I angle myself under the showerhead so the water strikes my right shoulder and scrub at my skin with a face-washer. Every pore of my body has absorbed the greasy chicken stench from Joe’s.
The bathroom is heavy with steam and the smell of coconut, and with everyone else asleep or out, there’s an unusual calm in the house. Jay isn’t banging at the door for me to hurry up; and Mel isn’t ducking in, hand over her eyes, to retrieve her hair-straightener. It’s so peaceful that it almost feels like being at home. My old home, where it was just Mum, Dad and me rattling around a house big enough for a family of six. Maybe midnight showers aren’t so bad. Maybe they’ll be my time. If I can ever get rid of this chicken smell.
The work itself isn’t that bad. Nice enough people. Free hot chips and gravy on my break. Six and a half hours of getting paid. But squelching through our front door at eleven forty-three at night with fat in my boots and oil in my hair isn’t pretty.
I step out of the shower and grab the two ratty towels I’ve laid out for myself. They don’t match, but none of our stuff does. It’s all hand-me-downs from everyone else’s parents or hand-me-acrosses from Mel’s friends. I wind one around my hair and one around my body.
I’m tiptoeing back to the bedroom when I bump into Kurt in the hall.
‘Hey, you’re still up?’ I whisper.
‘Yeah, hey, babe,’ he whispers back.
I’ve barely seen him today. He was so wrecked after a party last night that he slept for most of the afternoon, then it was time for me to go to work.
‘Heading to bed?’ I ask. Then it clicks. He’s in jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. A backpack is slung over his shoulder. The only place he’s heading is out.
‘Nah, the Richards twins are having another party. Just got a late call-up — Ryan’s gonna give me a lift over there.’
‘But it’s after midnight.’ I tighten my towel. ‘And it’s dark out.’
‘That happens at night.’
‘But —’
‘Lay, you’ll be asleep here anyway, right?’
I shrug.
‘You look tired, babe. I’m off.’ He pecks me on the cheek, then heads down the hallway towards the front door.
I pad into our bedroom and pace around in my towel, side-stepping his mess to get to the wardrobe. As I pull out a singlet and boxers from the top drawer, I notice the bottom drawer is slightly ajar.
Kurt’s drawer.
He’s never left it unlocked before. He even refuses to tell me where he keeps the key, but now he is gone and the drawer is open.
I swallow.
He promised me that he’d stop dealing. No harm in making sure. Heart pounding, I drop to my knees and yank open the drawer.
Shit.
My body surges with rage as I stare at the dried greeny-brown leaves and buds, as though staring will somehow make them disappear out of our house. I can already picture Kurt spinning it, telling me everything is okay, that I’m overreacting, that whatever he’s doing it’s for us. Yet I can’t believe any of it any more. He’s left me with no choice.
I snatch my phone from the bedside table, my hand tightening around it as I consider calling him and ending it right now.
But then I toss the phone onto the bed.
If I break up with him, I have nowhere to go. I followed him here like a failure, and he knows it. Besides, he’s the only one who’s even tried to be there for me in the past few years. Everyone always tells me how much I owe him for staying with me through the tough times, and maybe they’re right.
Sucking in a breath, I stride into the kitchen and yank open the fridge. Diet Coke. Red Bull. Water. Mel’s cheap cask wine. ‘Cat’s wee’ she calls it ’cos she thinks it tastes that bad.
I pour myself a small glass and gulp it down, hating every sip but craving numbness. I refill the cup, drops splashing onto the tiles.
I’ve been on the couch for ten minutes, staring at the full glass, repulsed by the taste in my mouth and the aching feeling in my chest, when I hear a knock, knock, knock at the front door.
I take another sip of wine, then gag, so I pour the rest down the kitchen sink. I tiptoe through the house and open the front door to see an elderly woman in a paisley-print robe. Her face is engraved with lines and her nose is scrunched up in disapproval.
‘I found this boy snooping in my front yard — he’s lucky I didn’t call the police,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I believe you know him.’
She moves to one side and the culprit stumbles onto the top step of the veranda. Milo.
His cheeks are red, his hair is dishevelled and his bottom lip droops like a slug crawling towards his chin. He looks tipsy and the hems of his jeans are covered in mud and leaves.
‘Dude!’ I say, rushing forward to help him into the house.
The old woman totters off home, but not without shooting us another judgmental glare.
‘Hey, Lay,’ he says, swaying like one of those inflatable stringy-man balloons outside car dealerships.
‘What the … are you okay, MD?’ Stupid question, Layla.
Milo babbles something under his breath, then plops down on the veranda, hitting the concrete hard, and rests his head against a post.
With a bit of prodding, I realise he tried to call me, but I’ve been so distracted by Kurt’s lies that I haven’t paid attention to the notifications coming through.
