Page 40 of Mine After Midnight

I’ll find her again. I always do.

19

ASH

Five Years Ago

Friday afternoons are always the quietest at the library. Working here suits me. I like the order of it. Reading has always been my escape. When things at home are too chaotic, I disappear into other places, other lives. I like learning new things, the small thrill of understanding something I didn’t before, even if it’s useless trivia or a place I’ll never see. Between the shelves, I can be temporarily untouched by everything that waits for me outside these doors.

Books are easier than people. They don’t interrupt, don’t expect the right response, and don’t look at you like you should be something else. I guess I don’t mind people, but in small doses. Preferably at a distance.

I lock the library door behind me and start the walk home. The sun has gone now, and my shift was over far too quickly. I’ve attempted a few times to hang at the back of the library once my shift finishes, to read in peace, but the manager always ushers me along.

There’s a book tucked under my arm. I borrow one every time I work. It’s a paperback, with a sun-bleached image of red dirt stretching across the cover. The book is very weathered; it’s been read and borrowed many times. I thumb the edges of the pages as I walk, wishing I could climb inside them and disappear.

The closer I get to my street, the heavier my steps become. The houses blur together, all identical porches and unkempt lawns, with the sounds of loud TVs and raised voices floating out through the kitchen windows. I don’t want to go back yet. I never do.

At least today I have something else to look forward to: Bryn.

The thought of her cuts through the dread like sunlight through clouds. I can already picture her curled up somewhere with a book, probably a tea beside her, and soft music playing. Knowing I get to see her tonight sends a buzz of excitement through me. I just have to figure out how to get there.

I slow as I reach the corner, mentally mapping out whether I can take the late train. I might need to include a bus ride as well, but I’ll make it work. It will be a long night of travelling, but it will be worth it to see her. Even better, her parents are away for the weekend; the girls are being supervised by their cleaner. I tried not to react when she said that. We certainly live two very different lives.

My house is much smaller than her old house was, with walls thin enough that every argument seeps through easily. There’s no cleaner here, no cook, no one to smooth things over when my brother has one of his episodes. Just me, trying to avoid everyone while I keep the house going and fend for myself.

I shove my hands into my pockets and keep walking, letting the jealousy flicker and die. It isn’t her fault. Despite everything, she never talks about her family’s wealth as though it makes her better than anyone else. If anything, I think her life is just as lonely as mine. It’s a reminder that everyone carries something, even the people who seem to have it all.

Glancing down at the time on my phone again, I attempt to work out a plan. If I leave before dinner, I can make the train. If I miss it, there’s another one an hour later. I’ll be exhausted tomorrow, but that feels like a fair trade, because seeing Bryn will make every kilometre, every transfer, every long hour of the night worth it.

I lock my phone and tuck it away just as my street comes into view. The house stands at the end of it, its paint peeling, front light flickering, as if it can’t quite commit to being on. The familiar knot of dread settles in my stomach.

Stepping inside, I wince at the volume of the blaring TV. It’s so high because Dad won’t wear his aids. Empty bottles line the coffee table. He’s sunk into the couch, his eyes glassy, his scruffy beard nearly reaching his chest. He doesn’t look up when I pass. He never does.

My brother’s door is half open. He’s pacing again, muttering under his breath, his hands twitching like he’s arguing with someone who isn’t there. I slow just for a second, listening briefly, before quietly tiptoeing past his door, praying he won’t notice me.

In my room, I grab my old gym bag from under the bed. The bag is hanging together by a thread. I pack the essentials, moving quietly, more out of habit than necessity. No one here is paying enough attention to hear me anyway, but I’d rather do what I can to remain unnoticed. I do not have the time or energy to deal with one of Kaine’s outbursts right now. I also don’t want to turn up with my skin split and covered in bruises. The last ones he gave me have only just faded.

I zip the bag closed and startle when Dad calls out something that sounds like my name. He’s slurring, making it difficult to be sure. Quietly, I creep back down the hallway and poke my head into the living room. He’s already focused on the screen again, and has a bottle tipped to his mouth. The footsteps from my brother’s room continue.

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I step out without a goodbye, hoping the creak of the door doesn’t carry through the house. I hold my breath, peering over my shoulder, but neither of them seems to notice. As the door clicks shut behind me, my relief is immediate. I turn toward the station and start walking faster.

When I step off the train, my legs almost give out from under me. A deep, bone-heavy exhaustion has settled in, even after my attempts to rest. It’s hard to sleep sitting upright on a vinyl seat with your knees jammed in tightly and your shoulders tense. I’m never quite able to relax through hours of rattling forward, with nowhere to direct my thoughts except back on themselves. I’m really excited to see Bryn, but at the same time, I’m worried that it might not be as good as the first brief hangout we had. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I do something to screw it up and risk losing her?

My back aches. My neck’s stiff from holding myself so tensely the whole way, like if I’d loosened up even a bit I’d have fallen apart. I roll my shoulders as I walk, trying to shake it off, but the tiredness doesn’t fade. I force myself to exhale slowly, steadying my racing thoughts. I glance down at my black t-shirt and black pants with an unintentional rip in the knee. Adjusting my backwards cap, I try not to let my insecurity eat away at me. I push forward. The walk to her place is only fifteen minutes or so from the station.

Her suburb is quiet in a way that makes me feel loud. My overworn sneakers scuff noisily on the pavement. The houses are lined up neatly, their lawns clipped short and letterboxes straight. There are no busted fences, blokes yelling, or sirens.

I pause at a patch of wild scrub near the path, stubborn stuff growing where no one’s bothered to kill it yet. I crouch and pick a few flowers, little white ones. I hope she won’t care that I didn’t buy them. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to – I used the last of my pay on the train ticket. I twist a bit of grass around the stems, careful not to snap them.

By the time I reach her street, my heart’s beating hard. Her house stands out. It’s big, and certainly showy. Light spills softly through the windows, the curtains are drawn just enough that I can see movement inside. A woman I don’t recognise is moving around the kitchen, earbuds in her ears. She must be the cleaner. Or cook, or whoever it is that is meant to be keeping an eye out on the girls.

I go around the side, like Bryn and I talked about, keeping close to the hedge. The gate to the yard opens smoothly and soundlessly, and I step through it. The back of the house is much darker, with only the kitchen light on. I see a silhouette move past a window and freeze. I wait, breathing as softly as possible until the shadow moves away.

Crouching low, I slink across the yard, my shoes sinking into soft, damp grass. It’s a well-maintained yard. Even in the darkness, I can tell how green the grass is, and that the surrounding garden is manicured. I hate how much I notice things like that. I hate how different this place is from mine. From anything I’ve known.

Bryn told me where to go; I inch toward the laundry door. I test the handle slowly, and it opens easily. Inside smells like soap and something citrusy. I close the door behind me, then just stand there for a second, letting my eyes adjust. I tuck the flowers behind my back like a kid caught stealing.

There’s movement upstairs. I shoot off a quick text, telling her that I’m here. After a moment, soft footsteps hurry down the stairs. Bryn appears, her hair in loose waves, her eyes wide when she sees me. For a second, she doesn’t move. She stares, as if in shock that I’m really here.