Page 63 of Mine After Midnight

‘All of this is too painful. I don’t feel ready to talk about it. Just drop it, okay?’ she asks quietly. ‘Please.’

Exhaling impatiently, I nod, feeling irritated by the situation. I’m grateful to be here with her right now, after pining after her for so long, but I need her to understand the truth about what happened. There are so many things she doesn’t know.

We start moving again, our shoulders brushing now and then. The truth still sits between us – unsaid, unfinished, waiting to be aired – but she’s not ready to hear it.

I simply have to accept that.

For now.

27

ASH

Five Years Ago

I get home just after dark, my shoulders aching from my shift at the library. The moment I step onto the front porch, a sense of dread fills me. Considering there are cars lined up the street and the music thumping from the house can be heard from ten minutes away, it’s safe to say my brother is throwing one of his infamous gathos.

Smoke hangs in the air as I step through the front door. People I don’t know sprawl across the couch, the floor, and the kitchen counters. Empty bottles line every surface, many of them stuffed with cigarettes. Someone’s sitting on the arm of the lounge chair, grinding ash into the fabric without a care. Grimacing, I wave my hand in front of my face, barely able to breathe. The place is thick with cigarette smoke, weed, alcohol, and sweat from people who are well overdue for a shower.

‘Oi!’ someone yells when they see me. ‘Who’s the librarian?’

A couple of people laugh as they glance over at me. My bag is hanging off my shoulder, a couple of paperbacks are tucked under my arm, and my reading glasses are still perched on my nose. I don’t often use them, but they do help a lot with my headaches. I keep my head down and push further inside, scanning for my brother. I find him in the kitchen, shirt off, red cup in hand, surrounded by people holding shot glasses. He notices me standing there.

‘Well, look who finally came home,’ he remarks, eyeing me up and down in that way that used to make me feel like dirt on his shoe. Now, I couldn’t care less what he thinks. ‘Didn’t know you were still alive.’

‘I am, unfortunately,’ I say dryly.

‘Have a drink and relax. You might actually have fun for once.’

I stiffen. He once said that exact line to me, fed me a drink, and I woke up the next day with no memory of the night before and a bunch of things stolen from me. I have no idea what else happened that night, but I knew from that moment on I could never trust my brother. The mind games he played with me afterwards were fucking disgusting. He made jokes, insinuating some horrific things happened to me while I was blacked out, but I woke up unharmed, so I truly think the whole thing was a game to him, just to make me wonder what happened.

‘Can think of a thousand other things I’d prefer to do.’

He steps closer, and his smile, if you can even call it that, is cruel. ‘Is that so?’

Someone bumps into me from behind, sloshing beer down my back. I grit my teeth. The music gets louder and wolf whistles tear through the air when two girls begin passionately making out against the wall. I feel trapped, like the walls are closing in and I’m helpless to stop them. I think of Bryn: of her laugh, of our time at quiet parks with grass under my back, of the way she looks at me, as though I’m more than what my life really is.

Turning away before my brother can say anything else, I stalk to my room, ignoring everyone I pass. Throwing my clothes into my bag as fast as I can, I toss it out the window and climb out, knowing my brother won’t let me off that easily. It’s best to disappear and avoid a scene. I glance back at the house, feeling a heavy rage settle in me. My father is probably passed out in his room, unaware of anything going on around him.

This shit is getting old.

I walk fast, the noise of the house still ringing in my ears as I stomp loudly down the street toward the station. My bag, heavy with library books, bumps against my hip with every step.

The train platform’s mostly empty. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead; moths throw themselves against the glow. I sit on a cold metal bench and stare down the tracks, taking slow breaths until the train finally rattles in.

By the time I jump off near Bryn’s place, the night’s gone quiet. Suburban quiet. It feels like stepping into another world. I move through familiar streets without thinking. The house is in darkness except for one room – the downstairs lounge room.

Moving around the side as I’ve done a hundred times before, I’m almost at my entry point when I sense movement to my left. I turn sharply.

‘Thought you might turn up,’ a voice says.

Isla’s leaning against the back fence, a cigarette between her fingers and a cloud of smoke drifting beside her. She looks older in the dim light, and haunted, too, like everything has suddenly caught up to her, and she can no longer maintain the facade.

‘Relax,’ she adds, taking another drag. ‘They’re not home.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t told them about me.’

Isla exhales smoke through her nose, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘It’s interesting how every time I see you, you look like you’ve run from something.’