Page 10 of Vying Girls
Yeah, I’m not much feeling like myself. I’m out of control, but quietly, insidiously. The most dangerous kind of chaos.
Her motions move herself more than me. She stumbles back into Haz, who only propels her forward again.
‘Fuckingmake up,you two. You’re ruining the fucking night!’
I catch Tilda by the waist, flinching when her hair lashes me in the face. It smells of cherries; my palms tingle. She’s feverish beneath her t-shirt, the thing baring more skin than it covers. Some fuck pushes into her, raising his hands in apology even as he struggles to catch his footing.
‘Your girlfriend okay?’ he yells in my face, breath reeking of booze.
I tighten my hold. ‘She’s fine.’
‘Not your girlfriend,’ Tilda snaps, pushing me away. She staggers, throwing off Elly who tries to steady her. ‘I know your dad died, but that doesn’t mean you get to make me wish I was too.’
‘Woah, Tilda.’ Haz shoots her a glare.
I grit my teeth, seething at the both of them. I know Tilda’s not with it, she should have fucked off back to Hazelhurst an hour ago, but, God, it feels ugly to have her know.
She killed him. If it wasn’t for her actions, he’d still be alive.
That nest of vipers starts thrashing, and I know I need to get out of there before I thrashher.
I peer round. It’s getting rowdy in here anyway. Last venue of the evening. They know Anarchy’s going to be cancelled again next year; they’re making the most of it.
Tilda shakes her head, flouncing off before the others can cajole her back. Haz rolls her eyes but follows. I tap out a cigarette, sticking it in my mouth before turning sideways to squeeze through the crowd.
‘Going for a smoke,’ I tell Elly.
She flings her arms up, pissed we’re all ditching her.
She’ll soon run the other way, away from me and towards Tilda.
There’s no smoking area, so I creep round the building until I find a slight awning to burrow under. I pull on my smock against the deluge. It’s not watertight but keeps away the worst of it. A welcome refuge against the rest of the world.
It’s right above us now, the storm. Clapping at me, spurring me on. The stars have been smothered, the sky nothing but a black miasma. I breathe it in, a paradox against the smoke in my lungs.
Police cars drive past, stopping outside the club where students spill out, drunk-blind to the rain. Doors slam as the coppers exit, rain shining on their reflective uniforms.
I stub my cig out on the wall. That’ll be the end of the fun then. Don’t know what’s going on inside but there’s some kind of commotion, the final Anarchy challenge.
Can’t wait for the ticking off from Margot tomorrow. Or worse—Fina’s daddy.
I’m debating lighting up another when Tilda staggers round the wall. Alone for once. I eye her warily. Looking for me?
She stands under the shelter, far as she can from me. She’s not looking my way but her whole body’s tense with awareness. Her eyes are on the ground, and I see her swallow.
‘Looking kinda peaky there.’
She moans quietly, closing her eyes.
I tap a finger on the wall, still watching her. ‘Gonna hurl?’
‘Shut up,’ she gasps weakly.
I shake my head. Knew it would fucking come to this. She’s been teetering on this edge for hours. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Dunno. Dancing. Police are here.’
‘So I see.’