‘It’s over with Sal,’ he mutters, ‘I’ve stuffed up my life. I had it all and now …’ He makes an explosion noise.
I take his hand. ‘It’ll be alright.’
‘Nah,’ he says, eyes watery. ‘I can’t be in this town any more. I can’t.’
I don’t want him crashing through the house in the middle of the night, but I can’t leave him outside in this state.
‘Come inside for a minute,’ I tell him. ‘A minute. You’re going to wait in the laundry while I get you some water, we’ll talk it out, and then you’re going home before your parents realise you’re gone and call the police. Follow me and don’t say another word until I say so, okay?’
He nods.
It’s a start.
His hand firmly in mine, I lead him through the house and steer him into the laundry. It’s a small cramped room away from the bedrooms.
I prop him against the sink and press my finger to his mouth. ‘Shhh, two of my housemates are still home,’ I remind him, then go to fetch a glass of water.
‘Hey, you’re in your pyjamas,’ he whispers when I get back.
‘Well done, Captain Obvious. You know what time it is, right?’ My nose crinkles. ‘Does something … does something reek in here? What did … oh, it’s on the bottom of your jeans! Quick, take them off and we’ll scrub them. It stinks, man. This is why you don’t fall over in people’s gardens.’
Milo fumbles with his belt.
‘Wait, you’ve got boxers on too, right?’
He removes his jeans without answering. He does. Thank God. I try not to laugh.
‘No more talk until you drink this — you’re a mess,’ I say, passing him the water.
His expression sours. ‘That’s what she said.’ He slumps down onto the ground, head lolling against the washing machine. ‘She used to talk about us getting married one day … she did. Everyone did. Not me. It was her idea.’
‘Don’t worry about that right now,’ I say, dropping to the floor next to him.
‘She wanted a dog and a fence and kids and a juicer to make those green drinks and just … I freakin’ hate those drinks.’
I pinch his cheek. ‘You’re eighteen, MD, forget about all that crazy future stuff for a sec and …’ He stares at me, eyes glassy. ‘Just focus on not chucking up in my laundry, yeah? That’s the only thing that matters at the moment.’
‘My head …’ He slumps lower. ‘It got so hard with her. It shouldn’t be that hard when it’s right … right?’
‘Don’t ask me. Everything feels hard.’
‘This doesn’t.’
‘This?’ I gesture at the poky laundry, his dirty jeans, the glass of water. ‘This feels good to you?’
He laughs. ‘Nah. Just this.’ He edges closer to me. ‘You smell like an island.’
I try not to smile. I hate how he makes me smile, especially when he shouldn’t.
‘So what happened with you two?’ I ask. ‘I know the distance blows, but I thought it was going okay?’
Milo shakes his head.
‘Come on, you don’t know it’s over for sure. Anything’s possible.’
‘Nah.’
I tilt his chin up so we’re eye to eye. ‘You might forget this by tomorrow, but I’m going to tell you anyway. You are making your life suck right now by sitting around freaking out about how your life sucks.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Anyway … that’s enough tough love. Drink more water. Please.’
‘Stop saying stuff like you know what’s going on with me.’
I clench my fists to stop myself from shaking him.
‘I do know what’s going on, Milo Dark, which is why I know you’re horrible with change, but the sooner you realise things change whether you want them to or not, the better.’ I pause, fighting the tightness building in my body, running higher up my chest and around my neck, into my throat, down my arms. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to harden up and get on with it. Move on.’
I’m not sure if I’m even still talking about Milo.
Then he does something I’m not expecting. He laughs.
‘Damn, you’re right. I hate that you’re right. So … so do you think we should be broken up?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You said the thing about getting on with it … and moving on. You said those words.’ He licks his top lip, so I press the water to his mouth. He takes the glass. ‘Why do you like him, Lay?’
‘Huh?’
‘Or love him? I dunno. I forget his name.’ Milo’s voice is barely a murmur now. ‘Your boyfriend. You never talk about him. You never bring him up.’
My jaw tightens. ‘Maybe you should go, sleep this off. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, okay. You know … you’re the best, Lay, you are. I’d be going crazy in Durnan without you here.’
‘Crazier than this?’
He inches closer and folds his hand against mine. My hand with its chipped nail polish and fingernails chewed down to the quick; his, pale and bigger, rougher than I’d imagined, though his touch is still gentle.
The room is so cloaked in night that I question if this is even real. Has my brain short-circuited and I’m playing out what shouldn’t happen? What can’t happen. What I think I want to happen.
I wonder if Milo is taking in everything I’m taking in — the smoothness of the back of my hand, my quickening breath, the sudden silence deafening the space between us.
