16

It’s past midnight, long past it, and I’m standing in the kitchen drinking some water to take an aspirin before I finish up on some of my notes from school all week. I have my one full day I do monthly at the shelter tomorrow as it’s Saturday, so I want all my homework to be up to date because I’ll be too tired later. Sunday, I have plans with Elisa for a much-needed break.

I’m hiding away from my parents in their room after hearing them fight again.  I heard the name Dane so many times I wanted to rip my ears off and came down here to escape it instead. It sounded bad this time.

My mum was yelling like a banshee, which she rarely does, and Bryan was reacting to it, which he never does. He’s such a solid, push-over guy that he normally lets my mom vent and takes it, but I could hear him shouting back.

Over the past few months, it’s become a regular occurrence. It’s like it builds up, my mom finds fault in everything that Dane does, and Bryan’s lack of controlling him gets attacked. She curses and yells and storms around, throwing ultimatums. I heard London about six times, too, and know my mom is pushing to send Dane back to his own mother, which despite how we are, I don’t want to happen.

I can’t even explain why.

Dane’s still not home. After taking off from school after our last class, there has been neither sign nor word from him, and his cell is off. I know because I have tried to call and text him like fifty times since ten when his curfew ran out. Nothing but his voicemail, and I don’t have Tyler’s number either.

This isn’t the first time.

“Why are you still up?” My mum’s strained voice pulls me out of my head and draws my attention to her as she walks in wearing a pink silk robe. Her face is clear of makeup, and her hair is brushed out and silky despite sounding like she was at war twenty minutes ago. I guess she is finally done.

Even in the dim light, I can see she has dark circles of fatigue, and her mouth is pinched and tight as though she’s internally brewing a storm. Her entire aura is saying, ‘don’t talk to me,’ so I know it’s best to stay quiet like I never heard a thing and don’t ask. My mom never confides in me anyway.

“Headache. I came for some aspirin…. I’m going up in a second.” I smile emptily when she walks over and gives me a perfunctory peck on the cheek. A normal mom thing for her to do whenever she encounters me in the house before bed. Pretty much the only form of physical affection she has ever dished out in the entirety of my life. My mom is a talker who believes in conversation over cuddles. She’s not an overly affectionate or demonstrative person with anyone.

“Don’t stay up too late. I know what you’re like for burning the candle at both ends. Get a good rest. You have work tomorrow.” She heads for the door to the cellar, dismissing me, and I frown as I watch her disappear inside, knowing the only thing we keep down there is wine.

“I know, I’m going up,” I call after her but get no response.

My mom isn’t normally the type to need a drink at almost 1 am, but I guess this fight had to be worse than the last few. I can’t stand and watch it because I will get mad and upset and not sleep tonight. Churning up a million insecure feelings and sickly emotions because I need my second family to stay together for my own sanity.

I pick up my glass and leave to pad into the hall and upstairs, stopping for a second on the mini landing before the stair curve and looking out into our drive. Dane’s spot for his motorbike sits empty between my jeep and my mom's Porsche, and I am flooded with a heaviness that pushes my headache to throb harder.

I sigh and let the curtain fall into place before moving upstairs and back to my room, pausing by my mom’s bedroom door to see if Bryan is still up and getting nothing but silence. If mom is downstairs drowning her woes in wine, she will probably sleep in her study again… something she did a few days ago. I know her too well.

My heart sinks, and nausea swirls with anxiety to twist up my gut that my life is falling apart, and I try not to think about it because I don’t know what I can do.

I dump my glass on my desk and wander to the double doors of my veranda, which I have sat open for tonight's heat. The sheers are across them to keep the bugs out, and they are barely moving from a gentle breeze. I stand for a second to try and get my thoughts and emotions in order before turning back around to power down my laptop because I know I should be going to bed. If I stay up, I’ll keep going over their fight and my mom’s mood and worry myself into a panic attack. I have felt it building for days now.

I have a six am get-up alarm for spending my day at the shelter where I have been volunteering for the last two years. It’s my only downtime besides the time I hang out with Elisa between study, school, and after-school clubs.

I keep my life packed tight, with barely a second to breathe. It's just better and gives me zero time to think about the fact my father never contacts me, and my mom is so immersed in her job and marriage that I spend a lot of time alone. Well, I did before Dane moved in, and seems to invade my space at every opportunity.

