THIRTEEN
Belle
The water runs over me in the shower, washing away the last scraps of my self-respect. I can’t get enough of the cleansing effect a hot shower has of late. I took one last night when I got home, a lengthy one this morning, and now an even longer one to try and get the last of the metaphorical dirt from under my skin.
Every inch of my body repulses me. I disgust myself. How could I have been so flippant that I not only chose to sleep with a guy who doesn’t care one iota about me, but to trust the asshole to use protection? How could I ever think that I could mend a broken heart by shattering it further? How could I trust my best friend to understand? My chest heaves, and snot bubbles out my nose as my tears attempt to erupt into a full-on howl. I force my mouth closed, afraid that either Dad or Zeus might hear me, and moan long lamented chords instead. My cheeks puff out as my body does everything it can to try and expel this ache inside of me. I’m a fool, stupid, naïve, and young. I’ve still got so much to learn.
Thump, thump, thump.
“You okay, Belle?”
Dad. Shit. Guess I’m not as quiet as I’d hoped. I wipe the snot from my nose with both hands, washing them off under the water as I stand on shaky legs. “I’m fine.” Fuck. Even I can pick how ridiculously weak that sounded.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
I tip my chin up under the water, hands to the wall as I let the flow wash over my face one last time before shutting the water off. “Just a bad day, Dad. I’m fine.” My stomach roils to remind me that I haven’t eaten since I downed the pill before lunch.
“Well, I’m reheating casserole for dinner.” Thank heaven for small miracles. “I know it’s nothing special, but I can serve you some.”
“Yes, please.” I step out of the shower cubicle and wrap myself in the towel. The fog over the mirror smears into arcs when I wipe my hand across the surface. I stare at the broken reflection looking back at me, and scowl. Stupid bitch.
I’ve never kept anything from Dad before, never had reason to lie. Honesty was one of the things he demanded from me after Mum left. I suppose in a way he was worried that if he didn’t instil the habit early, he’d eventually lose me too. He doesn’t need to worry. I’d never have reason to walk away from him. But if he found out what I did… would he ever find reason to abandon me?
Best not to think too hard on it.
Dried and dressed, I head out to the dining table to try and settle this unease in my gut. Hopefully a hearty meal followed by an early night is all I need. Dad sits on his side, acknowledging me with a nod as he continues to shovel forkfuls of casserole into his mouth. Zeus is nowhere to be seen. Thank God for that.
Dad finishes his bite as I take my seat. “Glad you could join me.” A smile tugs at the corner of his eyes.
“Hottest date in town,” I tease. “Before-payday special?” I move the cut roast meat and vegetables drenched in gravy around on my plate.
“Sure is.”
As strange as it sounds, his spur of the moment “use it or lose it” meals are the best. Somehow Dad manages to take last night’s (or sometimes the night before’s) meat, a few shrivelling vegetables, and a mixture of whatever spices he can lay his hands on and make the best damn casseroles ever. I devour my meal in silence, sopping up the last of the gravy with a slice of the buttered bread he has on a plate in the centre of the table.
“Exams all done, huh?” He pushes his empty plate forward, and takes his bottle of beer in hand. “How do you think you did?”
“Okay.” I shrug. “Where’s Zeus gone?” The seats in the living room are empty despite the fact the TV is still on. “He missed out on dinner.”
“At the gym, I think.” Dad sighs out his nose, setting the glass in his hand down. “He said he’d sort himself out. Anything you want to tell me? Anything that’s bothering you?”
Anything that’s bothering you, Dad? The cool tone he used when he spoke of Zeus didn’t escape my notice. I shake my head and stand to collect our plates. “Nothing that won’t work itself out.” Speaking of which… My stomach churns, and my face falls rapidly at the abundance of saliva that rushes into my mouth.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
I nod, paling as I turn for the kitchen. Casserole is working fast. Or my morning-after pill has kicked in. Shit. I manage to get the stacked plates onto the counter before I’m forced to grip the edge and hang my head between my shoulders to ride out the swell of nausea.
“Time to stop bullshitting me, sweetheart,” Dad says as he enters the kitchen. He places a hand between my shoulders to rub in circles. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Must be what I had at the mall for lunch.”
“Which was?”
“A burger from that place next to the sushi shop.”
“Maybe we should let them know in case other people get sick?”
He knows I lie. He knows that I know it.
