Six.

“Hey, sis! You ready to party,? You know, par-tee, two syllables?”

Sarah giggled a little too hard at her own cleverness, and stumbled into the next room. Drunk off her tits, clearly. I looked around and quickly realized that there were strangers in our house. Strangers, to me, but fifty close friends, to Sarah. Music blared loudly, shaking the walls; it was some horrible mesh of rock and rap music. There were people in nearly every corner of our first floor living room and den, laughing, dancing, drinking themselves into oblivion. Alcohol and steadily growing inebriation hung thick in the air.

I wasn’t interested in any of it.

I ignored it all and wordlessly walked into the kitchen, where two girls were presently snogging on the kitchen table. Disregarding them, I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bowl of chocolate pudding off one of the shelves. Then I went up to my room, and locked the door behind me with a bang that probably nobody heard. I peeled off my jacket, kicked off my shoes, and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the full length mirror hanging on my door. In an almost ritualistic manner (for I’d done this many times before in the past few weeks), I spread out mounds and mounds of chocolate bars that I kept stashed under my bed around me. I dipped each of them into the choc pudding before stuffing them into my mouth. Slowly, at first, and then faster and faster until I was liable to start choking.

Then I studied my reflection…the globs of bittersweet chocolate smeared all over my lips, face, fingers. I frowned at myself, disgusted, feeling more fat and ugly than I ever had in my entire life. This was a very different reflection than it had been just a few weeks prior.

Gone was plain, homely looking Jessica. In her place was a mess. A complete and utter mess. I was very pale, now. The rosy glow had left my cheeks, and there were dark circles underneath my eyes. My face was gaunt, sunken in, despite these constant binge sessions I’d been having. And, most drastic change of all, my long light brown hair was gone, shaved down into a buzz cut with my father’s clippers one evening when I snapped…finally accepting the fact that Tom would not be coming back. Funnily enough, my new haircut made me look like him, the very person I wished to forget.

The girl staring back at me was not a happy person. There was pain and anger in my eyes, and I chanted over and over again to myself, “Shitface. Worthless. Scum. Shit. Shit. ‘Twin’ shit. Lying little shit….”

Needless to say, I hadn’t gotten over Tom.

It had been a little over a month since that horrible night, and I had yet to see or hear from him. The time we spent together might as well have never existed. The wood, the lake, the burrow. Everything. Twins, he’d said. Twins everlasting. I’ll always know what your feeling, Fi, he’d said. Bullshit. Because after three weeks of looking for Tom in “our wood” every single bloody night, I began to realize that maybe those words were just that: words. Words, and nothing more. The bond I thought we shared was obviously only felt by me.

Because how could he, my brother, run away? Without me? How could he knowingly leave when he was the only thing in my life that made me feel….well, like me? When I was with Tom, I knew who the real Jessica was. I was able to remove myself from my family, from school, from all the shitty circumstances…and just be. As cliché as it sounded, he’d taken the light of my life away, when he left. All I had now was darkness and shadows… the everyday mundane…Jack’s unending visits whenever mum and dad popped out…the pain…and no one to share the pain with. No one to take it away, if only for a little while. No one to sit by my side, look out onto the water, and drift away with.

Now, all I had was me. And that wasn’t saying much. I was a shell, a ghost. A couple of times, Sarah had tried to talk to me about whatever it was now that was bothering me. I could tell that she had a suspicion that, if Jack had done something to me, before, he had done it again. But I couldn’t even begin to explain to her what was going on inside my head. Even I didn’t know, completely. The chasm that had just been about to lessen that day I went with her to the record shop, the day I followed Tom home, widened.

I tried to ignore the sounds of laughter and music drifting from upstairs. I tried to convince myself that I was content with being sad. Content with being angry all the fucking time. From the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. And even then, my dreams were filled with rage. But even I knew, deep down, this was a lie. I wanted to be happy again, but it was as though I were punishing myself, keeping myself locked down in this strange limbo between life and death. And I hated myself. Hated myself for still loving the filthy traitor. Hated myself for letting his memory run my life, make me a nuisance and a depressant to anyone around me. Hated myself for thinking I could trust him. Hated myself for ever believing that he could learn to trust me….

There was a knock at my door. I ignored it. Another knock, then another. Then another.

“What is it?” I snarled, whipping the door open to find Mark, Sarah’s friend who I’d left in the record store that day, standing in the doorway. He had the same warm smile plastered on his face that always seemed to be there whenever I saw him, and a can of beer in each of his hands.

“I thought I’d get a drink for you,” he said, stepping inside my bedroom without invitation, “We were wondering where you’d gone off to?”

“Just here,” I muttered.

