Page 3 of Judging Duke

I grabbed my backpack and shoved in clothes and toiletries. I’d have to leave most things behind, but hopefully I would only be away long enough for things to die down.

When Robbie was better, he could tell them what had happened. As it stood, Simon’s conviction that it was all my fault would be damning. I hadn’t realised how much he hated me. I guess I knew now.

I knelt on the floor and grabbed the metal box from beneath my bed. Thank God I had some money saved. At least I could cover the cost of the train ticket and have some money to keep me going until I could find a job.

I counted it out. One hundred and twenty quid, plus some change. More than enough.

“Duke, are you home?” Shit. “I could do with your help downstairs. Can I come in?” Mum said through the door.

“Yeah, I’m home, Mum. I was going to have an early night.” I cringed at the lie. Would she believe me? “Sorry, I’m already dressed for bed.”

My parents had always respected my room as my own and wouldn’t enter without permission.

“Oh, okay.” She paused. “Is everything all right, Duke? It’s early still.”

Fuck. I hated lying to them, but they’d never understand.

“Just tired, but if you really need me…”

“No, it’s okay.” She said, sounding disappointed. “We’ll manage.” Her footsteps receded, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Bollocks. I punched the pillow on my bed. Now I felt bad.

Delaying my departure until tomorrow wouldn’t be such a bad thing, and anyway, getting into the city to catch the train tonight would be difficult, public transport being unreliable as it was.

Not wishing to upset Mum, I put my backpack under the bed along with the box and took off my coat. I’d help for a couple of hours, head to bed and leave first thing in the morning.

At least I had a plan.

I dashed downstairs to the bar and grabbed a wire basket. I smiled weakly at Mum and circled the pub, collecting glasses as I went.

Despite the amount I’d drunk, the night’s events had sobered me up, but I avoided eye contact, not wishing to speak to anyone. A few more hours and I’d be out of here.

“Hey, did you hear about Robbie Fletcher?”

Fear paralysed me. What the fuck did they know?

“Yeah, nasty fall from the old house in the woods. I saw the ambulance racing away, sirens blaring.”

I listened for anything more, but by then they were at the bar ordering drinks.

I crept around the pub. Although no one knew I had anything to do with it, I felt every eye watching me, and an uncomfortable feeling gathered in my gut.

I was gonna hurl.

I raced towards the toilets, dropping the glass basket on the end of the bar, ignoring the shout from my dad.

I made it in time, throwing up every drop I’d drunk that evening, and then some. I heaved and retched until there was nothing left except the spasms of pain that accompanied each one.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes watering from the exertion.

Fuck tomorrow, I needed to go tonight. If the news was out already, how long would it be before the cops came knocking or worse, Simon?

Until tonight, I’d fantasised about him. He was my best friend’s older brother. It was the old cliché. I’d wanked over him more times than I cared to mention. He was only a couple of years older than me. In my lustful thoughts, he was attainable and willing.

Seeing his loathing for me tonight had put paid to that, but right now, I didn’t care if I never saw him again.

I left the cubicle and stopped dead when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I looked fucking awful—my usually darker skin paler, my eyes red. My hair was sticking up all over.

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