Dad disappears from my side, returning with a glass in hand. He leans over me to fill it from the tap. “Here. Go sit down on the couch... or the toilet. Whatever’s going to make you feel more comfortable.” A playful smirk tugs at his lips.
I manage to chuckle at his humour. “Nice visual, there.”
“It is what it is.” He smiles and shoos me from the room. “Go, before you make me feel off colour.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He never has been able to handle seeing other people be sick.
I retreat to the safe confines of my room and set the glass down on the bedside table. My stomach flips as I lower myself onto the bed and attempt to lie on my front. An ache spreads through my chest, the source of the agony my meagre B-cup breasts. What else? I roll onto my back, barely managing to hold down the bile that ebbs in my throat. My heart pounds in my ears, my skin flushed and my head aching. No. I can’t deal with this too. Nausea rises like a relentless wave, crashing all over my manageable state. I launch off the bed and barely make it to the bathroom before the contents of my stomach expel into the basin. The toilet’s another door down—I had no hope in hell.
I stare at the mess in the sink, tears streaming from my eyes, water running from my nose. How am I going to explain this? Round two. I crank the cold tap on, washing away what I can before my stomach clenches for round three. The foam that expels is sickly yellow; I’ve got nothing left. Thank God for that. Still doesn’t stop my stomach from cramping in its efforts to find something to gift me.
“Shit, Belle.” Dad steps through the open doorway and reaches out to stroke the damp hair from my temples. “Are you sure it’s just food poisoning? Maybe it’s something viral. Should we go to after hours?”
“No.” I hold up a shaky hand in weak protest. “I’ll be okay now that my stomach’s empty.” I expel another load of yellow foam as my body’s way of giving me a silent fuck you.
“Bed. I’ll grab a bucket and a cold cloth.”
“Let me wash my face first.”
He nods and leaves the bathroom, presumably to fetch what’s fondly known as the “sick bucket” in our house; a green plastic tub that only gets cranked out in times like this. Soaking the facecloth in warm water, I run it over my face, groaning at how refreshed the simple action makes me. My stomach doubles on itself again, but this time that’s as far as the action goes. I close my eyes in relief, thankful my burning throat doesn’t have to endure more.
I guess I deserve it: the pain, the suffering, the stress of upholding my lies.
Dad finds me in bed, tucked under the blankets, when he returns with the bucket and places it on the floor. He takes a seat on the edge of my mattress, placing a hand to my forehead. His wrinkled eyes smile at me, but his mouth remains dour. “I think the patient might pull through.”
“Prognosis, Doctor?” I close my eyes, enjoying the fact he’s chosen to play a game we had to ease my aches whenever I was sick as a child.
It’s a welcome distraction from the betrayal that rips at my chest when I meet his eyes.
“It’s hard to be sure, but I think we can appoint this case of vomiting to acute off-lunchitis.”
“Sounds serious, Doctor.”
“Gravely. In most cases the spoiled beef means the illness is terminal, but we may have just saved this one in time.”
I smile, nestling into my pillow. “Thanks, Dad.” My eyes burn with regret.
He chuckles, pulling my sheet up over me as though I’m still five years old. “Anytime, honey.” The mattress lifts as he stands. “Light out?” he asks from the doorway.
“Yeah, please.” My head pounds as though the devil himself is working the jackhammer.
I’m plunged into darkness when he pulls my door to. I lie for a while, concentrating on willing my burbling stomach to ease. The mind trick seems to work for a while, long enough to let me nod off. I’m woken though by laughter drifting in from the living room.
Only one person with a low rumble like that. Seems Zeus has decided it’s safe to show his face.
My eyes shoot open, and I stare out into the black, straining my ears to catch another note. I’m rewarded for my efforts by a long, deep lilt of amusement that leaves me nothing short of conflicted.
I want to go out there and talk to him, prove that we don’t have to let one misunderstanding get in the way of our friendship, but at the same time I can’t bear to see his face after what I’ve done. He might have brushed it all off as concern last night, but I glimpsed what he refused to voice—anger, and disappointment.
I’ve let him down. But if he doesn’t want to think of me as anything more than John’s daughter, why would that matter so much? I’m not his concern.
