Shed Some Light

When you experience a break-up, your friends are always the first ones there. They’re the ones who supply you with chocolate and Vodka, prepared to bitch to their utmost about how shit your recently ex-boyfriend is. They’re the ones to cover for you when you have to run from a classroom because you just know you’re going to burst into tears. They try to convince you that everything will be solved with a long shopping trip and - surprise, surprise - more chocolate.

Unfortunately, these people are also the ones who are convinced you need to get back in the game straight away. A week or two of wallowing in tubs of Ben & Jerry’s? Sure, that’s allowed. But just as soon as there’s a new party, or even just an excuse to go out, they’re the ones hassling you to make a move on a new guy. To let that cute boy at the coffee shop take you out.

Universally, these friends are the same. I should know, because mine are no different.

It was how I found myself hanging around in the downstairs hallway at eight pm on a Saturday night. I had been officially broken up with my boyfriend for a grand total of three weeks and, as far as my friends (and the rest of the teenage population of the earth) were concerned, I should have been well prepared to move on to a new guy by now.

I was hanging around in the hallway because my dad was watching TV just metres away in the living room, and I knew for a fact that if the doorbell rang and I was still upstairs, he would be all over that shit like fleas on a dog. And I really couldn’t handle any embarrassing dad-related situation right then. Not only would there be the mortifying Spanish inquisition directed at Paul (aforementioned coffee shop guy), but he would then cluelessly wonder what happened to ‘the other guy’. You know, the guy he says he hates, but then suddenly takes a shine to the minute your relationship’s labelled finito? At this point my mum would interject with hisses of how she already told him all this and how he never listened to her (cue argument over wanting the kitchen re-painted).

The same story was being told in houses all over England; I just happened to be a chapter ahead of most of my friends.

I should have been pleased that the doorbell rang at eight on the dot. After all, I was always the one chiding people for turning up late. Instead, I couldn’t help but think that, had it been someone else, I would probably have been sitting on the bottom step of my staircase for another half hour. Even then, it would have been absolutely floored if he’d bothered to leave the car and not just honk impatiently.

“I’ll get it!” I yelled, before my dad could even think to move from the couch.

I wasn’t eager for this ‘date’ in the least, but I practically ripped the door off its hinges in my haste to get away from any potential embarrassment from my dad. Paul staggered back slightly as I came barrelling out, letting out a small sound of surprise.

“Sorry,” I muttered sheepishly, ducking my head so dark falls of hair covered my face.

“That’s ok. At least you’re eager.” He gave a slightly nervous chuckle that I reciprocated out of sheer politeness, already cursing Andrea and Helena in my head for making me ask this guy out. It wasn’t that Paul wasn’t a nice guy. The opposite, in fact - he always tried to give my friends and I a discount when his boss wasn’t looking, and always served people with a smile, unlike much of the working teenage population. He was pretty good looking too, in a stylishly stubbly, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way.

But I just didn’t have the heart for any sort of date tonight. True, it was me who’d invited him to this party, but I don’t think he realised that my friends had bullied me into it, or he may have had a slightly less enthusiastic response.

There was a moment of sheer awkwardness as Paul blew out a long breath and I rocked back on my heels.

“Should we, er…” I trailed off, suggestively eyeing his car. He actually blushed. It was kind of endearing, but I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate the sight like I once would have.

“Yeah.”

It was just as awkward inside his car, but at least it was warmer than the harsh November chill that had settled outside, forcing the elderly and the young indoors. The sky, already dark, was a sickening shade that warned it was going to be as wet as it would be cold tonight.

“You look pretty.” Paul said as he turned the ignition, sending me a smile that revealed a set of deep dimples. Helena would have swooned, I was sure.

“Er, thanks.” I wasn’t sure whether I entirely believed him. I’d verbally assaulted my friends when they’d started to insist on picking my outfit for tonight, and had deliberately chosen an outfit that would send then scoffing and rolling their eyes; dark wash skinny jeans, a faded and holey Metallica T-shirt, a plain black hoody and my most abused converse. I felt sure that my face was still puffy from crying and too much ice cream, and the cold weather had left my lips feeling chapped and stiff. Still, Paul was nothing if not a gentleman, so I knew better than to deflect his compliment.

I was prepared to settle into an uncomfortable ten-minute car ride, but Andrea’s voice started bitching at me in my head, telling me to stop being so awkward and difficult. “So,” I started, turning my head towards Paul, who was frowning in concentration when he drove. Unlike my ex, he seemed to actually care about not hitting signposts and cats. “Have you been to a party at Jamie’s before?”