Mark took a glance around my bedroom. I had to admit, it was in a state. Empty candy bar wrappers lay strewn all over my floor. Instantly, his face was all concern, all worry. “Hey, are you alright?” He asked. I nodded dumbly. He smirked, “Yeah, right, and the Pope’s a Buddhist. Go on, then,” he held out a can of beer to me, “Look, I haven’t opened it, see? No date rape drugs or anything,” He laughed. I didn’t. But, silently, I accepted.

“So you coming down, then?”

“…I don’t know anyone.”

“Oh, come on. You know me, Sarah, Nicola, and of course Ian the Sheep Shagger.”

I smiled, despite myself.

Why hadn’t I ever gotten drunk before, I wondered? It would have solved so many pesky little problems. Like, this ache in my heart. I found that it subsided, after a couple beers and glasses of Madeira. The ache became a much more manageable dull throb, as I allowed the alcohol to surge through my veins, and the music to take over my senses. My arms and legs felt heavy as I spun in the middle of the living room with all Sarah’s friends around me. My mind was racing, but I could never focus on just one thing, which was a nice feeling. It made thinking a whole lot easier.

So I concentrated on spinning. Around and around and around, until all the unfamiliar faces became blurs, and the music began to sound far away and distorted. I closed my eyes, let my arms flail out at my sides. Maybe, I thought, if I kept twirling long enough and fast enough, I’d go flying through the ceiling and into the night sky. Maybe, I thought, I’d land some place far away. I could become a different person, then. I wouldn’t have to be me, in this stupid body, with these stupid emotions, and everything would be alright, and I wouldn’t have to….

“Whoa! Whoa, there!”

Mark’s arms wrapped around me, forcing me still. I wondered how I’d ended up on the floor, as I opened my eyes and saw him looking back at me with a mixture of concern and amusement playing about his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright, there, love?” I nodded yes, and laughed. He laughed, too, until I raised my right hand, and then a gasp emitted from his lips. “Holy fuck, Jessica. Your hand.” I looked to see what he was going on about, and saw that the wine glass I’d been holding had pierced the middle of my palm. Blood was running down my wrist in rivers of deep red. “Jesus, get up, let’s get you sorted,” he ordered, pulling me up carefully by my other arm and weaving me through the crowd of kids still dancing, oblivious, in the center of the living room.

“How could you say you’re alright with a gash like that?” Mark asked, in awe.

“I have a very high threshold for pain...and it looks worse than it actually is.”

By the time we were out of the living room, Sarah was with us, drunkenly asking me, “Where does it hurt, sis?” When we reached the hall that separated the living room from the kitchen, we found Nicola just letting Jack inside. “Oh, hey Jack, how are ya?” Sarah asked, leaning against the wall to steady herself.

My eyes locked on Jack, but he avoided my gaze. “Hey, take it easy on the booze, Sarah,” he said, walking further into the house, “Your folks will never trust me again if they come home and find your livers pickled.” Nicola laughed heartily. Jack flashed a blinding smile in her direction.

“I’m not drunk,” Sarah insisted, hiccupping simultaneously.

“Yeah, I know, the world’s just started spinning faster.” Nicola laughed, again, and suddenly I remembered why I’d always disliked her. It was then that Jack finally plucked up the courage to look at me, and that’s when he saw the state of my hand. “Christ, what’s happened to you?” He asked me, sounding for all the world like a worried parent.

“She’ll be alright,” said Sarah, “Let me take care of her.” I noticed a defensive tone in her voice.

“Look, I told your parents I’d make sure nothing happened.”

Mark began to pull me towards the kitchen doorway, “It’s not deep, it just needs a plaster,” he explained.

“And you’re a medical expert, are you?” Jack scoffed.

“Why, are you?”

“Oh, I think I can judge better than some drunken teenager.”

“Go away, you wanker,” I said. I couldn’t take it anymore. Him, trying to act as if he cared one whit for my safety, health, or wellbeing. What he’d done to me was far worse than any fucking cut could ever do. I just wanted him to leave. Forever. Jack looked at me, lips parted, unsure of how to proceed in light of my insult.

Mark helped him along. “Look,” he said, “She doesn’t want you here so why don’t you just go?” He took a threatening step towards Jack, who, for all his movie star good looks, was a head shorter than Mark and looked very intimidated.

“Oh, well aren’t you the regular little hero?” Jack grumbled.

“Take it easy, Mark,” Sarah pleaded.

“Don’t worry about me, worry about your little neighbor.”

Jack sighed, seemingly exasperated, and turned to Sarah. “Look, I don’t have to tell your parents about this but--”

“Tell who you like!” Mark growled.

“Well, OK then, I will.”

Now it was my turn to take a threatening step forward. I looked Jack dead in his baby blue eyes, eyes that had once seemed so inviting and safe to me, and said in a sing-song sort of tone, “You tell, I tell.” Sarah looked at me, aghast, but I made it a point not to make eye contact with anyone but Jack. He just stood there, gaping, shocked that I had alluded to what he’d done in public.

