Heeeeeeey everybody! (that reminds me of something, like in a mexican accent? if you guys know what I'm blabbing about tell me cos it's gonna bother me lol.
Hope you enjoy!! (and please read my note at the end!)
happy reaaaaading!
P.S. listen to this while you're reading:
CHAPTER SIX
Part 1
That little bitch.
That stinking rotting idiotic muppet-face of a gorgeous prick.
How dare he? After what I'd told him: 'I don't need to live with anyone or take money from anyone.' But nope, like the usual spastic he is, he gives me a tip of two fucking hundred pounds. He probably thinks it's a nice gesture, and it would've been if we were friends and if he wasn't treating me like shit. However he can't expect me to just take it like I'm a bloody charity case.
His attempt at being nice has failed, badly.
I insert my card into the cash machine and type in the pin when it indicates. A balance of £787.45 comes up on the screen - £200 more than it was three days ago. I click on the 'cash' option and wait for the mouth of the machine to spill out a bunch of the funny-smelling notes with the queens puckered-lipped face staring back at me.
Grabbing the wad of money in my hand, I stuff the notes into a small rectangular envelope and bury it in the pocket of my black bomber jacket, making my way back to my busted up car parked on the side of the road.
The night of Jake's party a few weeks ago isn't exactly the clearest memory, but bestowing all my trust in my (rusty) conscious, I let my mind lead the way to his apartment block. And after about half an hour of listening to soppy pop songs about love on the radio (which I will admit with shame, I was getting into the groove of 'never forget you', I mean the drop though) and a few wrong turns into neighbourhoods that don't look as friendly as mine, my car – which sounds as if it's having a stroke and a heart attack at the same time – turns into the familiar road.
Passing past a few extravagant estates, I reach the familiar block of apartments. I park up the beetle in the closest space I can see and make my way towards the building and into the elevator. Like how I remembered it, with the white walls and shiny tiles, all fancy and crap, I step out of the elevator and towards his apartment door - not really an apartment though, more like a freaking mansion. I swear, as soon as he opens this fancy black door I'm going to need someone to hold me back from punching the air out of his lungs.
Well, that's a tad bit dramatic.
I could handle him treating me like shit, but belittling me? I don't need your fucking money you beautiful bastard.
I lift my hand to press the electronic door bell, but my finger doesn't reach the button, it freezes, hovering inches away from it. I then drop it back to my side and instead grab the envelope from my pocket. Looking angrily at the money, I want to just drop it on his doorstep and leave. The thought of seeing him again gives me the shudders.
It's so strange, I want to see him so badly, but my heart can't handle it. To see him so beautiful, so perfect, but he's not my Jake anymore. Nausea fills my insides when I contemplate the fact that I may never have him back they way it was. You know when something just hits you, like slaps you in the face? Yeah I'm having one of those moments.
It's never going to be the same.
I'm not the same.
Shutting my eyes firmly, I quickly raise my hand and press the button, holding my breath as the buzzing noise sounds. I continue to hold my breath, even after I lift my finger off and buzzing disappears. I hold my breath for a while, anticipating the door opening.
Clutching the money in one hand and balling up my fist in the other - not that I'm going to punch him, that was only a joke, what imbecile would punch a boxer? - I stand like a frozen statue, eyeing the door and desperate for a response.
You wouldn't punch him even if you could. You wouldn't want to hurt him.
And also, you might want to breath, before you turn purple.
After what feels like eternity, I finally sense some movement on the other side of the door. Then, to the shaking of my heart beat, the door swings open.
Part 2
My eyes which are focused on the ground slowly move to catch the sight of his legs, then glide upwards past his torso and to his face. I know I'm meant to be pissed off, but may I please state how incredibly sexy he looks in his grey Nike tracksuit bottoms and black t-shirt that tugs at his muscular frame perfectly. Holding the handle, he leans against the door frame, looking at me with those beautifully mesmerising eyes.
He looks so damn hot, damn it.
Working so hard not to let my raging female hormones shine through my straight face, I look him dead straight in the eyes.
"Brine." He says; from the expression on his face, he seems a bit surprised that I'm standing outside his apartment.
"You have real nerve, you know that?" I hiss.
Yeah, you sound tough. Right?
His eye brows furrow a little, trying to make sense of what I just said. However after a moment, a wave of realisation overcomes his eyes.
"Don't say this is about the tip," he rolls his eyes, scratching at the stubble growing on his chin.
"Thanks for the gesture, but I'm not a charity case." I reply, hostile, and outstretch my hand that holds the envelope containing the wad of cash.
