Incandescence

15: Lockdown

The shock must show on my face, because Peter chuckles beside me. "Don't tell me you've got a thing for Mr Tall, Dark and Sullen, too," he says, and I can swear that, behind the laid-back mask, there lies a hint of jealousy.

"Does she?" I jerk my head in the redhead's direction.

"Pfft, don't ask me. I'm not a girl, thank fuck for that. I just know she's always trying tae talk tae 'im whenever he's in here. Not that he's worth her time. Poor lass, doesnae seem tae get that he'd rather drive iron nails through his wrists than bother with anyone."

I glance over at the two, trying to detect if there's any attraction, but from here it merely looks as though Liv is being her usual peppy self, undeterred by the bored expression on Kale's face. "You're no fun," I hear her say, and when she turns back around she's sporting a pout that would put Posh Spice to shame.

"What's up? Did he say no tae you?" Peter coos, a smug grin growing on his face as he jabs her side. "Awh, don't worry, Livvy. April'll be back soon enough tae whip your arse."

"I've gotta say, she did take you down pretty fast, bro." She smiles innocently as though it's an offhanded comment.

"What can I say? I'm just that good," I chime in, shooting Peter a sly smile. 

Liv laughs. "More like Petey's too much of a Jessabel to be any good at sports, even the fake ones."

"Touché."

"Harsh but true. Innit, bruv?"

Peter shakes his head. "How many times am I gonnae have tae tell you, 'innit, bruv' isnae Scottish slang."

"Well, I dinny ken," says Liv, grinning now as invisible steam chugs out of Peter's ears. He groans.

"'Dinny ken' is Northern Scottish – no Central – dialect for 'I don't know.' You're just acting it now tae piss me off."

"It's the same thing really, innit, bruv?"

He shoots her a glare and lifts the hockey puck from the table, aiming it at her head. Jokingly, of course. That much is obvious from the way he's began to smile. "I'm no your 'bruv,' lass. And I don't think your real bruv would be too chuffed if he heard yae–"

He cuts off as though someone's shoved a stopper into his mouth. The smile on Liv's face vanishes, replaced by a frown.

"Liv, I'm sorry," Peter says, the regret visible in his expression. "I wisnae thinking –"

"'Course you weren't, Pete." She smiles at him, but I see through the façade. "Look, forget about the Mars Bars. I'm not even that hungry."

 "I'm sorry. Honestly, Liv, I wisnae thinking about Mason. I just meant –"

She holds her hand in the air, willing him to stop talking. "Look, it's fine. No harm done. I just – I'm gonna check out if those cops are still outside. It's too crowded in here."

With a reassuring smile, she weaves her way past numerous bodies and reaches the door, nudging it open and rushing out of the room. Peter and I stand there in shocked silence for a good minute, neither of us moving. It's me who finally says, "I should go see if she's okay." He nods, makes no move to stop me. So I follow in her footsteps.

The hall outside the West common room is eerily still, with only the distant hum of chatter from behind the door escaping to break the silence. It feels as though I'm in a movie studio and have switched from one set to the next, a humorous teen college movie to a gothic horror. Glancing in both directions, I try to predict which path Liv would have taken. To the right is the stairwell that leads up to the West dorms. To the left, the route to the main floors of the castle. Her dorm would be the obvious place to search . . . and that's exactly why I turn left.