There was a long silence, and then Mark said, “Alright then. Night, night!” He pointed to the door.

Jack collected what was left of his composure and shuffled off towards the exit, muttering, “Well, I’m just glad you’re not my kids…”

The minute the door closed behind him, all the courage I had felt just a minute ago disappeared. My shoulders slumped, and it felt as if I were steadily melting into the floor. Why had I even agreed to join this idiotic party? I ran towards the back door, and into the yard. It was dark outside, and the cool night air did some good to clear my head. But I still felt as though I were going to boil over any minute. I let out, one, ragged scream, ignoring the sound of Mark following behind me.

“Jessica!” He called. He took me by the shoulders, I struggled to push him away but he held on to me tightly. “Scream it out, Jess,” he said to me. And suddenly there was a flash, a picture of Tom with me in the woods that day after Jack…I screamed. “And again….” I screamed. “And again…” I crumpled to the ground, crying, trying to regain control of my emotions. Why did I always feel like I was going mad? Why could I never just feel happy? Normal? Mark wrapped his arms around me, wiped the blood from off my hands. I attempted to steady my breathing, croaking out, “I just…”

“Just…?”

“I…I just want to have a nice time.”

Mark turned me ‘round to look at him. “So have a nice time, Jessica. Have a great time.”

“I just….I just want to be alone, right now.”

“OK,” Mark whispered, kissing me hesitantly on the forehead before he went back into the house.

I sat there on the grass for an innumerable amount of time. Let go, Jess, I told myself. He’s not going to come back. And he can’t take back what happened. Not any of it. You don’t need him to feel happy again. You don’t. I repeated this to myself over and over again, kneading it into every crevice of my brain. Tom had left. It made me sad, yes. I missed him, terribly. Yes. But the world went on, in spite of this. The sun continued to rise and set. I looked up into the branches of the old oak. It seemed to bleed into the dark midnight sky. I could almost hear Tom’s voice beneath the wind, rustling through the leaves.

Forever

“Liar.”

I got up and went back inside.

Mark Astley was a nice boy. A very nice boy. He was good-looking, sweet, funny, understanding, and completely in love with me. The only complication in our relationship was that I didn’t feel the same. Not entirely, anyway. I loved him but I was “not in love”with him. I loved him for being a sort of…saving grace. For making me laugh. For taking my mind off Tom. For putting up with me when I’d go quiet and morose sometimes, unexpectedly. For not taking it too personally when, every once in a while, I’d recoil at his touch or his kiss.

And I really did like him. I liked the afternoons we spent together after school, driving around town in his car, listening to music. I liked his quirky sense of humor, the way he’d sing off key when he was in an especially good mood. And we talked about things. Real things. He wasn’t afraid to open up to me about every facet of himself. Likes and dislikes. Fears and aspirations. Firsts. Lasts. After two months of dating I’d met his mum, his dad, and his three little sisters, and was considered an extended member of his family.

Sarah, naturally, was ecstatic. My whole family was. I was finally happy again. I was “Jessica,” again. But that was merely a half truth. Because even though my grades had picked up, I had friends and a boyfriend now, and I acted cheerful enough, I knew I was not completely healed. I also, knew, however, that this time around, I wouldn’t let the scars run my life.

And so, on the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I woke up with excitement and anticipation rather than the dread of another blasted day. Today would be a good day, I promised myself. Sarah and the rest of the group were taking me to London to get piss drunk, and Mark had told me the night before that he had a “very special” gift for me.

When I sat up in bed, sleep still in my eyes, dad was sitting at my bedside, eyes stern. He cleared his throat and bellowed, “Have you seen the time, lately?“ He pointed to the alarm clock on my nightstand. I was two hours late for school. Wonderful. “Much too late for school.”

“And much too late for your birthday,” Mum chimed in. She and Sarah were also standing at the foot of my bed, looking down at me disapprovingly.

“Yep,” dad sighed, shuffling everyone out of my room, “Birthday’s cancelled.”

There was a beat as I sat, utterly confused, looking around for a hidden camera or something. And then,

“Surprise!!” Mum, Dad, and Sarah came skipping back into the room, all smiles.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Dad said, laughing, and handed me a brand new silver watch with the correct time it. So I wasn’t late. Thank goodness. Mum and Sarah each plopped down on either sides of my bed, and handed me wrapped gifts which I opened up excitedly. Sarah had given me a diary, and mum had given me a new sketchbook and box of craypas.

“Aw, thanks guys! Really!”

“Not everyday one of my little girls turns eighteen,” Mum gushed, her eyes sparkling with pride, “Now you rush and get ready because I’ve made you the best breakfast in the world this morning!”