My stomach clenches and I roll to my right, grappling for the bucket. I find it just in time to catch another exorcism of the demons in my gut. The acid burns my oesophagus, and the only thing I can do to ease the ache is groan. My body races with heat—sweat breaking out from every pore as the cramps in my stomach bring tears to my eyes. I rip the sheets off myself, and move to sit on the edge of the bed, fanning myself with both hands. The bucket sits at my feet, taunting my stomach, tricking it into having another go. I’m mid-hurl when the light snaps on.
“Belle?”
Kill me now. “I’m fine, Zeus, really.” The last word comes out as more of a moan when my throat closes in preparation for the next round. “It’ll pass soon.”
“Your dad said you told him you have food poisoning.” He steps into the room, coming to a stop at the foot of my bed. “You weren’t sick when you got home from the mall, though.”
“I guess it hadn’t kicked in yet.”
“Are you sure?” He moves to sit beside me, bringing a hand up to stroke the hair at my nape.
“That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.” The tears free-falling let him know the truth is bad enough—he doesn’t need the details.
“Belle....”
“Zeus,” I mimic, managing to grimace a smile before my stomach cramps again.
“Truth about what’s going on. Now.” His dark eyes hold me captive.
My chin shakes as I stifle my sobs. “No.”
“Why the fuck not?” He frowns, his hand in my hair taking firm hold.
“Because....” I can’t even get the words out. Fear takes over at the mere thought of what he’d think of me once he knows the whole story. “Because you’ll think lesser of me.”
“Tit for tat.”
“Huh?” I move the bucket away, the thought enough to make me go again.
“Tit for tat,” he repeats. “You give me your bad news—because that’s what I’m guessing you have—and I’ll share something bad I’ve done with you.”
Still doesn’t convince me. I shake my head. “I need to clean up.” My efforts to stand are halted by a large hand pressing firmly into the centre of my chest, seating me squarely back on the bed. I turn my head to find him staring at the empty packet of Plan B partially visible from where I hid it in my school bag. Well, that sucks. “Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” His brow furrows.
Anyone who didn’t know him might think he was cross. But I know better. I’ve hurt him—again.
Does it ever end?
“That I’m reckless, immature.”
“Careless, I was going to say.” He drags a hand over his mouth, still staring at the fucking box.
I stretch my leg out and nudge my bag with the tips of my toes to cover the evidence.
“Who was he?” Pained eyes search mine.
“A guy from school.” This won’t end well. He needs to stop the questions now if he expects either of us to survive.
“Who?”
Fuck, Zeus. “Andrew.” I pick the first name that comes to mind.
“Liar.”
“How would you know?” I snap back.
“Your ears always go pink when you lie.”
Damn it.
“I’ll ask again.” His jaw stiffens. “Who was it?”
“Why?” I whisper, tucking my legs to my chest as my gut twists again. “What are you going to do if I tell you?”
“Teach the little fucker a lesson about respecting women.”
“And what if it was me who chose to do it unprotected?” I need to steer him away from the who, and discussing the why is all I can think of doing that doesn’t seem suspicious.
“Belle.” He grimaces, rolling his lips together.
I want to kiss him. As fucked up as it is, I want to kiss away his pain and in turn forget mine. I want to pretend that we could be something real and that I didn’t screw up any slim chance I may have had—even if only in my wildest dreams.
“Tell me why it matters, Zeus.” I drop my legs and twist to face him.
“Because you matter,” he murmurs, his brow twitching as he watches my every move, his elbows rested on his knees. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
“I don’t know, okay?” I can’t look at him, can’t see the way he judges me even though he promised he wouldn’t. “I don’t know.”
Zeus stays silent as he stands and steps past me to collect the bucket, then leaves the room. I fall to my knees and tear the empty box out of my school bag, maddened by its clear and obvious packaging. Surely they could make this less conspicuous for those of us who don’t want to broadcast to the world that we fucked up?
The low rumble of Zeus and Dad as they talk filters up the hall, their tones even and calm. It doesn’t stop my heart from trying to beat a path out of my chest. Would he tell him? Would Zeus tell Dad what he saw?
I swipe the tears from my cheeks with an angry hand, frustrated that I could be so stupid, so dense. I know what happens when people drink, how the alcohol clouds your ability to make sound decisions. And yet I did it. I drank past the point of a clear conscience and made a stupid decision based on my pathetic wounded pride.
I wanted to fit in, and all I’ve done is outcast myself from the person who matters most.