Amy’s fast asleep, sprawled across her bed. To my surprise, she snores. It never once crossed my mind that someone so dainty and cutesy might do something as base as snoring, even in an inebriated state. She still looks like an angel, despite the snoring. This is an odd little privilege. If you think about it, it’s the ultimate expression of trust. For all she knows, I could be a serial killer. We haven’t known each other that long in the grand scheme of things. She’s told me more about her than I have about me, because she’s on the right side of normal when it comes to being a proper, authentic human being.
And the more I know about her, the more I hang out with her, the more I’m coming to the conclusion that my own problems might not just stem from my fugliness. Maybe that’s just the way I’ve rationalized it. Maybe there isn’t this big conspiracy against me and the other Fuglies, and we do hold our destinies in our own hands.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one with the problem.
And maybe that’s always been the case.
I shake my head. I don’t want to think like this. Damn alcohol. Should be banned. But I can’t just blame the cocktails and the vodka, can I?
I’ve done bad things. I was once proud of them, which, in a way, makes it even worse. They weren’t mistakes. I deliberately went out of my way to crush Dizzy, just because she’s pretty. I told myself it’s just online, it doesn’t count, it isn’t really me . . .
. . . but it is.
I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Amy’s stuck little glow-in-the-dark stars on it, because of course she has.
I sit up and fumble in the dark for my phone. It’s 4:16 a.m.—not quite morning, but definitely not night. A weird time of day, really, one that no one but cats and people working night shifts knows very well.
I have some messages. Lots of them. All from Tori.
My breath hitches as a nasty, crawly feeling infects my chest and belly.
Due to the way Messenger works, I get the last one first.
Where the fuck are you?
Who the fuck is this?
Isn’t she that little slut Amy?
Wtf are you up to?
Are you fucking her or something?
A photo of a drunk me pouting at the camera with Amy is attached.
The dread intensifies. I scroll back.
The messages start off okay. Where are you, are you there, what are you doing, etc. etc. Then they step up a bit: are you ignoring me, what have I done, wtf is going on. That then escalates to a full-on why are you ignoring me, I know you’re there, that bitch is posting photos of you on her page, why the fuck would she be doing that, where the fuck are you . . .
I should have told her I was going out. Just a quick message and that would have been that. Why do I do this to myself? Just one simple thing would have saved me all this shit. I cower in front of the screen, my thumbs clumsily mashing the keys on my phone until autocorrect manages to decipher the core of my message:
Sorry. Was invited out by my uni friends.
I meant to msg you, but signal was shit
Interesting lie, but hey, whatever calms her down, right?
Sorry again. Wasn’t ignoring you.
We literally just ate pizza
and watched shitty horror movies.
Nothing else, I promise.
I’ll be home soon,
then I can explain in more detail xxxxxx
It does cross my mind that Tori’s lost it a bit—she doesn’t own me and I am allowed out once in a while, but I’m so worried that I’ve upset her, I squash that down. I did say I’d be online tonight. Oh, why didn’t I just message her? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I clutch at my phone, willing her to be there, aware that it doesn’t look great that I’m replying at four in the morning. Her last message was just after 1:00 a.m. and they started at 8:30 p.m. Oh, God, I feel even more terrible now. She sat in, waiting for me for nearly five hours . . . It’s about the closest I’ve ever come to legitimately standing someone up, and it’s a horrible feeling.
Nothing. Not even the bloody check mark tattles on her. She’s probably doing what all sensible people are doing right now and sleeping, which is what I should be doing but can’t because I’m too wired, too scared, feeling too goddamn sick to even contemplate lying down, even though I know it’s ridiculous and that I should at least try to get some shut-eye, oh God, what have I done?
***
I finally hear back from Tori at 8:48 a.m.
Oh. You were out? Why didn’t you just tell me? I was worried.
And that’s it.
I feel even worse now, if that’s possible. I ping back a load more apologies, explaining how I didn’t really want to go out, but I couldn’t say no when everyone else was going, all the while completely aware that the photos Amy has so stupidly shared show just the two of us—I mean, come on, you don’t have to document every fucking moment of your life on social media! No one’s interested, and all it does is make you look like either a desperate, needy twat or a complete narcissist. What makes it even worse if the people you drag along with you have no say in being part of your online freakshow, which, by the way, is totally selfish . . .
. . . though not exactly the most heinous crime imaginable either.
I glance over to Amy, who is still asleep. She has one hand curled under her cheek, and if I squint, I think I can see the child she once was. She looks so peaceful. I wish I had her life. Okay, not the whole brother/parent thing (although at least they’re basically normal, rather than being a nonfunctioning depressive and a fucking delinquent), but that ability to switch off; to do stupid, selfish things like post pictures all over the internet when you know damn well the other person doesn’t like having themselves plastered in public spaces, and still be able to sleep like a baby . . .
I press the palms of my hands into my eyes. My stomach growls.