I assumed he would have, since Jamie’s (a boy I vaguely new from Economics class) parents seemed to go away every other weekend, and he wasn’t exactly known for quiet nights in. So I was surprised when he said, “No, I haven’t actually. I’ve passed one or two on my way home from work before, but I’ve never been in.”

“Dude, seriously?”

He laughed uncomfortably, a blush creeping over his cheeks once more. He shrugged his shoulders in a casual move, but the motion was a little tense. “I’m not much of a party guy,” he explained quietly.

“Oh.” The idea that he didn’t like parties had never actually occurred to me. Even I, one of the most antisocial people in Sheffield, liked to let loose every now and then. His admission had me frowning in confusion, awkwardness now forgotten. “So why did you say yes when I asked you to it, then?”

His eyes, a deep blue, met my own jade orbs for a moment before flickering back to the road. “Because you asked me out, and I thought if I turned you down you’d never ask again.”

Now it was my turn to blush. “We don’t have to go to the party if you don’t want to,” I said softly, still wondering why he hadn’t just said something. I would have leapt at the chance not to go to this stupid party if Andrea and Helena hadn’t browbeaten me into it. I had a nagging feeling that I was going to run into the one person I’d been avoiding for nearly a month now.

“No, no!” He said hastily. “You want to go, and besides, we’re already here now.” We were indeed pulling up to the pavement near Jamie’s house, which seemed to be in full party mode already. I was about to open my mouth and point out that, actually, I didn’t want to be there, but it was at that moment that there was a sharp tap on my window.

“Hey!” Lexie, a girl from my English class, was standing with her face practically pressed to the glass. I suppressed a groan. Lexie was the go-to girl for gossip in our sixth-form. If we left now, she’d tell everyone she’d seen me, and then people (or someone specifically) would think I’d been too scared to show my face. “You came!” She yelled through the glass. “Everyone thought it’d be at least another week ‘til you made a public appearance!”

“What’s she talking about?” Paul wondered. He didn’t go to school anymore, and hadn’t even attended the same one as me earlier on anyway, so he had no clue about me or my social life. He’d never seen me with my ex, since he’d always refused to sit around and drink coffee when he had ‘shit loads of other things I could be doing’.

“Nothing,” I said hastily. “C’mon then.” I was out of the car before he could question me any more.

Lexie greeted me with a slightly sloppy hug, the familiar stench that emanated from her letting me know that she been getting the part started for quite some time now. As far as I could tell, she was just arriving like me, but the sight of her boyfriend, Johnny, hovering behind her told me I’d hit the nail on the head. Johnny was the type of person who liked to be drunk before he even got to a party. He was also the type of person who didn’t like to be drunk alone. As a result, Lexie had gone from a pretty normal girl to practically a lush ever since she’d started dating him. It would have been funny, had it not been so ridiculous.

I heard Johnny grunt in greeting to Paul, who was hovering behind us somewhat. Feeling guilty for making him come in the first place, I twined my fingers with mine and moved close to his side. I felt no pleasure at the skin-on-skin contact, and his presence didn’t warm me. Still, I felt better about the situation when he smiled down at me.

Lexie and Johnny were already staggering off ahead, giggling drunkenly. Paul was staring after them with a slightly apprehensive look on his handsome features. “You don’t drink much, do you?” I guessed.

He shot me a surprised look, tilting his head curiously to the side. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” I muttered. “Don’t worry, not everyone gets hammered at these things.”

“It doesn’t bother me that much.” It was easy to tell he was lying. In fact, it was easy to tell a lot of things about him, now that I’d spent a little time with him. He hated to be late, that much was obvious. He would be the type of boy to call his mother when he promised he would, and help her with the housework. He’d never have had a brush with the law and, though he wasn’t at school anymore, he was a hard worker. In short, he was everything I wasn’t used to. I hadn’t quite figured out whether or not this was a good thing.

I kept my hand linked with his all the way up to the house, even when the few (obviously cold-blooded) people who were hanging around outside shot me wide-eyed looks. I couldn’t blame them – if I could see myself now, with my hand in Paul’s, I would be shooting myself the same look.

By the time we were actually inside the house, I was pretty convinced the handholding was for Paul’s benefit alone. I tried to see everything through an outsider’s eyes: the nameless couple who were present at every party, but spent the whole night attached by the mouth; the pounding screams that poured from the speakers, pissed at the world. Finally, I tried to see my friends through an outsider’s eyes. You had the people like Andrea and Helena, who could pretty much pass for normal on a good day, but then you had those who seemed to comprise the majority of my group of friends – loud, potty-mouthed guys and girls with jeans that were way too tight and OTT tattoos.