He eyes the envelope, then looks back at me annoyed.
"I'm not going to take the money back, if that's what this is." He says hesitantly, as if he doesn't really believe that I'm doing this.
"Well I don't want it."
He laughs, shaking his head and turning his eyes to the ground. Following a moment of consideration, he gently kicks the door open a little wider.
"Come in," He offers.
I look at him with a little disbelief. Is he inviting me into his apartment?
"I'm good, I just wanted to drop this off and go, I have things to do." I say coldly, nodding towards the envelope in my outstretched hand.
JUST FUCKING GO INTO THE APARTMENT. WHY SO HARD TO GET ALL THE DAMN TIME. JEEZ.
"I'm not taking the money back, Flo. Give it to charity, do whatever you want with it, but I don't want it back." He responds. "So, you gonna quit bullshitting and come in?"
Part 3
Okay, so you know how I planned to come here angry as hell, blood raging and completely pissed off. Well, that sort of failed. I've still got the envelope of money clutched in my hand, and I'm still determined to give it back to Jake, but as I follow him into his apartment and watch as his tall muscular figure walks before mine, the anger just cannot come to me anymore. I've lost my bitch sense.
It's him. I'm tired of being a bitch around him. The whole point of me coming back was to sort things out, not to make them worse.
"You want a drink?" He asks, heading into the kitchen, black shiny cabinets aligning the perimeter of the large room. "Orange juice?"
The fucker remembers my favourite drink (that's non alcoholic, of course).
"No, I'm good."
He glances over his shoulder before opening the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. "That's a yes then."
Since his head is facing away from mine, I take the time to smile quickly, watching the back of his head as he pours the orange liquid into a glass and returns the carton to the fridge. I'm sure to return to my straight face though before he turns on his heel and places the glass on the kitchen island that stands to separate us.
I really want to smile, but I feel as if I have to hold my barrier for a little longer. At least until I've sorted this mess out.
"I said I'm good." But reach for the glass and take a sip anyway.
A cute grin tugs at the edges of his lips as he watches me. But it quickly fades and he averts his eyes.
That bloody smile.
Careful with the hormones there.
"What happened to your hair?" He asks.
I put the glass down to the counter and watch as he takes in my hair. I don't think he even remembers that brown is its natural colour since I've been dying it for five years. First blonde, then pink, even went for a blue one time. But the Flo that he probably remembers the most was the red-head, as Ky calls me. I remember him particularly liking my burgundy phase. I liked that phase too.
"Had to calm down with the bleach, hair was falling out." I say as I stroke at my mane, or what's left of it - stress and bleach don't go well together for hair growth, it's got me lathering my scalp with castor oil every time I get a chance. My reply amuses him, bringing back the small cute grin.
But again, it doesn't last for that long.
He rests his crossed arms on the island counter, and I can feel his eyes taking in every detail of me. "And the piercings?"
"They're not gone, just temporarily."
That's a bit of a lie. I don't think I'd ever return to that Flo. The Flo that I was before everything happened, because returning to her means bringing back memories that I've spent two years trying to bury.
"The lip ring was my favourite." He comments.
My heart skips several beats when I actually realise what he just said. He just complimented me. Like. He. Just. Complimented. Me.
His eyes are on me, they're watching me as I'm watching him but I want to break the contact, knowing that if it goes on for a moment longer I'll either ran away and out of this apartment like someone on magic mushroom, or I'll collapse onto the floor into a fit of hysterical crying.
In case you didn't know, I'm big fat mess of ugly emotions and a drama queen (on the inside, I know how to keep my chill in public people).
Placing the glass of orange juice back down on the counter, I speak. "This," I hold up the envelope of money. "I don't need this, but thanks for the kind gesture." I finish, half sarcastically.
His eyes avert from mine to look at the envelope, narrowing slightly as if in thought. He bites his bottom lip.
"I'll take the money back, if..." Pausing to look back at me, I anticipate what he's going to say. "You answer one question of mine."
God this dude is too much sometimes.
Rolling my eyes, I place the money down next to the good old orange juice and cross my arms of my chest. "Go on."
He looks at me for a good few seconds, eyeing me as if pondering on whether to ask the question or not. Opening his mouth, there's a pause of silence before it's closed again and the same look of conflict returns to his eyes.
"Well you gonna ask or...?"
"Why...why did you leave?"
Ding ding ding. There it is, the golden question.
I force a smile onto my lips, not because of the remembrance of what happened, but because I'm faking this happiness, this bizarre medium that I've created for myself where every other sentence in my head is me telling myself that things will be okay...eventually.
