White Lady (7 page)

“I’ve been going for about an hour anyway.” She sniffs.

“An hour?” I say, with a bit too much shock in my voice.

“I guess. I can stop.” Mia levers herself to the ground and squats, balances herself on all fours, and breathes heavily, like she’s about to give birth.

I look at my toes, embarrassed—for myself, for her—especially for her. Should I go over to her? Rub her back? Bring her some water? Say something? I dunno what. I’m not good at this stuff. I even get a bit queasy when I see a bloody tampon in the loo bin. I’m a guy. Cut me some slack.

“Do you … need anything?” I say, unsure whether I’m s’posed to speak or just let her be.

She shakes her head. Her fringe flicks sweat across her face.

I turn to leave, then turn to face Mia again, step forwards, change my mind, return to my original position. Crikey! I really don’t know what the “right” thing to do is. I want to ask her what the hell is going on. She’s as high as a bloody kite. Of course she is. But maybe the confrontation can wait until tomorrow. I s’pose that would be the fairest.

“Dad. Just go to bed.”

See? I nod. “Okay. You’re okay?”

“Yes.” Mia groans as if in pain, but I choose to believe it’s just annoyance. If I think too much about the stress she’s put her body through, I might not be able to resist my overprotective instincts and will rush her to the emergency room. And that would be “embarrassing.” So I hold back. She looks like she will be fine after a good sleep. I hope.

“I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”

Mia nods at the floor, still squatting, and flicks me away like an insect. I leave, shaking my head. I told Sonia something was up. Something
is
up. But is the
something
simply a newfound enthusiasm to get in shape? Could I be reading too much into it?

I open my bedroom door, and Sonia is already under the covers, wearing one of my footy T-shirts, scrunching the doona up to her chest with a cheeky grin on her face.

“What was all
that
about?” she says, as if performing in a pantomime.

I kick off my shoes, undo my belt, and pull down my jeans. I fold them and put them in my drawer where all my jeans go. The shoes I leave in the center of the room, one upside down, the other right-side up. I can handle not putting them outside for one night.

“She’s trying to lose weight,” I say. I reckon saying it out loud helps me believe it more.

“That looked like a lot more than trying to lose weight.”

I cringe. I don’t want to hear it. I get into bed with my T-shirt still on. I pull Sonia close. She rubs her thigh against my erection.

“I think she needs a boyfriend,” Sonia whispers, and bites my ear.

I laugh and pull the doona over our heads. “You’re the one who needs a boyfriend.”

“I thought I already had one.”

I cup Sonia’s left breast in my right hand. “But weren’t we just—”

“Not anymore.”

“Good. ’Cause I’m getting tired of being the teacher’s pet.” I wink and slip my hand between Sonia’s legs.

Sonia’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and she whispers in a really low voice, “Fuck me like I’m dead.”

For a split second I want to pull away, but my dick is so hard I ignore my instinct that she’s thinking of Ibrahim.

I enter her and she says it again. And again and again, a little more softly each time, until we both come.

After a few moments of catching my breath, I bring it up.

“You’ve never said that before.”

“Said what?” she says.

“What you said. About being dead.”

“Dead? Who’s dead?”

I laugh nervously. “Are you messing with me?”

“No. Why would I mess with you? What are you talking about?”

“You said, uh—” I clear my throat. “Fuck me like I’m dead,”

Sonia glares at me.

“More than once,” I add.

Her jaw drops, and a tear escapes the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I— I don’t remember.”

Chapter 20

Mia: I may look like a cow, but you can go eat shit if you think you can put me in a field and bark at me.

Having pulled an all-nighter, I get to school early. I felt totally cool when I left the house, still energetic—less so—but motivated for the day.

But the comedown.

Man. It’s just hit me.

Feels as if I’ve been injected with the entire world’s lack of enthusiasm. My head is full of bees. Buzzing. In slow motion. As if trying to hypnotize me.

Mah he-eh-eh-eh-ed

Is full of beeeeez, yeah.

Bahhhzzing.

In slow moh-shahn.

Hip-no-tah-zing-meee, yeah.

Lyrics. Mental note.

Noted.