To give him his due, Paul didn’t look like he was about to shit himself, but he was eyeing the guys in eyeliner and too much black who passed us apprehensively. I smiled unsurely at him, hoping to ease some of his tension. After all, it was my goddamn fault he was even there.

"Grace!” I don’t know how I heard them over the music (if you could even really call it that), but I know that I turned to find Andrea and Helena fighting their way towards us through the throngs of adolescents.

Helena accidentally spilled beer on me as she hugged me, but I was so used to her clumsy ways that I barely noticed. Andrea shouted, “he looks hot!” in my ear, thankfully just quiet enough that Paul, who was accepting a hug from Helena with a look of surprise scrawled over his features, didn’t notice. I scowled at Andrea, shaking my head. The innocent grin she sent me wouldn’t have fooled a nun.

She turned her attention to my date for the night. “Hi, Paul!”

“Hi.” He gave an awkward little wave before shoving his hand into his pocket.

Helena chose that moment to grab my arm, turning me away for a moment. There was a nervous look in her eyes, and her teeth were worrying her bottom lip. “Look,” she shouted, “Andy didn’t want me to tell you, but he’s here.”

I can’t say I was surprised, and my expression must have read as much, because she just sighed and ran a hand affectionately over my hair.

“Drinks!” Andrea suddenly yelled, pulling Helena by the hand towards the kitchen. I sent Paul a ‘what can you do’ shrug and grabbed his hand too, prepared to tow him behind me all the way to the kitchen so he didn’t somehow get lost amidst my friends. To my surprise, he let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders instead, easily parting the crowds my smaller frame had a much harder time fighting through. I wrapped my arm around his waist out of comfort, since it was getting squashed between our bodies.

It was nice and all, to be pressed close to a warm male body, but all I wanted to do at that moment was run out of the house screaming.

We burst into the kitchen like a cork popping from a bottle. I’d never seen Jaime’s house so crowded.

I immediately wanted to turn around. Leaning casually against the counter by the sink was none other than Curtis Ward. Normally I’d be pretty jazzed to see him, since he was, to put it simply, an absolute babe. However, tonight it just seemed like shit luck to run into my ex’s best friend.

He seemed to spot me about thirty seconds after I spied him. His eyes washed over Paul first, then landed on me. His eyebrows rose over them as he took in the way Paul and I were pressed closely together, then creased as he nudged the boy next to him. Up until that moment, the boy had his back to me, but as soon as he turned I knew there was no mistaking those eyes. Great, before me I had both my ex’s best friend and his little brother. This would not end well.

“Shit.” I muttered.

“What?” The music was dimmer in the kitchen, but Paul still couldn’t hear me properly.

“Er, nothing.” I sent him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but it felt a bit fixed.

“What’s your poison?” Either Andrea hadn’t noticed the other occupants of the kitchen, or she was making it a point to ignore them, because there was no trace of awkwardness in her voice as she held up some bottles in our direction.

I could feel Curtis and Tom’s eyes on me, but I forced myself not to look back at them as I shuffled over to the counted dedicated to drinks, pulling out of Paul’s grasp. He followed me, of course, keeping a hand on my back. He was turning out to be a lot more touchy-feely than I had anticipated.

I grabbed the first thing my hands fell on, which happened to be a can of beer. I offered it to Paul, who gingerly accepted before popping the tab and taking a sip. He pulled a face, but didn’t complain as I busied myself with my own can. Ordinarily I would have seized the opportunity to get absolutely wasted, but a) there seemed to be a chance that Paul would get all judgemental if I did and, b) I tended to do stupid shit when I was drunk. Stupid shit was what I needed to steer clear of tonight.

“Hey, Grace.” I choked on my first fortifying sip of beer as the voice registered in my head. For a moment I considered just ignoring him and hoping he would go away, but a voice in my head started berating me for even thinking of it. Besides, Tom was a complete pussycat. I was generally always eager to talk to him.

His bright blue eyes were confused as I met them, but still filled with familiar warmth. He smiled unsurely at me but stepped forwards to give me a hug. His scent enveloped me, painfully similar (yet somehow completely different) to that of his brother’s. The hug was so familiar that I allowed myself to sink against him for a moment, sighing deeply.