A thud on my veranda scares me half to death, so I jerk and hop away as it's so heavy and close.  I nearly jump out of my skin, making a small squeal before covering my mouth with my hand and backing away with my eyes glued to the darkness behind the white fabric. My heart starts racing through my chest as a shadow sweeps my sheers, and I start frantically looking around for something to use as a weapon from whatever creature has just crash-landed there. Whatever it is is weirdly big and dark, even in the blackness of the night.

“Relax, it’s me.” Dane’s slurring words come through my curtains before he does, and I bristle all over, angry at this asshole for scaring me out of my wits. My stomach flips over with relief that it’s him, but also something warm that he is finally home.

“How did you get up here? What are you doing?” I snap at him, lowering my voice to a hiss and throwing my nearest scatter cushion his way. Irritated that his mere presence has thrown up another chaos of confused feelings when I am already uptight.

“Tree…. it’s closer to yours than mine, and I am way too drunk to make the jump.” He slumps sideways into the frame of my open door, and I can smell even from here that he is a walking bottle of alcohol. He stinks.

He’s dressed in all black even though today was like a hundred degrees, and everything is zipped up and closed tight, so his body must not be able to breathe. With his black leather biker jacket over jeans and boots but no sign of his helmet. He must have had these clothes in his backpack during class because he left in his uniform.

“Please tell me you did not drive like this?” I’m irritated by his appearance, his state of sobriety, and generally him, pushing past him to yank him inside and close the door properly. Cursing mentally that this idiot might have done something illegal and endangered his life in the process.

Having him appear like that has made me nervous about leaving it open now. I never heard him coming up the tree, so I would not hear anyone else doing it either, and that makes me scared as I mentally put a tick note to never leave it open at night again. It didn’t set off the house alarm or the floodlights, so he must have cut through the tees from the left.

“I’m not that dumb. My bike is safe with a friend. I’ll get it tomorrow. We got a cab home.” He walks past me, steps labored and zigzags to my bed before slumping down on the end and looking ready to fall back. He kicks at his boots as though he intends to take them off and manages to set his laces loose on the left one.

“Get up… don’t you dare pass out in here. Go to bed, Dane. My mom is downstairs on the warpath, and your dad’s in his room, so be quiet.” As much as I would love for them to catch him like this, wasted and walking in at this time, I don’t want the fallout after an already strained evening. My mom is worse when she drinks, and tonight would be nuclear. I don’t have the emotional constitution for any more today.

“You don’t want to cuddle up and sleep with me, Koala bear?” he mocks me by reaching out his fingers in a grabby childish manner, using Elisa’s pet name for me, and I throw another nearby cushion at him. Shaking my head at the mess he’s in.

“I would rather not….. How much did you drink? I can smell it from here.”

“I dunno… enough …..I’m celebrating.” He seems to take the hint that I don’t want him on my bed and gets up awkwardly, swaying left before he catches himself and then steps right again. His boot is undone, and I sigh at the possibility he will face-palm the floor by tripping over it and moving to re-tie it.

“Celebrating what? Another meaningless conquest? Or did you excel at beer pong?” I droll, my words oozing in disdain as I duck down, quickly knot his boot, and then move off and turn away before he falls over me with excessive sway. I start picking up my strewn cushions and tidying up, hoping to get him out of here pronto.

“My win… you’re looking at a  guy who earned himself five grand for a twenty-minute race. Start of much more to come.”

“What?” I spin on my heel, eyes widening in alarm. “What do you mean race? What race? Where? When?” my anxiety triggers spring up all over the place, confused by what he’s saying and scared by it. This doesn’t sound good, and seeing as he's not exactly part of any legit clubs or tracks that he could do anything like that, I don't know what to think.

“Kayla…..why are you sooooo…” he walks towards me with an odd look on his face, narrowing his prey-like eyes on me, and I instinctively start walking backward to put space between us, but he’s faster than me. He speed walks at me until I bump into the closed door behind me and end up with him caging me against it.  A flat palm on each side of my head as he leans in so close his nose touches mine. This odd behavior momentarily silences me, and even though I have a scolding brewing for him, I feel weirdly vulnerable.

“So, what?” I hesitate, tilt my face away, and move as he edges in with his instability. He’s so intoxicated he’s oblivious to how invasive of my space hes’ being.

