4

It was the first time in living memory that I was home before my parents. I thanked Claude and watched him drive off. I walked into my apartment and decided on a shower before anything else. When I was comfortable in my track suit I picked up my acoustic guitar and put a country music DVD on. I played along with the songs that I knew and made a point of learning the songs I didn’t know.

I entertained myself in that manner or another hour or so until I saw car lights pull up into the driveway. I could hear my parents laugh rather tipsy while Gwen sounded completely drunk. I chuckled and put my guitar down.

I walked out to the driveway when I heard someone vomiting.

“Too much too soon?” I commented when I saw Gwen bent over the flower bed, my mother holding her hair back.

My father laughed drunkenly.

“How’d you get home?” he asked me after a while.

“Met Claude outside the bar. He gave me a ride home.” I replied.

“Nice of him. Was he alone?” my mother asked quickly.

“Yeah. The other guys were at the bar.” I replied carefully.

“So you are not high?” my dad asked carefully.

“Nope. I’ve had a shower too.” I grinned proudly at him.

“Good for you kiddo. Keep it up. Listen, I’m little drunk. When Gwen is done with the flowers will you help her out? Give her your couch or something?” my father asked and swayed.

“Sure dad.” I replied and took my mother’s place next to Gwen.

My mother pecked my cheek before she followed my father into their house through the backdoor. I waited until Gwen was starting to dry heave before I took her arm and almost carried her into my flat to sit on the couch. I got my bin from the bedroom, a glass of water from the kitchen and a washcloth from the bathroom.

I fed her the water and held the bucket while she vomited some more. When she could keep the water in I wiped her face with the wash cloth and lay her down on the couch.

“Don’t leave me.” She muttered when I stepped away.

“I’m not. I’m getting you some blankets and clothes.” I replied.

“Okay.” She muttered.                                   

Even though it was close to one am, I wasn’t really that tired. So I picked up my guitar again and started playing soft country tunes.

Gwen sat on the couch, elbow on the armrest and head in her hand, all the while watching me. I got to a song and she suddenly started singing along. At first I thought it was the alcohol talking, but after a while I realised she was actually enjoying it.

I hardly noticed when she fell asleep. All I knew was, her voice had drifted off and eventually disappeared. I smiled and pulled the blankets up over her, before going to my room and falling onto my bed.

I slept in the next morning, not getting up until my mother shook me awake at around eleven am, a dark frown on her face.

“What did you do last night?” she asked me angrily.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes then said groggy

“What? What are you talking about?” I asked confused and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

“With Gwen Andy!” My mother yelled at me.

“Nothing. I did what you told me to do. I got her in the house, cleaned her up and played some music then came to bed.” I replied, even more confused at my mother’s anger.

“You didn’t make a move on her?” my mother asked furiously.

“What? No!” I replied indignantly and got out of bed.

“That’s not what she said!” My mother yelled.

“For Pete’s sake Mom. Why would you say that? I know better than to try to sleep with a drunk woman!” I yelled back.

“You were drunk weren’t you?” she retorted.

“No! I was messing around with my guitar until three this morning!” I replied.

“You mess around with that thing when you are drunk too.” My mother had softened her tone.

“I know but I swear my head was clear.” I ran my hand through my hair and sat back down on the bed.

“Where is she now?” I asked my mother after a while of silence.

“She went home. She was terribly upset.”

I nodded and then said

“Should I go talk to her?”

My mother shook her head no before she stood up and left the room without another word.

I looked at the spot on the bed my mother had just been sitting on and wondered what the hell had just happened. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Instead I got dressed and went to the kitchen to get breakfast.

For a while I couldn’t figure out my next move so I put on some music and tossed my books onto my dining room table. The first book I touched was English. I shrugged and took my diary where I had written down the homework. For the next couple of hours I quietly did as much homework as I could. I only paused when someone knocked on my front door. I frowned. No one I knew would actually knock on the door. I stood up and opened the front door only to stare shocked at a pair of police officers.

“Andy?” he asked me with a frown.

“Yes sir?” I asked him confused.

“You are under arrest for the sexual assault of Miss Gweneviere Sheldon.” He said and took out his cuffs.

“Wait there must be some mistake.” I argued vehemently as he started telling me my rights while taking my hand and turning me around.

I kept my mouth shut and quit fighting the cuffs. I knew it would only make things worse. My father was on his phone when they brought me out to the street where their squad car was. The neighbours were all there, looking at me in shock and disbelief and for some, disgust. I hung my head and got into the car.

While we drove the officers talked softly amongst themselves. When we got to the station I was processed and taken to a tiny room that had one way windows. My hands were untied and then cuffed to the table. I waited for an hour, all the while tapping out a beat on the table to calm my nerves and to pass the time. After a while I began singing Folsom Prison by Johnny Cash.

I had barely gotten half way through when an inspector entered laughing.

“What’s funny?” I asked him and stopped tapping the table.

“You are. You are singing about shooting people when you are in a tiny room that records everything.”

“Yeah? In that case can you tell me why I’m here?” I asked him with a dark frown.

“You are here because your neighbour claims you sexually assaulted her while she was passed out on your couch.” He replied.

“Is that so? I don’t know what she’s talking about. I went to a bar with my father, had a couple of beers, my mother showed up with her, I let the bar on my own, went to see a friend, got a ride home, waited for them to come home. She was drunk, my mother asked me to take care of her, I got her clean clothes, waited for her to quit puking, messed around with my guitar and when she fell asleep I threw blankets over her and went to bed. My mother woke me up with the same story this morning, I told her exactly what I’m telling you now, I didn’t touch her!” I told him indignantly.

The inspector studied me for the longest time then he asked

“Was all the doors locked at the time you went to bed?”

“I don’t lock my doors. It’s always open. My folks don’t like it if I lock it. I had some previous mental and health problems and they couldn’t get into my house so I don’t lock at all.” I replied stubbornly.

“So anyone can walk into your house at any time?” he asked cautiously.

“Suppose so. I’ve never had any trouble of the sort.” I answered truthfully.

“She claims to have left marks on the person that had attacked her. Do you mind taking off your jacket or lifting up your shirt?” he asked carefully.

I stared at him then asked,

“Would you mind taking the cuffs off?”

He looked at my hands then nodded in agreement. The door opened and a police officer entered the room, carrying the keys.

He unlocked the cuffs and left the room, only to be replaced by a female officer. I grit my teeth, unzipped my jacket then with one swoop, took my shirt off too.

The inspector and the officer looked at my scratch less body before nodding his head, silently giving me permission to get dressed again.

“You are free to go. May I suggest you do not go near the complainant until the investigation is complete?” the inspector said after a long silence.

“How is that even possible? She is my English sub teacher and my damned neighbour. How the hell should I avoid that situation?” I replied furiously.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He said and left the room.

The officer showed me the way out. I stopped at the entrance of the cells to get my cell phone, the only thing I had in my pocket when I was arrested. I didn’t even have shoes on, since I walk on my socks in the house.

My parents were waiting for me in the reception area. My father wanted to pat my shoulder but I shrugged him off, feeling way too pissed off too even talk to them. We drove to the house in silence. The trip felt like hours but it was at the most ten minutes. I got out of the car and went straight to the flat. My mother tried walking in after me but I slammed the door in her face and for the first time in two years, locked it.

I was furious! I felt like breaking something. Instead I turned my radio up, full blast to Eminem’s Superman. I knew she could hear it. In fact, I was fairly sure my entire street could hear it.

I threw open the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy.

“Fuck this!” I screamed at the empty flat as I opened the bottle and stepped on the cap.