Page 4 of Hired Help

I wring my hands, squeezing them together so hard my knuckles crack. “Please tell me what’s happening. Is it your mum? Is she sick?”

It’s the only thing I can think of to explain the rapid change. A phone call with bad news.

He finishes, zipping up the gym bag and hefting it over one shoulder. His eyes won’t meet mine. When he speaks, his voice shakes. “We’re done.”

“Done?” I shake my head, brain not computing. “Done with what?”

He’s at the door, half turned away from me. His face pinches, eyes hooded as he says, “I don’t want to go out with you any longer. We’re broken up.”

The door slams. Shock cements me in place, staring blankly ahead as he thumps down the stairs, crashing out the front door.

It’s a prank, right?

Harrison’s playing a horrible trick.

The stomp of his feet on the gravel outside is the aural key that unlocks my muscles. I fly downstairs, yanking open the door to stumble after him.

Halfway along the driveway, he gets into a taxi. I yell, but he doesn’t stop.

I run after him, sharp gravel crunching under my bare feet; no time spare to waste putting shoes on. No time to acknowledge the pain as my soles hit against the uneven stones, my wet hair whipping behind me, scalp tingling in the cold air.

My eyes are gritty, stinging as I sprint faster, desperate to catch him, my heart already shrivelling with despair.

But the car doesn’t stop. It reverses onto the road and speeds away, leaving me panting, staring after him, mind numb, lungs burning.

Too frightened, too hurt, too confused to even cry.

CHAPTERTWO

HARRISON

I gripthe edge of the sink in my dorm bathroom and close my eyes, breathing in the combined steam and deodorant spray. Breakfast will already be serving, but I can’t make myself hurry. Food isn’t as appetising when your mouth is bitter with an aftertaste of bile. Even the lingering toothpaste can’t erase it.

My hair is limp, the dark strands clumping together with yesterday’s product. I need to wash it but can’t be bothered, so add another handful of wax to the solidifying mess and call it good.

English is first lesson. Our new teacher, Miss Murchison—the second new English teacher this year—is nice but a stickler for rules. I should take the next half hour to familiarise myself with the reading again so I can float under her precisely tuned radar.

Fucking coward. You can’t avoid her forever.

And the voice in my head is wrong. I could easily avoid Brooke. The trouble is most of me doesn’t want to.

Most of me wishes I could erase the past fortnight and return to when my life was perfect again.

Even though I’ve promised myself over and over I won’t watch it—it hurts me and helps nobody—I drag my phone from my pocket, scroll through to the link her stepmother sent me, and press play.

Brooke pops onto the screen in all her glory. Her dark hair falls in its natural waves over her shoulders, over her naked breasts, spilling halfway down her back. She smiles into the camera; blue eyes sparkling while she purses her plump pink lips, hitting a sexy pose.

Alicia’s voice sounds in my head, soon blossoming into the full memory. “I’m sorry, Harrison. Please believe that I never wanted to hurt you or Brooke. I just couldn’t…”

She’d faltered to a stop, and I’d told her it was all right. That I’d rather know now than find out later and any other gibberish I could think of to fill the silence until her conscience was appeased.

None of it was true.

I wasn’t the slightest bit grateful to find out.

All I want is to go back to that morning. Go back so when Alicia mumbles she has something to tell me, I can shout at her to shut the fuck up and get out of my face.

Anything to not have to deal with this pain. More pain than I thought was possible without a physical injury.

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