They all clattered out of the room, leaving me with me with my gifts, and a strange feeling…a bad feeling. I pushed it as deeply inside as I possibly could, and got started on my day.

The sun had decided to shine brightly, that morning. The sound of birds chirping serenaded me as I walked along the path, eager to see Mark, who usually escorted me to and from school nowadays, which mum was more than OK with. Sure enough, as I rounded a corner, I saw him standing in a patch of light, hands stuffed into pockets, with a smile on his face that was beautiful to be hold.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, kissing me tenderly, “Happy birthday.”

I smiled, looking away and then down and then…I saw it. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, scrawled across the pavement between Mark and I in large, white letters. The handwriting was unmistakable. I tried to take a nonchalant, panning glance around us. I didn’t see him. Maybe I was going mad, again. No. When I looked down, Tom’s handwriting was definitely etched into the ground.

“Something wrong, love?” Mark asked. I shook my head and forced a smile. “Here,” he said, “Hope you like them.” He handed me two things. First, a rectangular piece of laminated paper, a pass to an exclusive all-night party that was to take place in the wood the next night. It was called “Burning Bright,” and I had been talking about going for ages. Next, a small, silver ring, with a large sapphire jewel set in the middle. “It isn’t real,” Mark admitted, “But it’s beautiful. Just like you.” His face broke out into a goofy grin. “That didn’t come out, right, did it? Nix the ‘isn’t real’ part.”

“Thanks…” My eyes went back to shifting around. My ears perked up. I took a step back away from Mark.

I supposed he was going to ask me what the matter was again when a blur jumped out of nowhere and rugby tackled him to the ground. I couldn’t see much, at first. Just a tangle of limbs. And then, slowly, the scene came into focus, and my eyes grew large in disbelief. Tom was smashing Marks head into the pavement repeatedly, mechanically. Blood began to pool on the ground.

“Get off him!” I screamed. I grabbed Tom’s arm to pull him away, but he only shoved me off, knocking me to the ground forcefully. I got up again, shrieking in horror at the sight of Tom kicking Mark in the ribs, the head, anywhere his foot landed, really. I tried to pull him away for the second time and, again, he flung me off of him and I went crashing to the ground.

That’s when I saw Tom pull out a box-cutter from his jacket pocket. What in the bloody hell was wrong with him? What was he trying to prove? What did he care, if I was with Mark, now? He’d obviously shown me that he didn’t care about me at all. So what did it matter? Still, he was taking a menacing step towards Mark, who lay groaning in pain, and I had the feeling that the situation was liable to end very badly any minute. So mustering all my strength I scrambled to my feet and ran full pelt towards Tom, kneeing him in the balls. He keeled over on his side, his green eyes filled with pain, his mouth wide, but no sound emitting from his lips.

I rushed over to Mark who, miraculously, seemed to be alright despite the blood gushing from the back of his head. He got unsteadily to his feet, staggered in Tom’s direction, ready to fight back. Tom was still on the ground, breathing heavily, but slowly recovering from my blow. I grabbed Mark around the belly, holding him back. “No!” I pleaded, “Get out of here, now!”

“No fucking way!” Mark garbled.

I pushed him in the direction of school with all my might, “Go, Mark! Now! Please!”

Understanding washed over his face as he glanced at Tom, then at me. “You know this guy, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. “Look, Jessica, I’m not leaving you with this fucking cunt--”

“Go! Now!” I begged, pushing him away again.

He looked at me, hurt, then nodded a conciliatory nod before saying, “I love you, Jess? You do know that, don’t you?”

“NOW! LEAVE!”

I watched him wobble down the path, away from me. And then I felt Tom’s arms. Wrapped tightly around my legs. I looked down, and there he was, eyes closed, muttering under his breath, “Please, Fi, forgive me…please…please….” I tried to pull myself away, ordered him to get off of me, but he wouldn’t let go. “Sorry, Fi,” he said, “So sorry….so sorry…”

“Get off! Get off! Always be there for each other, we said always! You’re a bloody liar! You didn’t even tell me your real name!” I screamed this to him at the top of my lungs, not caring if Mark or anyone else heard me in that moment. I kicked, screamed, spat in Tom’s face, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Tom…Tom is my real name, our name.”

“You’re still a bloody liar! And a bloody coward!” I cried, finally pulling my legs free. He followed me, on his knees, like a groveling servant.

“Please, Fi! I can tell you everything, I can…”

I stopped walking and spun around to unleash the fury of my eyes on him. “You leave me all alone for three months, and then you come back and start smashing people! What makes you think I want to hear any fucking thing you have to say?!” And then I walked away, ran away, catching up with Mark who was still limping down the path, livid.

“I’ll be in the burrow!” Tom called from far behind, “I’ll be there till you come!”

He could stay there as long as he liked, I decided. I promised myself that I would never talk to that boy, again.