I turn to face him. ‘MD …’
His fingers trace my jawline. He’s still gentle, cautious … it’s like being brushed over with a feather.
It’s my turn to whisper. ‘What are you doing? And don’t say “I don’t know”. You know.’
‘I don’t know.’
He wraps an arm around me, pulling me towards him like he did on the side of the highway. I hesitate before giving in and resting my head on his chest. His fingertips run up and down my arm, drawing invisible zigzags and loop-the-loops. I’m suddenly aware of every millimetre of my uncovered skin; every curve and arch and freckle. Yet my body is relaxed into his. He feels warm, like home. I nuzzle closer as he strokes my skin and holds me tight.
Damp hair tumbling onto my shoulders, I dare to look up. He’s already looking down at me. My lips are centimetres from his chin. I’m frozen, imagining what might happen if I lean just that little bit further. I picture him outlining my mouth with his thumb, then dragging me in closer, our bodies surging against each other. His hands on my body, my hands on his, skin on skin, warm flesh pressing against the cold tiles.
He’s slid closer.
Or I have.
Everything has slowed down.
I can feel his heart pounding through his chest. I wonder if he can feel mine.
I push myself up.
Our lips graze and I taste him.
I’m not sure who pulls away first but the kiss is over in seconds. Maybe we broke apart together. We don’t say a word but we’re still charged, like there’s electricity pulsating between us.
‘What was that?’ he murmurs.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, stealing his line.
‘I’ve thought about kissing you for so long.’
I stay quiet, too scared of every thought pumping through my head right now. Especially the one that says I’m not ready for it to be over.
If we held back before, things move fast now. Too fast to think. Without speaking, I climb onto his lap so we’re face to face. His mouth falls open, startled for a second, but then his hands quickly find my skin. I tighten my legs around his waist as I kiss him, slowly then deeper, then edge my hips up and push myself closer to him.
‘Jesus,’ he mutters, his voice low and rough, then he cups my face with his palms and kisses me hard.
It feels right, like we’ve been wasting time not doing this. When we pull apart, my toes still tingle, my skin is still hot.
Milo sits there, legs splayed, jaw slackened. Giddy.
‘Lay …’
Hearing him say my name jolts me back to reality. I’m alone on the laundry floor with my childhood friend. And I have a boyfriend. A complicated boyfriend, but one who’s been there for me in the past even if he’s forgetting how to be there for me now. Yet somehow, tonight in that moment, Milo Dark made me forget I have a boyfriend. I am the worst person in the world.
I slide back onto the tiles and shove a damp strand of hair behind my ear.
Milo hangs his head. ‘This is … I don’t know what this is.’
I nod.
‘Lay, that was …’ He shakes his head. ‘Shit. I don’t want things to be weird.’
‘Don’t be weird then,’ I say, trying to convince myself as I pull him to his feet.
I stumble forward and he catches me. We wobble together. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. I look up. My eyes linger at the sight of him chewing his bottom lip.
‘Fine, it’s already weird,’ I say. His hands are still wrapped around me, resting on my lower back. I reach behind, unlace them and let go. They hang loosely by his body. ‘It doesn’t have to be though. You were drinking, I was drinking, you were upset, I was upset, you were —’
‘Wait, you were upset? Why?’
Milo has no idea how much harder he’s making this.
‘MD, we’ve known each other forever, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And this was like five minutes of weird. Tops.’
‘Tops.’
‘And five minutes divided by eighteen years multiplied by one hundred equals …’ I pause. ‘I have no idea what it equals, but the point is — tonight is a minuscule amount of time in our otherwise long and boring lives together. I say we stop talking about this and we reboot. And we never tell anyone. Deal?’
‘Deal.’ His hand brushes mine, just hovering there until he pulls it away. ‘You have a boyfriend. Jesus. A boyfriend. I’m such an arsehole.’
‘No, I am. But me and Kurt are breaking up.’
‘What?’ Milo’s jaw drops. ‘’Cos of this?’
‘No. It doesn’t matter why — it’s just another thing I need to sort out … but I am. I’m ending it.’ My voice trails off. ‘Just focus for a sec, okay? You and me, right now. We’re friends above everything else. Friends. You’ve known me my whole life, and I don’t want to lose you, so promise me it won’t change. We’re mates.’
Milo’s lips are near mine. He could kiss me again but he just nods.
* * *
Layla: Get home safe?
Layla: You okay?
Layla: Seriously nothing?
* * *
Layla: Dude!
Milo: Sorry, been busy. Yeah, got home. How are you?
Layla: Figured, it was days ago. What’s on this week?
Milo: Not much, work and stuff
Layla: Wanna hang sometime soon?
Milo: Sorry, can’t, still grounded
Layla: OK, let me know when you’re free