James
Someone maltreats my skull with a jackhammer.
That's the first thing I realize when I slowly wake up. The second is the
naked warm body that lies half on top of mine.
I glance to the side, but all I see is a mane of honey blonde hair. I don't
remember leaving Wren's party with anyone. If I'm to be honest, I can't
remember leaving the party. I close my eyes again and try to evoke images
from last night, but all I know are a few disjointed scraps of thought: Me,
drunk on a table. Wren's loud laugh as I fall down and land on the ground at
his feet. Alistair's warning look as I dance closely with his big sister and
press myself tightly against her back.
Oh, fuck.
Carefully I raise my hand and brush the girl's hair out of her forehead.
Double-fuck.
Alistair is going to kill me.
I sit up jerkily. A stabbing pain shoots through my head, and for a
moment my eyes are black. Next to me, Elaine grumbles something
incomprehensible and turns to the other side. At the same time, I realize that
the jackhammer is my cell phone, which is lying on the bedside table and
vibrating. I ignore it and search the floor for my clothes. I find one shoe
near the bed, the other directly in front of the door under my black pants
and the corresponding belt. My shirt lies over the brown leather chair. When
I put it on and want to close it, I notice that a few buttons are missing. I
groan and hope fervently that Alistair is no longer there. He doesn't need to
see the destroyed shirt, nor the red scratches that Elaine left on my chest
with her pink-painted fingernails.
My phone starts vibrating again. I glance at the display, and my
father's name shines at me. Grand. It's just before two on a school day, my
head feels like it's going to burst at any moment, and I've almost certainly
had sex with Elaine Ellington. The last thing I need now is my father's voice
in my ear. Resolutely, I push him away.What I need, however, is a shower. And fresh clothes. I sneak out of
Wren's guest room and close the door behind me as quietly as possible. On
the way down, I encounter the remains of last night – a bra and several
other items of clothing hang over the banister, cups, glasses and plates with
leftovers are scattered all over the foyer. The smell of alcohol and smoke is
in the air. It cannot be overlooked that a party was celebrated here until a
few hours ago.
In the salon I find Cyril and Keshav. Cyril sleeps on the expensive
white sofa of Wren's parents, and Kesh sits on the armchair by the fireplace.
A girl has made herself comfortable on his lap, burying her hands in his
long black hair and kissing him passionately. The two look as if the party is
about to start again. When Kesh pulls away from her for a moment and
discovers me, he throws his head back and laughs. I give him the middle
finger as I pass by.
The opulent glass doors leading into the Fitzgeralds' garden are wide
open. I step out and have to squint my eyes. The sunlight is not particularly
glaring, but it still feels like a stab directly in my temple. Cautiously, I look
around. It doesn't look any better out here than it does indoors. Rather the
opposite.
On the loungers by the pool I find Wren and Alistair. They have their
arms crossed behind their heads, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses. I
hesitate for a moment, then I stroll to them.
"Beaufort," Wren says happily, pushing up his glasses so that they sit
on his frizzy black hair. He grins broadly, but I can still see how pale his
dark brown skin looks. He must have quite a hangover, just like me. "Had a
nice night?"
"Can't really remember," I answer, daring to look in Alistair's direction.
"Fuck you, Beaufort," he says, without looking at me. His hair
shimmers golden in the midday sun. "I told you to keep your hands off my
sister."
I expected this reaction. Unimpressed, I raise an eyebrow. "I didn't
force her into my bed. Don't pretend she can't decide for herself who she
wants to have sex with."
Alistair grimaces in agony and lets out an incomprehensible hum.
I hope that he will get his act together and not hold it against me
forever, after all, I can't undo it. And actually, I don't feel like justifying
myself to my friends. I have to do that often enough at home.
"Woe betide you if you break her heart," Alistair says after a while,
looking at me through the reflective lenses of his aviator sunglasses.
Although I can't see his eyes, I know that his gaze is not angry, but rather
resigned.