Crap. We gave away the last of the leftover pizza last night.
I know. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation,
I know I would have had far more fun with you.
I feel bad. Can you forgive me?
A few moments later and ping!
Of course I can, babe. You’re my special girl. I didn’t mean to go off on you, but I saw the photos and thought you’d ditched me—which, let’s face it, you kind of did—but hey, you had fun, so I should be happy if you’re happy.
I can’t help but frown at that. On one hand, it sounds like she’s forgiven me and is apologizing for going over the top, but on the other . . . passive-aggressive much? Is this normal? I don’t know—it’s not as if I have much to compare it to. Maybe she’s trying to be cool with it all but is struggling a bit because I hurt her feelings? That would make sense, I suppose. Oh, why didn’t I just tell her?!
Again, I’m so sorry, Tori babe.
It was totally one of those off-the-cuff things.
Next time, you’ll be the first person I tell, k?
Another pause, then:
K. Are you free? I got us a whole new playground . . . ;)
My stomach twists again.
No. Will be soon, tho. Look forward to seeing what you have for me! ? xxx
Although that is a lie. I’m in no mood to fuck someone’s day up for shits and giggles. Last time I did that, someone almost died.
. . . You’re not at home?
Where are you then?
Oh GOD! Just drop it, Tori!
I crashed at Amy’s. Closer to town than my house.
Oh. I see.
I sigh heavily, as if that might relieve the pressure building up in my head and chest.
Babe, it’s not like that.
It’s not like anything.
I just needed somewhere to crash.
You know I love you. B&T forever, remember?
Yeah. I remember. Are you leaving now?
Soon. Just need to find my stuff.
And say goodbye to Amy, maybe help her tidy up, you know, the basic ways you demonstrate that you’re not a total jerk. But I don’t think I’m going to have time for that; I get the impression Tori wants me home five minutes ago.
K. Message me as soon as you get in.
No kisses, no “babe.” Not a good sign.
Will do. Could be an hour or so, tho—
need to get the bus
and you know what they’re like. xxxx
I know she’s read it as the check mark has given her away, but she doesn’t reply. And given she knows how to bypass the check mark, she obviously wants me to know she’s choosing not to reply.
I stuff my phone into my pocket.
“Amy,” I hiss. “Amy!”
No reply. Not even a grunt. She’s still totally dead to the world. I lean over and give her a little shake. She swats my hand away with a small groan.
“Amy, I’ve got to go.”
“Uhh!” She pulls a pillow over her face. I clench my jaw. I don’t have time for this.
“Amy, I mean it. I need to go. I’d stay and help you clear up, but I—I’ve just got to get home. Sorry.”
“No. Stay here and feed me coffee . . .” Amy whines plaintively.
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Why?” She pulls the pillow off her face. Her mascara has smudged, but she still looks way too good for someone with a raging hangover. “I thought we could have coffee and then get bacon sandwiches from the greasy spoon down the road. And anyway, why are you so awake? Why aren’t you hungover? You’re inhuman!”
That pulls me up. My excuse—that my mum needs me—dies on my lips. She means it as a joke (or at least I hope she does), but she’s right. That I was even thinking of using Mum as an excuse to get away from her so I could talk to Tori . . . that’s a bit of a red line, isn’t it?
“Okay, look, I’ll fix us some coffee and help you clear up, but then I have to meet someone.”
Amy hauls herself upright. “Ooo, you do? Who?”
“Just . . . someone,” I say, refusing to look at her.
She peers at me, and a slow grin spreads across her face. “Someone important?”
I shrug, giving her one of those noncommittal grimaces that some people mistake for smiles. “You could say that.”
Amy claps her hands in glee. “Oh, how adorable! When did you meet them?”
“A little while ago,” I say, way too quickly. “Online.”
“Oooo, an online romance.” Her grin broadens.
I feel a blush creep up the sides of my neck. “Yeah, well, I said I’d be online in an hour and, you know, I need to get home, so . . .”
“Aw, why didn’t you say so? I can clear up. I don’t want to get in the way of some serious Romeo and Julieting. Although . . .” Her grin dissolves, replaced by a small, concerned frown. “Be careful, yeah? I know online dating isn’t a new thing and everything, but even so—there’s loads of dicks out there who like to take advantage of people.”
She doesn’t say it, but the like you after the people drops neatly into place.
“It’s okay. I know all about the creeps online. I’m not about to give anyone my life savings. We just met on a forum and like the same stuff, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay. I wasn’t trying to lecture you or anything. Like I said, loads of people meet online now. I just don’t want you getting hurt. After Dizzy and everything, I don’t think I could cope with another friend being messed about.”
I snort. “I’m not going to pull a Dizzy.” Amy’s face falls. Okay, so that was a bit harsh. “What I mean is, I’m careful. I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, sure.” Amy smiles, but it holds none of her usual sparkle.