“What are you doing, Gracie?” he whispered in my ear. I pulled away slightly, shocked. He sent me a frown.

If there was one thing I couldn’t face, it was Tom Sykes’s disappointment. He was the sweetest kid I knew, despite being a sixteen-year-old guy. He was the type of guy you could depend on completely; the one you ran to when you were in trouble.

“I’m moving on, Tom.”

“This fast?”

I chose not to answer him or his judgement, instead turning away from him completely. I noticed that Curtis seemed to have disappeared. Maybe he thought I was a whore too and couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me.

“Come on,” I said to Paul, who’d stood aside for a moment while I greeted Tom. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit or something.” He didn’t object as I towed him behind me again, this time heading towards somewhere other than the kitchen. Somewhere away from Tom.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that Paul and I had little to nothing in common. We’d somehow found a relatively quiet corner to sit and talk in, away from most of the prying eyes. The more we talked, though, the more I wanted to be anywhere but in the too-hot, too-crowded living room. Paul liked indie films and hated metal, while I liked films with loud explosions and fake blood, and pretty much live for the thrum of a heavy bass line through my veins. I read a book a day, while the last book he read was apparently in year 11. He loved modern art, and I thought it all looked like something either a two-year old could draw or a penguin could shit out. But what cinched it for me was his apparent lack of a sense of humour. I couldn’t stand people who didn’t get sarcasm and couldn’t take a joke, and it seemed like Paul was one of those people.

I was beyond relieved when I realised I had to pee. Normally I’d hold it in until I got home, since the line for the bathroom was always ridiculously long and the room itself stank of vomit and alcohol. On more than one occasion I’d made use of the bushes in the back garden, much to everyone’s immense amusement. However, when I realised that I just vaguely had to pee, I jumped on the opportunity to escape like a heroin addict who’d just been offered a hit.

I was even relieved to see that the line for the bathroom was just as long as usual as I headed for it, leaving Paul sitting awkwardly by himself.

You know those really rubbish horror films when the girl gets grabbed and doesn’t scream? Well, with my love of fake blood and guts, I’d seen plenty of those films in my time. And with each one, I always wondered why the girl didn’t just scream when she got grabbed. It would save a hell of a lot of bad things from happening, that’s for sure.

But when a hand reached out and grabbed me on my way to the bathroom, I knew what those horror films were all about. I didn’t have time to squeak, let alone start screaming my lungs out. Before I knew what was happening, I was shoved into a dark room. Apparently a very small room, too, since the first thing I did was stub my toe on something. And as I bent to hop up and down on one foot, I smacked my head off something too. It was only when a dim light flickered to life that I realised I should probably start to panic, seeing as I’d been shoved into what appeared to be a very chaotically organised and musty cupboard.

I whipped round (well, as much as I could whip anywhere in the narrow space), but wished I hadn’t just as soon as I saw the face of my assailant. “Fuck no!” I yelled. For some reason, the music was only a distant thump, so I knew he heard me. To be honest, I think aliens on Mars heard me.

I would have barged right out of the cupboard, but the lanky frame of one Oliver Sykes was currently blocking my only exit. It had to be the one fucking guy I’d been trying to avoid all night, didn’t it? I wished fervently for an axe-murderer instead. So far I’d been successful in steering clear of him, but it seemed like my luck had finally run out. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to shove him out of the way, and apart from the probability of my being able to do that being nil, I was scared that any bodily contact with him would just lead to him screwing my brains out.

Oli Sykes was, and always had been, an extremely good-looking guy. But it wasn’t just that. His stormy eyes had always seemed to directly affect the temperature of my blood, and his ability to charm his way into my pants was almost enviable. That was just at first, of course. It hadn’t taken me long to get hooked on the way a metal ring gleamed against the curve of his lip, or the way his tattoos shone when they were covered in a light sheen of sweat. Then there was the way his laugh sent my heart pounding, and the sarcastic comments that could amuse me like no other.

All of these things had been fantastic plus points when we were in a relationship, but now they were just ammunition at his disposal.

“Let me out.” I almost winced at the obvious quaver in my voice.

“Who’s the twat?”

His voice does not make you want to jump his bones. His voice does not make you want to jump his bones. I repeated this mantra in my head, ignoring his question.

“Who is he?” Oli demanded heatedly, a definite growl to his voice. My stomach flipped at the sound of it, but I forced myself not to do anything stupid… like moan.

“Who’s who?” I was relieved to hear that my voice didn’t shake this time. Even if my lmibs had turned to jelly, I didn’t want him to see me falling apart.

