I wake late. The sheets covering my body are hot and yet freezing cold at the same time. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and look around my deserted bedroom. Amy’s bed is unmade, her sheets hanging all over the floor and a stray teddy bear sitting limply on the grainy carpet. Grey sunlight streams in through the curtain-less window, but from the faint tapping on the glass, I know it’s raining. I wonder why my alarm didn’t wake me. And like a kick in the guts, I realise it’s the weekend.
I get out of bed slowly. I stretch, pulling my mousy curls over one shoulder. I pull on a hoodie. I listen intently for a moment, my skin wriggling into goose-bumps. I wonder vaguely if I’m sad or happy that I can’t hear anything from next door apart from the thumping baseline of a slow song. I wonder if they’re both sleeping still, his arms around her, her body pulled tight to his own. His breath on her skin. The red lines that her nails left on his back beginning to fade as the bruises he left on her perfect skin blush a green-ish purple. I shake my head, my loose hair tickling at my back. I don’t want to think about her with anyone else. I want to think about her how she was yesterday, all dimpled smiles and raggedy, soaking wet hair that created rivers on her olive skin.
“Kimberley? Why the hell aren’t you ready? We’re going to miss the train!” My mam pokes her head around the door. Her mouth is set into a firm straight line, creating little lines around her mouth. She’s dressed in her best black jacket, as though she’s going to a funeral.
“I don’t care-” I murmur, crawling back into bed.
“You’re going to make us late, and you know how much your dad has been looking forwards to seeing you and Amy-”
“I’m not coming-” I say it quickly, the words becoming a jumbled mess as they hurry to escape from my tongue.
“You’re not coming with us?” Her mouth that was once set in such a firm line is now slightly agape. I don’t look at her. I don’t want to read the disappointment, the anger in her pale eyes.
“No.”
“Kim-” Pleading. She’s pleading with me. I close my eyes for an instant, and wish that I was anywhere in the whole city apart from right there.
“I’m not coming.”
“Oh god, I can’t be bothered with this. Kimberley, we’re going to miss our train-”
“There is no way I’m coming.”
“Fine, be like that” And suddenly my mam is a stroppy teenager, angry because she hasn’t got her own way. I pull the sheets up to my chin and imagine spending all day in bed, all alone.
“Be like that” she repeats.
“I will” I reply simply.
“Stay here then, see if I care. Your dad will be so disappointed-”
“You think I care how he feels?”
She pretends not to have heard me, but I know my words hurt her, burn her like fire. And I don’t care. “Don’t stay out late. Do your homework. There’s a tenner on the worktop in the kitchen, you can spend that on food. Me and Amy will be back at about ten tomorrow night-”
“Great.” I murmur, my voice thick with scarcasm.
“Less of the attitude-”
“Haven’t you got a train to catch?” I shout, pulling my sheets over my head and closing my eyes, loving the feeling of the hot darkness pressing down on my skin.
“See you Sunday night” my mam murmurs. I don’t bother replying. She slams my bedroom door. I don’t care. I can hear her talking to Amy in the kitchen for a brief moment. And then the front door slams.
