Chapter One

Georgina

 

 

I have very few memories of my mother. Few good ones at least. I mostly remember the days when she was dying.

Before that, she was a fulltime career woman. Dad was the one who was home the most, who took care of me and did all the playing and cooking and teaching. But he was terrible at keeping the house clean. So, once a week, on my mom’s day off, she would put on her favorite music loud enough to make the neighbors complain, and we’d have a cleaning party. Just the two of us, dancing and giggling as we wiped and scrubbed and swept the house clean. I was probably only four years old, but that was one memory that I still held. The memory of her carrying me on her hip as she twirled around, singing into the broomstick like it was a microphone, came with such painful clarity it brought the sting of tears to my eyes.

The music pounding through the club now was a newer song, a hit from a couple of years back that everyone knew the words to. The room was filled with competing voices shouting out of tune.

Let us live forever,

Or let us die together,

Without you, what is life for?

That teen pop-star died young of an overdose not long after her song hit the charts.

I shuddered and gave myself a mental slap.

Stop thinking about death.

I probably should be more focused on the man kissing me.

He leant into me and my back rubbed against the wall. Grimy posters scraped my skin and from them I could smell decades old cigarette smoke, feel it sinking into my hair and flesh.

The man’s lips were firm, demanding. My mouth opened under his and he delved in. I wrapped my tongue around his, tasting bourbon and a tangy, smoky flavor from the barbecue crisps he had been eating. My heartbeat tap danced in my throat. Nerves made me question my every action, but my mouth seemed to know what to do, as though it was made for kissing and had just been waiting for this moment.

The sensations of his lips against mine made my scalp tingle and I wrapped my hands around his neck as I relaxed, embracing the experience, letting it go on and on.

I wanted to explore those sensations, hold on to the moment for as long as possible, but eventually I had to come up for air.

When I did, I got a proper look at his face for the first time. He was a nice-looking guy, with a mess of curly black hair, and hooded eyes. He wore a pair of ultra-skinny jeans, a well-tailored shirt, and a smart black tie that contrasted against his roughed up old skate shoes.

The way he gazed at me, eyes wide and lips curled into a sweet and confused smile, made me wish I hadn’t looked. My imagination started playing out dreams of more romantic encounters with him, dates we could go on, kisses we could share. A future.

I shut it down fast. None of those things could happen. He was just an item on The List. I could never even know his name.

I turned and walked away.

He yelled after me. The music swallowed his voice, but I heard “tease” or one of those other words that are supposed to make women feel bad when we don’t go the whole way. It only made me feel more certain that leaving was what I had to do. He didn’t get to decide what part of my list he ticked off—I did.

My lips were pulped and bruised from that long kiss, and I wore them like a badge of honor. Tonight was a test, and it proved I could do it. I could muster up the courage I was going to need.

I squeezed past a group of girls surely using fake IDs and stepped out of the club. The air outside felt fresh and clean in my lungs and I drew it in, standing for a long moment under the golden-orange glow of the flickering streetlight before getting into my car. I stared at the sky, starless above the glare of the city. A dense, unforgiving void. I blinked eyes that felt gritty and heavy. The night had become a long blur. I was exhausted and still had to drive half an hour back to my house.

My feet, unaccustomed to wearing high heels, ached like someone had run over them with a monster truck. I slipped the shoes off and threw them over my shoulder into the back of the car.

A pile of textbooks sat on the passenger seat, delivering a message of guilt. I had always studied hard. Ever since I was accepted into university I had worked my butt off to make sure I made good grades but right then, none of that mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

Anger took over and I shoved the books onto the floor. They landed with a dismal thud that echoed inside the confines of my hatchback.

I dug through my purse and pulled out the tiny black notebook. I snatched a pen into my hand like clutching a dagger, and in violent thrusts I scratched away the first item.

 

 

 

 

My fingers shook, and I dropped the pen and the notebook.

Mom, what on earth am I doing?

Tears filled my eyes in a sudden, unexpected rush. I stuck my palms into them to hold them back. Don’t think about death. Just think about The List. I had no time for tears.

I only hoped I had enough time for The List.