The Dollhouse

Chapter 31

My body still rolled with shivers despite the cosy scarf. It would have been nicer seated by the bonfire, the burning logs billowing thick smoke into the night. The cigarette tasted stale and dehydrating. Ash fell on to my lap.

People milled around, laughing and joking and swaying. The house, whoever owned it, seemed to have barricaded it off to public access - but someone had cranked open a window and cheeky adolescents were sneaking inside, covering their mouths to mask their giggles.

"God, they're not going in to use the bedrooms are they?" Lorna vocalized what we were all thinking with a degree of disgust.

Sam collapsed with manic laughter. He laid on the cold ground for a long while. Lorna got up and sighed, taking off her denim jacket and spreading it over Sam, drunk and eagle-spread.

"You're very quiet tonight," Betsy observed. A rush of fondness dawned over me for her; so casually asking me in that special voice.

"There's been some tension at home," I said. "Not pleasant. Violet's going through her second rebellious phase."

Nick was deep in conversation with a random girl by the bonfire now. One of that Eastville lot no doubt. She would have only been about five foot three, with doll-like characteristics that would make anyone emerald with envy.

"Do you wanna share?"

"Nah. Not really."

"Come with me in the house then? I'm busting for the bathroom."

I didn't realize until I found my found how profound the drink's effect was on me. I had never been properly drunk before. Sure, I'd sampled that Jack Daniel's behind the shed at school that time but it was so repulsive neat. And I'd only had like, two gulps.

We climbed through the open window, Betsy boosting me through. I wobbled into the dark hallway. The sound of distant shenanigans reached our ears, and we shared a wide-eyed look of cynicism.

I nearly lost my footing tripping over a cat slinking in the shadows. I let out a scream, and Betsy nearly jumped out of her skin before dissolving into tipsy laughter. The puss gave a growl. It's yellow eyes flashed menacingly.

"Holy hell," Betsy wiped tears away with her knuckles. "I'll just be a minute. Don't talk to any strange boys!"

Standing alone in the blackness was sobering. My balance kinda seemed to have a stronger relationship with gravity; I pressed my back against the wall, knocking into a garish painting with an 'oomph'.

My family was abusive. There had to be no question about it, but what was I supposed to do? Shoulder the responsibility and go to social services? I didn't want to spend the rest of my school years dumped in a foster home. We were practically orphans, anyway.

The sound of flush, then the door banged open.

"Urgh, it's grotty in there. Do you need to go?"

Reliable, beautiful Betsy Dawson. Such a strong young woman, so kind and gentle with a heart of gold. She had been with me no matter what was happening in my personal life. I stumbled into her, emotion welling up inside me like a helium balloon that couldn't be stopped.

"Darling, you have great courage." My words slurred. My weight dropped, and Betsy struggled to heave me up again in the shady light of the hallway. Ominous pictures glared down at her. Wet tracks slipped down my cheeks; I hadn't even noticed I'd been bawling.

"You're so drunk. Sleep it off, you'll come to your senses in the morning."

"Noooo," I groaned, grappling around her neck. Her long blonde hair tickled the nape of my neck.

Distant sizzling of sparklers could be heard in the yard. Energy was sapping from me. Betsy still found the whole situation amusing, and I didn't even have a name for the emotion that overcame me next.

A part of my drunk mind translated the love wrong; because it was me who initiated the kiss, the soft and brief peck on the lips that I pretended belonged to something more sincere.

And you know what, I have no idea how I came to be outside once more.

The world was whirling. Mocking shadows jumped around cast by the pit of flames. Lorna had vanished once again. Sam was still sprawled under the jacket, askew and snoring.

My feet tripped over some loose brickwork like the clumsy oaf I was. I skinned my ankle, but I didn't feel the stinging of broken skin. The accident had caught Nick's attention - he was still talking to that stranger, though.

"Easy, Fitzgerald!"

"Everyone else is allowed to go crazy," I said, beyond defensive. "Why not me?"

I was heavily drunk - three, four, fives big cups had gone down the hatch. Nothing to eat since lunch, and no regard of pace or the rate of consumption - I suddenly started to feel the blues. Past Cheryl, past Robb (who called out something rather suggestive), I staggered on to the curb. Eventually, I lost my footing for real and ended up with my bottom on the cold grass.

Footsteps behind me made me reel back to my senses. It was the girl from before, her face brimming with concern. I didn't need her pity.

"Thanks, Winnie!" I heard Nick call from afar.

"Yes, I think it's a good idea if you stay seated, darling," she said to me.

The only response I had was to vomit in the gutter. Collapsing under shaking arms and legs, I emitted a whimper. There was blood in contents.

My esophagus burned, I felt the girl's arms around my shoulders, and the lonely street spun around me like the planet was revolving at hyper-speed. Before I knew what happened, everything dissolved into nothing; every sense of hurt and pain leaving my body for a better tomorrow.