“Goodie, two shoes? You’re like Mother Theresa and not in a good way.” He smirks, then sighs and leans in, moving his face to the side so his forehead touches the door, and I'm caught between him and the surface with his leather-clad shoulder in my face. He presses into me, getting heavier by the second as though he’s slipping into an intoxicated sleep.

“Dane, seriously, you’re drunk and being strange. Get off me.” I shove him back, but he catches me by the wrist and pulls me with him, so I end up tripping forward and colliding with his chest. The smell of alcohol, leather jacket, Dane's usual aftershave smell, and something … street air, smoke, and fumes from his bike and the sweet, cloying scent of a woman all over him that somehow riles me up.

“You wanna see? I don’t need to rely on my dad for cash after this… I can earn it myself. A surefire way to bring it in fast and ready and get the hell out of here in no time.” Dane lets me go and staggers backward, sliding his zipper down on his jacket and reaching inside for a brown envelope. He’s so unsteady I impulsively reach for him for fear he’ll fall and stand with my hands out like an idiot. He tosses it to me like it’s a dead fish, as though I was maybe asking for it.

I catch it, confused, unsure what he wants me to do with it, and open the flap to see a pile of used bills that add up to a lot of money. Thousands. Stunning me into gawped quiet.

I flick them with my finger and stare at them in disbelief. I have never seen this much cash in person, and it hits me in all kinds of wrong ways. All the blood drains from my face, and my body runs cold at the sight of it.

This doesn’t seem right at all.

“What are you talking about? Dane, what is this? Who gave this to you?” I forget about getting him out of my room and follow him when he turns and heads for my bathroom. He seems drunker by the second, and I wonder how recently he stopped downing it for it still to be catching up. I have seen Dane drunk before but not normally like this. He’s way over his limit.

“Bike racing…. there’s a street race twice a week…. an entire group of bikers that does this for cash as long as you don’t get caught.” He states it so arrogantly. Like this isn’t even a problem, and I gawp at him in horror.

“Are you serious right now? Are you talking about illegal drag racing? Dane, are you crazy? Do you know how stupid and dangerous that is? What could happen to you? What your dad will do? You could die… you know that, right? Or get arrested… what then? Your life will be screwed.” Hysteria hitches in my voice, and my throat tightens with millions of scenarios spinning through my head because of this idiot in front of me. Churning me up all tight and terrified at the fact he might seriously die.

Dane might be a lot of things, and sometimes I want to strangle him myself, but I don’t want to imagine anything happening to him. Not getting messed up in an accident or even killed. My heart starts pounding through my rib cage, and I get lightheaded, like I might faint. My anxiety levels skyrocket through the roof.

He turns on my bathroom taps and bends to start washing his face, ignoring me and shrugging me off as I try to turn him my way. Seemingly more interested in removing streaky marks caused by road dirt, I spot the smear of lipstick on his neck and an obvious love bite. It kicks me in the chest and stabbing pain in my abdomen fuels my sudden rage.

“This isn’t some ‘fast and the furious’ movie, Dane. You could get hurt or hurt other people. Don’t you remember that toddler that died after street racers hit her in Tampa?” I almost wail it at him, tugging his jacket by the sleeve and getting an irritated jerk to get me off. I don’t care and grab at him again to make him face me.

“Are you my mom or something? Cos I know you ain't my sister or my girlfriend, and I didn’t ask for your advice.” Dane shrugs me off once more, yanking his arm from my grip as I try for another turn at him, but he lifts his head and stares at me in the mirror. Glaring, even through half-closed lids, his expression feels like a bullet to my heart. He reaches for my dry washcloth and dabs his face.

“I didn’t ask you to come in here…. If you don’t want me to worry about you, don’t come into my room. Don’t tell me about the stupid shit you’re doing.” I bite back at him, upset by how he’s being and hating on him for being so reckless and stupid with his life that he doesn’t see what an utter moron he can be.

Tears are welling up from deep inside, and I know it’s a combination of tiredness and everything piling in on me. This isn’t just about him racing and stupid love bites from partying and women. It isn’t just about falling into my room drunk and then acting like I’m the last person with a right to care. Making it clear that if roles were reversed, he would not give two cents about me. It’s weeks or months of living in stress and dealing with everything alone.

My voice cracks and shakes, and my hands start to tremble.