I meet Kimi in the corridor by her locker. She’s sitting against the wall, legs spread, with her schoolbag between her knees. She’s the only one in here, but she raises her hand to get my attention as if amongst a large crowd.

“Hey.” I lean my back against the wall and slide my body down into a sitting position with a thud.

“You alright?” Kimi has one eye closed.

I nod and rub my forehead. “I guess.” I’m getting a bit of a headache.

Kimi lifts her T-shirt and points to her scar. All dramatic-like.

“
This
is why we’ve gotta screw this guy over.”

And she’s just showing me now? I don’t get it. This whole strategic let-things-out-one-bit-at-a-time is getting on my nerves. What’s the point? She fishing me out? I shuffle my arse backwards a bit to get a better view. Seeing the scar up close, I can tell that the wound must have been pretty deep.

“Shit. That looks painful,” I say.

“It was. And I couldn’t go to hospital because I—look, that doesn’t matter. It’s not important. Anyway, I survived. But now he’s gotta pay. And that’s where you come in. Okay?”

I frown and inspect my nails, thinking that what Kimi just said sounded way practiced and melodramatic. I want to know where this shit is going. What kind of person does she think I am? I’m not gonna go and stab some dude because he stabbed her. But I guess I shouldn’t push it until I’m clear about what she wants. And what’s with the acting all of a sudden? I used to think first impressions counted. Obviously not. Kimi is not the reserved “mysterious” cool chick I always thought she was. She’s … well, I don’t know what she is yet. I suppose that does make her mysterious. But, you know, not in an intriguing way. Much. I’m sorta getting the feeling that she’s as desperate for a friend as I am. So I’m game. I’ll let this ride out and see what happens.

“Are you gonna tell me who the guy is?” I say. I tilt my head to the side and notice another scar behind Kimi’s ear running along her hairline. It’s long and thin and clean.

Cosmetic? Corrective?

“Can’t,” she says, stretching her arms to her toes, and doing some sort of yoga position.

“How come?”

Kimi sits upright and glares at me as if I’m asking the most ridiculous question ever.

“I think I have the right to know who I’m gonna screw over.” I don’t mean to snap. It just comes out that way.

“You will,” Kimi snaps back. “Eventually. But right now we should just focus on getting you in shape.”

The comment stings. What? Is she my personal trainer now?

“Why can’t you do this on your own?”

“Are you kidding?” Kimi shrieks, then resorts to a half-whisper. “The guy would kill me. He’s too strong.”

“What exactly do you need me to do? Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

Kimi
tsks
. “I told you I’d tell you soon. I’ve just gotta figure out a few things. And I need to know you’re on my side first. I can’t do this on my own. And I can’t afford for you to turn on me. Is that honest enough?”

I hardly know you,
I think. Kimi stares at me, expectant, eyes like an owl.

“Well?
Are
you on my side?”

This is all too weird. Here we are, sitting in a typical high school corridor, in a typical Melbourne town, living our typical inner-city suburban lives, and all of a sudden we’re characters in
Underbelly
? I mean, come on. Get real!

I grit my teeth in frustration. She found my soft spot and pounced. Typical of me to think she was just trying to help. Everyone has an agenda, I guess. Why I thought she was an exception is beyond me. And why did she choose the fat girl? There has to be a reason other than the fact we’re both outcasts, doesn’t there?

I guess I’ve been fooled now, and none of that matters anymore. What’s important is to take advantage of the free speed and lose weight. If Mum sees me like this, there’s no telling what fitness regime she is going to force on me this time. It was hard enough getting over the last one. She had me doing cardio for four hours a day, and I ended up in hospital with heart palpitations. At sixteen, man!

Let’s face it. There’s nothing stopping me from pulling out of Kimi’s plan once I’ve got my weight under control. Right? And I don’t even need to lose it all. Just enough for me to convince my mother that I don’t need any help. And if Kimi wants to use me, then I’m gonna use her.

Yeah.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m on your side.”

Chapter 21

Mick: Over me dead fuckin’ body.

“You fucking sold ’em yet, shit-fer-brains?”

I barely twitch me head to the right as the cunt in the fluoro-green cap and thin greying goatee holds a fuckin’ switchblade to me neck. His breath smells like vomit and cat food.

“No? Was that a fucking no?”

