Page 13 of Reclaim

“Do you want me to tell you what she was wearing too?” The smirk on his face makes it impossible to be annoyed by him. We’re catching up on years of brotherly love, even if it is at the expense of an unrequited crush.

“She asked me if I thought Sasha would stop you from seeing Dakota.”

“Fuck. Would she?”

He shrugs, “It’s been a rough few years.”

“She lets you see Dakota though, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, of course. Every weekend. All that other noise is just bullshit between me and her. You don’t need to worry.” Sasha and Hendrix were always close, but as we all grew older they became like gasoline and fire. Together they would burn from every angle till there was nothing but ashes and pain left over.

“I’ve got a shit way of showing it, but I’m always going to worry about you.”

“Let’s not do the whole guilt trip thing, yeah?” His tone changes, and I anticipate it being the first of many times we’ll clash once I get out of here. It’s one thing to have others forgive you, but it’s almost impossible to forgive yourself. “We were talking about Dakota. She’s ready to meet her dad.”

The anticipation that consumes me every time I think of seeing Dakota is indescribable. I know what it’s like to be a pissed-off teenager wondering where the fuck your dad is and why he didn’t just stick around.

My mother drilled it into me time and time again, how I would be a fuck up just like him if I wasn’t careful. And as much as I hate to admit it, she was right. The only difference between me and him, is I’m going to right my wrongs. Every day for the rest of my life, I’ll prove to my daughter that she’s the only important thing in my life. The only thing I’m proud of, and the only thing I’ll never regret.

Walkingfrom the kitchen through to where the party is, my eyes search for someone familiar. Furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and every surface is filled with more bodies than the space allows. Girls on boys, boys on girls; it’s a typical Saturday night out in the suburbs. Parents are away, and the teenagers come out to play.

Looking around I catch sight of Sasha swaying in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Her long, straight, dark blonde hair following a second behind each movement. Her eyes are closed and her skin glistens with tears. Hands in the air, she clutches a Vodka Cruiser in each hand, dancing to the beat of her own song. She’s wearing a white ribbed singlet, that reminds me my best friend is becoming a woman. Drifting up the length of her stomach with every move she makes, her hip bones peek out, as her jeans hang loosely off her waist. She’s rocking that skater girl look.

Sasha Allman was our welcomed third wheel. Living next door to Hendrix and me, we all became attached at the hip after we rescued her Cabbage Patch Doll from the neighbours dog. Wherever she was, her two bodyguards followed close behind.

We spent our summers playing on the slip and side, laughing till we cried and waiting till the familiar sound of the ice cream van made its way through every street onroute to ours. But staring at Sasha now, wilted and broken, I realise that’s not us anymore.

Unable to pick the precise moment everything changed, I know it’s the reason she stands there all alone. Messy. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Walking straight to her, I pull on her arm and haphazardly drag her into the nearest bathroom. I close and lock the door behind us, ensuring we have privacy. Turning I unexpectedly find Sasha sitting in the deep ceramic bathtub, head in between her legs and arms wrapped around her knees.

“Sasha,” I call out cautiously. “What happened?”

She raises her head slowly, only allowing me to see her wet, bloodshot amber eyes. My blood begins to simmer, seconds away from boiling when I see how hurt and sad she is. In two large strides my legs meet the edge of the tub before dropping to my knees beside her.

“Tell me,” I urge.

“Please,” she hiccups. “Don’t be mad.”

“Sasha, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

“You have to promise,” she insists.

“Okay, I promise.”

Wiping her eyes with the heel of her palms, black streaks mar her skin. Her gaze meets mine, and we both unknowingly take a deep breath, desperate for courage.

“I was dating Jay,” she blurts out.

“Wait? What?” My thoughts run forward and leave her confession behind, imagining him hurting her in every way a dickhead like him is capable of. “I’m going to punch his fucking face.”

“No! You don’t even know what happened,” she cries.

“You’re sitting in a fucking bath crying, that’s all the proof I need.” Her hand grips my shoulder in an attempt to calm me down. “Jagger you promised. I’m not telling you this so it ends up in a fight. I just need my best friend to hear me out.”

I choose to stay quiet, I give her the silence she needs to tell me what went down. Her reluctance is obvious, and our history with Jay has been anything but pleasant.

“You’re going to have to turn around so I’m talking to your back.”

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