Teatime comes and goes. I make Mum a fish finger sandwich, and I have one too because I’m not up to any actual cooking. No sign of the Brat, but then again it’s only five. Maybe I could nip out and get some ice cream? But that means going out, and I don’t really want to do that. Apathy battles with my sugar addiction. This time, apathy wins. Hell, if it gets too bad, I can always eat the hot chocolate powder straight out of the tub.
Mum doesn’t say much when I hand her the plate, and you know what? I’m fine with that. I sit next to her and eat in the fetid hole that was once our living room. Once upon a time, Mum would’ve gone mad if you’d worn your shoes in here; the mantelpiece was dusted to within an inch of its life, and God help you if you didn’t use a coaster when you put your cup down. Now, the floor is littered with old tissues and the inserts from magazines, and I don’t know the last time she undrew the curtains. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Open a window, let the place air a little.
Mum has yet to take a bite of her sandwich. Must remember to make sure she eats before she takes her meds. I swear that’s the only thing she can do now, apart from sleep. Anything to forget. Sounds kinda nice, when you put it that way.
Once I finish my sandwich, I leave Mum in CSI’s capable hands. I know, I probably should’ve stayed with her, but it’s hard. It’s hard to look at the one person in your life you’re supposed to be able to rely on forever and realize she’s just as broken and as human as you are.
I sit on my bed, my laptop open. Metachat’s blinking a code at me. I know Tori’s there, but for the first time ever, I don’t really want to talk to her. I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t think I can stand watching her gloat over one of our conquests, which now feel more like nasty, personal little terror attacks designed to cause as much heartbreak and horror as possible.
My phone dings. Another text from Amy.
Hi. U ok? I know this might sound a bit weird cos todays been so horrible, but I was thinking, maybe u would like to come over tomoz nite? I really think I need to do something to put my mind off this. Axx.
I read the message over a few times. The knot that always lives in my belly tightens.
I glance up. Tori’s code is still flashing at me.
I look down at Amy’s invitation.
Hey A. Yeah I’m fine. U ok too?
You’re closer to Diz than me, and I found it horrible enough.
I just can’t get my head round it all.
U wanna do something tomoz?
What u thinking of? Bxx
Right now, I need fluffy. Sorry, Tori, I do love you, but sometimes it’s better to cuddle a puppy than run with wolves.
“Die” hair. It’s an obvious autocorrect fail, but for some reason, it feels horribly apt.
Do I want to go hang out at Amy’s tomorrow night? For, like, the whole night? I’ve only ever had one sleepover. I was twelve and it was hell. That was when I realized that frenemies were actually a thing. Year 7, just up from primary school, when friendships suddenly went from “we’re vaguely the same age, shape, and species, cool, let’s play” to “I both adore and despise you, and everything we do must now become a torturous game of one-upmanship, depending on who we are with or where we are.”
How was I to know the sleepover was going to be a pecking-order sort out? That actually eating the pizza was a sign of weakness? That answering the Truth or Dare questions honestly would mean that everyone would know about my confusing crush on Ms. Pinter the following Monday?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to remind myself that all that shit happened over six years ago and that Amy’s not like that, and I’m a fucking grown-up now, even though I’m not really sure what that means, because I don’t think I really feel any different from when I was twelve. Still as awkward, still as chubby (no pretending it’s puppy fat anymore, though, so I guess things do change after all), still as confused.
I read the message again, looking for something that indicates this is all a setup, but of course there’s nothing, and it dawns on me that this is something I probably don’t want to screw up. I take in a deep breath in the hopes of steadying my wildly beating heart, and before my doubt-demons force me to change my mind, I rattle off, Yeah, that sounds cool, really need it, thanx xxxx, and then throw my phone on the bed as if it might bite me for my impudence.
Awesome! Am so pumped! Sort out deets tomoz, ok? Axxx ♥ xx flies back at me and punches me squarely in the feels.
This is so weird. I’m not used to this. I’m not even sure where to begin. I swallow as my eyes heat up.
Is this what I’ve been missing?
No wonder people will do anything to hold on to it.