I whisper “yes” through me gritted teeth, tryin’ not to move me jaw so the knife don’t poke into me skin.

“You’ve got a month. He said if you haven’t exchanged ’em for the coke in a month, there are no second chances. But you know what I can’t fucking believe, mate?”

I shake me head, take quick breaths through the corner of me mouth, and let ’em out me nose. He’s got me locked in his arms, holding me from behind. I can feel his gun stickin’ in the crack in me arse, and it makes me want to spit phelgm in his fuckin’ face for making me picture the sick cunt butt-fuckin’ me in the alley.

“I can’t for the
life
of me,” he says, drawing out the word
life
, as if tryin’ to point out that he has one and I don’t, “figure out why he’s given you such a long grace period. But I swear, if you do take longer than a month, you know whaddit means, don’t you, faggot-shit?”

I close me eyes. I nod. But I swear to fuckin’ God, if he lays a fuckin’ piss-stinkin’ finger on ’er, I won’t fuckin’ hold back. I’ll kill ’im meself. That’s a fuckin’ promise.

Bile rises in me throat when he spins me round ’n’ breathes straight into me face. I wanna dry-retch, but I force it down. I can’t let this scum-wanker-cunt think he’s got a hold over me emotions. I can’t let him know I’m actually shittin’ big black motherfuckin’ bricks right now. Me own dad. Me
dad
is doing this shit to me. Because he knows how much I love me mum. How much I would do anything to save ’er.

The guy cackles and shows his pointy white teeth with two or three gold ones stuck in there. It sounds like he’s runnin’ his tonsils over a cheese grater.

“Good,” he says, and pushes me backwards. I lose me balance and fall on me arse, whack me head, and pierce me right hand on a rusty nail that’s pokin’ through a concrete crack. He laughs again, steps a bit further back, and points the switchblade at me from a distance, as if it were a part of his finger.

“One month. I’m not fucking kidding you.”

I nod, over and over, gasping for breath through me effort not to cry.

I watch as the guy turns left out of the laneway, only two blocks from me house. He must be bullshittin’ me. It’s gotta be a test or somethin’.

There’s no way me dad would whack me mum. Why now? After all the chances he had of doing it, and gettin’ away clean.

I sit up and run me fingers along me neck, to make sure there’s no blood. Me heartbeat slows down to somethin’ a bit more normal.

Me neck’s not cut.

But if I’m not careful, Mum’s’ll be.

Chapter 22

Sonia: Somewhere over the rainbow.

It is seven a.m. and everyone’s mailboxes are decorated with dew. When I was a child, I liked to think the dew meant fairies had been out to play during the night. Especially when the sun shone through dispersive prisms of condensation, creating a field of colour across my front lawn. It was the rainbow that first got me interested in mathematics and physics, and its ever-elusive pot of gold. It didn’t take long for me to rationalize that the pot of gold was simply the bait to enrich my knowledge.

I hold my ear against my front door, whispering for it to be kind to me today. I am short on time to get ready for school, as I overslept at Nash’s house.

A sparrow chirps from the window ledge, as if to tell me the coast is clear, and flutters away.

Quiet. Thank God.

As I twist the key in the front door, I realize Mick forgot to lock it again.

For fuck’s sake! I swallow, take a deep breath, and remind myself to stop saying that word. Even when it is only inside my head.

Last time Mick forgot to lock the door, our entire entertainment system was stolen. Along with my iMac, which I had just bought the same week. Since then I have resorted to using my old PC, and failing to collect Mick’s weekly monetary contribution for a new computer like he promised. I didn’t really expect him to pay me. But the possibility sustained my sanity. He needs focus—some constituent of responsibility. Because God knows his father never taught him more than “be faithful to your brothers.”

I open the door, and my heart sinks at the scattered papers all over the floor.

God no. Not again.

I put my bag down and close the door behind me, making sure to be as quiet as possible. Just in case Mick’s still here. I cannot bear to face him this morning. Every expression, every wince, every … smile, reminds me of Ibrahim. There’s no escaping him no matter how much I try. I look around for something other than my stashed pistol to use as a weapon. Nothing. Not even a nail file. The curtain in the lounge room waves about in the breeze.