"I felt like moving." I say, not a lie, just not the entire truth.
"I don't buy it." He responds almost instantly, seeing through the facade I'm putting on. The grip of his hands on the counter he's leaning against I sense get a bit tighter, I guess he feels a little agitated.
Obviously, airhead. Who wouldn't be agitated with your attitude?
"What don't you buy?"
"This whole thing, you, what you've turned into." His voice rising a little as he speaks. Yep, definitely getting annoyed.
Way to go, Flo.
"And what exactly have I turned into?" I prod, as if the situation isn't damaged enough.
The bluish-green of his eyes intensifies as he stares me down. The blood is starting to boil, I can feel it.
"We were best friends," He states.
Wrong, we were more than that, I swear, I swear, I swear.
"You used to tell me everything and I was always there for you. Now...it feels like your a complete stranger." He continues, lowering his voice at the end there, I guess in disappointment. "Like I'm trying not to be a dick, but it's hard when you look at what you've done to me."
Oh my god.
Now, I'm not sure what to say. I really don't want to say anything because there's this burning sensation at the back of my throat which is physically making it hard for me to breath. Like someones strangling me. Strangling - oh god, this isn't good. I remember being strangled. I remember it so vividly and the funny thing is I'd completely forgotten until this very moment. When something like that happens to you, I often tend to push the memories to the back of your head to forget the pain.
My eyes are watering. The fire is going up from my throat to my face. He's going to notice but I look like a tomato when I cry.
"Jake, I'm so sorry." I manage to barely.
"Flo?" He asks, hesitantly, standing up straight.
Ah crap. He's noticed. I'm a tomato.
"I'm so sorry. I need to go." I spin on my heel right as a tear falls from my eye.
Pull your shit together. Now.
"No wait!" He calls, and I feel him lunge to reach for my forearm and stop me in my tracks.
I quickly wipe the tear from my eye so that he doesn't see before turning to look his fingers wrapped around my left arm. I swear, if it was anyone other than him, I would've flinched and moved away at sonic speed.
Isn't it tragic, that I trust him and love him so much, yet everything is ruined?
I love him.
You will one day find that person that means the whole entire world to you, you would do anything for them and you only want them to be in your life. As long as they're there, you're happy. As long as they're happy, you're happy. I've only felt that with one person, and that's him.
"Why are you crying?" He questions quietly, concern clouding his eyes and he comes closer.
"Nothing-"
Before I can even say anything further, he interjects affirmatively. "Stop it Flo. Please. Just tell me, what's wrong?"
All this time I've been looking at the ground, avoiding his eyes because if I look into them, I know I'll lose it. I'm not exactly composed right now, I'm a hot mess, but I'd be an even hotter hot mess. However, slowly, my eyes edge upwards to meet his, although his face is blurred by my tears.
What exactly do I tell him?
I pathetically screwed my life up after finding out that my mum was cheating on my dad by drinking my worries away? Ended up being drunk enough to kiss River - mine and Jake's best friend - only for Jake to find out and not talk to me for weeks on end. Being so fucking drunk that I couldn't defend myself when...
I can't even say it.
What do I tell him?
What do I fucking tell him?
I moved to Australia for a lot of reasons. Of course because of a broken home, and I would obviously live with my dad over my mum any day. But I don't think that the most important reason. I needed a new beginning, which at the time I never thought I would get here in Colston. Jake was mad at me and I never thought he'd forgive me for kissing River. I hurt him, bad, and I felt I didn't have anyone to help me. Especially when it came to that one fateful night, which I've spent endless other nights restless over.
There will never be enough therapists, counsellors, faith, or showers to rub away how dirty you feel after you've been through what I've been through. I hate myself because of what happened to me, I hate looking at myself in the mirror. I hate people touching me, and I hate wearing certain clothes.
I once read that after eight years, your whole body renews itself so you're practically a completely different person with brand new cells. I find comfort in that fact - only six years to go.
All of this is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't say it.
I just can't.
But in my mind I do.
Jake, I was raped.
God help me.
+++
Whoooooooosh
okay that was hard. anyway, please don't shoot me :( honestly I've had the craziest year, a lot of changes but good changes!
I love this project so much so I hope you guys do as well and I won't leave you guys like that anymore. I have so much motivation I'm already working on the next chapter. I am also working on MPAI but it needs a bit more work because I'm not yet happy with the ending. Working hard though!
Love you guys so much thank you for all the support!
Stay beautiful,
Indie xoxo