"Elaine has known James since she was five," Wren interjects. "She
knows exactly what to expect from him."
Wren is right. Elaine and I both knew yesterday what we were getting
ourselves into. And even though I can hardly remember anything, I still
have her breathless voice clearly in my ears: It only happens once, James.
Just once.
Alistair doesn't want to admit it, but his sister is no more a child of
sadness than I am.
"If your parents find out, they'll announce your engagement
immediately," Wren adds after a while, amused.
I twist the corners of my mouth disgruntled. My parents have been
keen for years to get me engaged to Elaine Ellington – or any other
daughter of a wealthy family with a huge inheritance. But at eighteen, I
have much better things to do than even give a thought to what or who is in
store for me after I graduate from school.
Alistair also snorts contemptuously. He seems to be just as
unimpressed by the idea of welcoming me as a new member of his family
soon. Playfully offended, I press my hand to my chest. "It almost sounds
like you don't want me to be your brother-in-law."
Now he pushes his glasses up into his wavy hair and glares at me with
dark eyes. Although he has a slim figure, I know how strong and fast he can
be. I've experienced that often enough during training.
The look with which he looks at me gives me an idea of what he is up
to.
"I'm warning you, Alistair," I growl, taking a step back.
It's faster than I can blink. Suddenly he is standing right in front of me.
"I warned you too," he replies. Unfortunately, you weren't interested."
The next moment he gives me a violent blow in the chest. I stumble
backwards, straight into the pool. The impact drives the air out of my lungs,
and for a moment I don't know where up and down is. The water rushes in
my ears, the throbbing headache seems much worse to me underwater.
Nevertheless, I don't show up immediately. I let my body go limp and
remain in the same position, face down. I stare at the tiles of the pool,which I can only see dimly from here, and count the seconds in my mind. I
close my eyes for a moment. It is almost peacefully quiet. After half a
minute, I gradually run out of air and the pressure on my chest increases. I
let one last dramatic bubble rise, keep waiting, and then...
Alistair jumps into the pool and grabs me. He pulls me with him to the
surface, and when I open my eyes and see his shocked look, I have to snort
and gasp for air at the same time.
"Beaufort!" he shouts stunned and throws himself at me. His fist lands
in my side—damn, his punches are hard—and he tries to put me in a
headlock. Because he's shorter than me, it doesn't work out the way he
hoped. We wrestle for a moment, then I get hold of him. I lift it up with ease
and throw it as far away from me as possible, Wren's laughter reaching my
ear as Alistair goes down with a loud splash. When he reappears, he stares
at me so angrily for a moment that I have to snort again. Alistair, like all
Ellingtons, has a total angelic face. Even if he wants to look threatening –
his light brown eyes paired with the blonde curls and his perfect facial
features make it simply impossible.
"You're a wanker of the worst kind," he says, splashing a gush of water
at me.
I wipe my face with my hand. "I'm sorry, man."
"It's okay," he replies, but continues to splash me with water. I spread
my arms and let it go over me. At some point he stops, and when I look at
him, he just shakes his head laughing.
That's when I know that everything is fine between us.
"James?" a familiar voice sounds.
I whirl around. My twin sister stands at the edge of the pool and covers
the sun. She wasn't at the party yesterday, and for a moment I think she's
trying to give me hell for skipping class with the boys today. But then I look
properly, and I get ice-cold: her shoulders are limp, her arms hang
powerlessly next to her body. Avoiding our gaze, she stares at her feet.
As fast as I can, I swim to her and get out of the pool. I don't care how
wet I am, I grab her by the upper arms and force her to lift her head and
look at me. My stomach does a somersault. Lydia's face is red and swollen.
She must have cried.
"What's going on?" I ask, holding her a little tighter by the arms. She
wants to turn her head away, but I won't let that. I grasp her chin so that she
can't avoid my gaze.
Tears shimmer in her eyes. My throat gets dry.
"James," she whispers hoarsely. "I messed up."