconds she took off her T-shirt and bra. She had a great figure, and my dick strained in my trousers as I stared at her breasts. She got rid of her jeans and then approached me, sliding into bed next to me.
I thought that was enough fucking around. I had to show her that I was the one in control. My mind spun hard and fast as my hands started to wander around her body. She kissed me, but it wasn’t long before a new image started materialising in front of me. In that moment, I believed I was kissing India, not some blond bird with skinny legs. Every time I was inside someone else, she controlled my mind, wrecking my body.
India was my curse; she’d tainted me, pushed me into the darkness, ruined my life. And now when I wanted to fuck someone else, my head was so screwed up that I felt useless.
I found her soft spot and start massaging it, wondering if I could carry on. She started moaning, panting and telling me that she wanted me to carry on. I needed that release. Nothing was making much sense otherwise. Alcohol made me numb and fuzzy as her name fucked with my head. When she was close to coming, I withdrew my fingers and pushed her on top of me. It was that easy.
My cock kept pulsing, and my heart pounded as I thought of those disastrous images. It looked like I was never going to get rid of her. India was part of my life and I just had to wait until she came to Braxton. Until then, I had to somehow forget.
Chapter Eleven
My ego.
Present
I walk into the house thinking about those crazy days. That plan was my obsession back then. I knew that she would show up one day and my suffering was going to be over. Now I wonder why I was such an idiot. All these months fucking around, rather than trying to deal with my emotions.
I put the boxes from the garage in my room. Jacob can help me when he gets home later or tomorrow. The car is going to stay in the street for now until I decide what to do with it. Knowing what that bastard did to India, I don’t want her to see it. This car could bring bad memories, lots of shitty crap.
I need to sleep these shitty memories off, but I need to pour alcohol into me, a lot of it if I’m going to close my eyes tonight at all. When I get downstairs I spot the mail, and my heart skips a beat when I spot a letter that came for me. It’s from her; I recognise her handwriting. My shallow breaths barely give me enough oxygen not to suffocate myself.
After instructing my muscles to keep moving, I grab the envelope and hurry upstairs to my room, shutting the door louder than I should. The adrenaline starts pumping through my body as I run my hand over the paper. It’s better to get it over with and just open the damn thing, so I do. Inside I find my own letter with my own envelope. India is a clever monster, but I know that she opened it. The edges are torn, plus the paper looks like someone read it more than once.
What the fuck is this supposed to mean? Has she read it and obviously decided that it’s not good enough?
For a split second I’m eager to just go to her house and ask her if she still hates me, but after a moment I push that thought away.
I change my mind about getting drunk. Whatever I do, nothing is going to ease my guilt and frustration, so I make myself busy. I go back downstairs and get back to the car to deal with the rest of the boxes. There is a lot of stuff we brought back from my mother’s home, so I start unpacking everything. After a moment Jhonny arrives and offers to give me a hand. He might be a stoner, but he is useful sometimes.
Okay, I can’t stop fucking thinking about this letter. I was hoping that I could push thoughts of her to the side, but after all, she posted it back to me without any note, without any message.
It’s late and our whole living room is filled with boxes. I tell Jhonny that he can make use of a lot of the stuff if he wants.
When I finally go to bed later after smoking some pot, my head is pounding. I fall asleep still wondering if she has actually read my letter. I guess I won’t know until she forgives me, and that might take a really long time.
We have a large audience during the training session on Thursday. There are also a lot more girls than usual. A few of them are cheering for me when the game starts. The rumours died down slightly this week, so I wonder what the hell is going on. I get a lot of looks that tell me they wouldn’t mind being in my bed after the game. I shake my head, trying to play the best I can.
Once the training is over, in the changing room our coach gives us one of his lectures before a very important match. On Saturday we are playing against Birmingham University. It’s the first match of the season, a really fucking important one. Coach gives us a lot of crap about teamwork before he switches to strategy and the actual game. I can barely concentrate on what is going on around me. After we leave the stadium, guys are talking, getting excited about the upcoming match, but I feel like shit. After the training we go out for a quick beer and then it’s bedtime.
Saturday, I wake up with an uneasy sensation in my stomach while it’s still dark outside. After failing to fall asleep again, I waste some time online. My stomach heaves and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I don’t get sick, especially not before a match. I’m a machine. Somehow after swallowing a few tablets, I feel all right.
Jacob slams through my door at exactly eight in the morning.
“Ready to kick those bastards’ asses?”
“Hell, yeah, but I need my energy drink first,” I tell him. He gets the message and drags himself downstairs. I can expect everyone at the stadium today. India is going to be cheering for Evans, no questions asked.
When we finally leave the house, my legs feel like bricks. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but something is niggling at me. In the changing room the atmosphere is good; the boys are pumped up and jokes about our opponents are flying every few minutes. Normally I’m never nervous before the game. I love rugby, so I don’t get what is wrong with me. Maybe it has something to do with fact that India is going to watch the entire match and support some other guy.
Our coach pushes us with his patronising speech a few minutes before we go out there. Rugby is supposed to be my distraction from what is going on in my head.
“Right, ladies, get the fuck out there and make Braxton proud!” I roar as captain.
There are some other roars, someone pats me at on the back, and we are out. The noise that spreads over the entire stadium is fucking awesome. Blood pumps with excitement through my ears. I was fucking right, the crowd is cheering and the stadium is full.
Our opponents are looking grim and when the show begins, I forget about all the distractions and concentrate on the game. My team is in excellent shape, and once we have the ball, our attack is
smashing their defence. The crowd is fucking loud while a large player from the opposite team crushes me down few times. I see stars, but once I get the ball, no one can stop me. Russell is good too at scoring a few points when he has some free kicks. The first half is ours. We are taking over the field, smashing our opponents like little insects.
We are pumped when we walk back to the changing room. My lungs are burning like hell. Jacob’s forehead is bleeding, but he doesn’t even let anyone look at him, he is so pumped.
My jaw feels like shit, but I put some ice on it and try to rest. A few minutes later I drink some shakes while going over the strategy with the boys for the second half. Time is flying and by the time we have to get back, my head is pounding and my jaw hurts. Our opponents reboot their strength quickly enough. They start to play more aggressively during the first fifteen minutes, turning the game around. We are running around like pigs ready for slaughter.
After half an hour, I call a time out and point everyone to their positions. Coach is freaking out because we are ten points down. The crowd helps us again as we walk back in. I’m entirely focused on that match and then the idea sparks in my mind, quick and unexpected. A new plan starts to form in my head and I know that it’s time to fucking win this thing.
Soon Jacob gives me a great pass, and with my speed I run, pushing to the other side of the field, winning points. The game improves, and the crowd goes wild, calling my name. The same guy tries to block me off, but a new course of action is in my head. I feel fucking invincible, powerful and pumped.
After the last score, the final points are fifty-three to forty-four. Braxton wins. Everyone is fucking ecstatic, and the Braxton crowd is pleased with what we achieved today. The adrenaline runs through my bloodstream as we go around shaking hands with the other team. They look devastated, and that’s understandable.
I like to take my time after the match. I’m always the last one to leave the changing room. After the victory, I wanted to snatch the microphone of the organiser and tell the world that I’m in love with India, because I was so overwhelmed by my emotions and past memories. Somehow I managed not to act impulsively and went back to the changing room. India has to see that I’m not acting like I own everything and everyone, that I’m humbler.
All About Me Page 8