“Yeh know who. That guy yeh came with. The one yeh’ve been cozyin’ up to all fuckin’ night.” He bit out in his heavy accent. Mine had never quite thickened as his had, despite having lived in Sheffield all my life.

“How do you know I’ve been ‘cozying up’ to him?” I demanded suspiciously.

“I’ve been watchin’ yeh.” He waved away the question as though it wasn’t even an issue.

“That’s fucking creepy,” I hissed, the fine hairs on my arms rising as goose bumps erupted on my skin.

“I don’t care. Who the fuck is he?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” I yelled, drawing myself up to my full height of five and a half foot in an attempt to look more intimidating. I don’t think it was working all that well. “Let me out!”

“No.” His frown faded and his voice softened somewhat. “I want to talk to you, Gracie.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I don’t want to talk to you and, as you’ve apparently noticed, I’ve got someone waiting on me.”

His eyes narrowed again. “Yeh don’t like ‘im,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Yeh can’t.”

It didn’t matter that he was right. All I could do at that moment was gape at him, open-mouthed with incredulity. “Excuse me?”

He ignored my question. “And I don’t remember yeh bein’ so eager to leave this cupboard in the past.” A smirk appeared on his plush lips, pulling the corner with the lip ring. Memories of sinking my teeth into that mouth momentarily clouded my mind.

I was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about when a sense of familiarity with my surroundings came over me. I eyed the mop that was propped against the wall with horror, along with the shelves I’d banged my back against one too many times in the past. My face flushed with heat and shame, my eyes snapping shut as though to block out the memories. They only sprang more clearly to mind.

“We spent some good nights in here, Gracie.”

“I said,” I growled, eyes popping open, “don’t call me that.” The sound of the affectionate nickname leaving his lips only tore apart what little repair my heart had managed to achieve in the past three weeks. I knew it would take countless more tubs of Ben & Jerry’s to right myself even partially again.

Oli’s sigh sounded genuinely heartfelt as he moved forwards, forcing me to take a step back until my back was against an ironing board. “C’mon, ditch that fucker. I need to talk to yeh.”

“I don’t care what you need.” The lie left a bitter taste on my tongue, like dry-swallowing paracetamol. “And don’t call him a fucker. He’s sweet and considerate, which is more than I could ever say for you.”

Far from being offended, Oli just smiled, his stormy eyes sparkling. “Too much sugar rots your teeth, love.”

“I can always go see a dentist,” I hissed.

“Yeh can’t like ‘im,” he repeated his earlier statement, leaning over me so that I had to crane my neck just to be able to glare at his face, heart pounding violently in my chest. He was grinning as though he could hear it. I didn’t doubt he could. “Yeh can’t like ‘im ‘cause yeh still love me.”

I was about to vehemently lie through my teeth, but Oli chose that moment to lay his mouth over mine. If there was one thing he had learnt throughout our relationship, it was that the best way to end an argument with me was to get physical. Too fucking bad he paid attention at all the wrong times.

He let out an animalistic sort of whine in his throat, his hands immediately clamping down on my hips to yank me closer. The heat of his fingertips against the skin above my jeans set me on fire. The flame burned so hot that I didn’t even question my actions when I threw my arms around his neck.

We groaned in unison when his tongue brushed my lip, and I opened my mouth to the familiar taste of him without hesitation. My blood stirred as our tongues met, fighting to claim conquest.

All I could smell was him; all I could feel was the heat of his familiar body against mine. The only sound to meet my ears was the roaring of my own blood and the beat of my frantic heart.

But then he bit down on my lower lip. I don’t know why, but the excitement of the pain jolted me back to earth with a crash. I brought both hands up and shoved him away from me with all my might. Shocked, he stumbled back against a bucket of cleaning supplies, cursing. His eyes were glazed and dark, and his hair was as wild as I’m sure mine was.

I’d spent the last three weeks of my life trying to prove to myself that I could live without this man. That he wasn’t the reason my bruised heart still beat. And he’d fucked all that up in a single thoughtless action.

My eyes filled, his form blurring at the edges. “Fuck you, Oliver Sykes,” I hissed, my voice filled with so much venom that even I was shocked.

He must have been too, because he didn’t object when I flew out of the cupboard, startling a few people outside the door. I didn’t so much as glance at them as I put as much distance between that cupboard and myself as I possibly could.

What hurt the most, though, was that a part of me wanted him to call after me. To care enough to drag me back.

But I couldn’t go back.