Scars of Your Love

It was late morning when I woke up the next day. My head was pounding and I felt ill so I phoned up Bolton who came round with some painkillers. “I’d better tidy up, dad’s popping in today,” I said.
“About time, I’ll give you a hand with the cleaning,” he offered.
“You? Cleaning?” I laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“Alright then, you can wash up. I’m just gonna get ready,” I decided, rushing into the bedroom. I rifled through the piles of clothes on the floor and settled for pastel blue skinny jeans, a white skull top and a black leather jacket. I put on some thick golden hoops and some leather heeled boots (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=46236497 ) Tying my hair up in a loose bun, I put on some make-up and went back outside. “You feel any better?” Bolton asked. “A bit I guess,” I said, wetting a cloth. I wiped the surfaces and Bolton carried on washing up. “What ya fancy doing today?” I shrugged. “You could come round mine for a bit later on or something.”
“Go on then,” I said, heading over to the sofa. I picked up all the crisp packets and chip shop wrappers, beer cans and pizza crusts. Dad didn’t like mess. He’d kill me if he found it in this state. Still, I don’t know why I should have to keep it clean when he won’t even get decent carpet on the floor. He wouldn’t even let me do it up. To be fair, the only reason we kept this place was for me. Dad had pretty much moved to the centre of London. I’d wanted to stay here on the estate. I know, why would anyone want to stay on a grubby old council estate: litter in the streets, buildings crumbling, constant police sirens? I just didn’t see the point in leaving though. I liked it here and I wasn’t planning on moving until I finished school. Then the four of us were moving to Ibiza. We were going to own a huge house looking over the beach. They would go surfing every day while I would sunbathe. We’d spend every night in the clubs or at the pub. There was one slight problem of where we would get our money from but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. Knowing the guys, they’d probably have some friends living out there that we could sponge off.

“Hey dad,” I said as he walked through the door that evening.
“Sweetie, how are you?”
“Alright.”
“Good,” he said, going over to the fridge, “Where’s my beer?”
“Oh…the guys have some, didn’t they?” I lied.
“Idiots! They’re a bad influence on you. I don’t want you messing up your life,” he cried, disappearing off to his room. I scowled. Maybe if he was around a bit more, things would be different. I shook the thought from my head: of course things wouldn’t be different. Mum was gone – she wasn’t coming back. Ever. I had to move on.

Monday morning soon came. The guys came round to get me first thing and we headed to school. “Your dad gone again?” asked Will.
“Yeah, he left Sunday morning.”
“Party at your place then Saturday!” he laughed.
“Will!” Connor exclaimed.
“God, I’m joking, aren’t I?”
“Why not? I fancy a party. Tell everyone to bring some drinks and we’ll do it. My dad won’t have to know a thing,” I said.
“Serious?” I nodded.
“Nice one babe,” Will said. We cut through an alley that came out onto Green Street, through the Raleigh Estate (the posh part of town) and into school. As we walked through the gates, I heard a cry from round the back of the building. I headed round to find Elisha and Katy cornering little Dorothy against the wall. “Back off, yeah?” I said, giving Katy a shove. “Get lost,” she retorted.
“Come on Shona, let’s go,” Bolton said firmly.
“No, I’m not scared of them,” I argued.
“Well neither am I but I have better things to do than break up a cat fight.” Dorothy was a girl in our year; she lived on the Raleigh Estate. Bit of a nerd, bit of a loner, bit of a goody but she seemed sweet. Her little eyes looked so scared and worried. “You leave her alone, you get me?” Katy and Elisha laughed.
“You get me?” they mimicked in stupid little voices, “Go back to the dustbin.” Bolton stepped forwards, towering over the girls. “What did you just say?” They looked up at Bolton with pathetic little smiles. “Not you.”
“No, of course not you. It’s just her.”
“Don’t say that to my girl!” he cried. They looked up at Bolton; I could almost see their hearts racing as they backed away.
“Don’t know why you waste your time on her,” they laughed before running off.
“You run along now Dotty. Get back to lessons like a good lil’ girl,” Will laughed.
“Will,” I said firmly, annoyed at how rude he was being, “You alright?” Dorothy nodded nervously. She was scared of her own shadow, so she must have been terrified at the sight of us. I walked towards her and helped her up. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
“No problem. What did they want anyway?”
“They think I’m trying to flirt with Bolton, Will and Connor.”
“It’s Vegas, yeah?” Connor said.
“Shut up. Connor,” I said spitefully, “Seriously? They act like they own them.”
“I know right. Have you heard them going on about the guys? They know everything about them, it’s crazy.”
“God, they need to get a life.”
“They’re only human,” Bolton joked running his hands through his hair.
“Fuck off,” I said. We walked into school and went off to our form rooms. Will and I were in 11J. Connor was in 11D. Bolton was 2 years above us – he was 13E. I think Dotty was in 11A or C but I wasn’t really sure. I couldn’t understand why Bolt had stayed on for sixth form – he hated school.

The day dragged on but it was eventually lunchtime. The four of us sat at our usual table along the left hand side of the busy school canteen. I munched on a bowl of pasta while the guys each had a sandwich. I hated the food they made in the school canteen. The pasta had absolutely no flavour but I’d rather eat that I suppose than make something myself. I looked up and noticed Dotty walking nervously round the canteen, her head down.
“Dotty!” I called out. She looked up at me and smiled weakly. “Come sit with us.”
“Shona,” the boys muttered angrily.
“You got a problem? Move!” I yelled angrily at the guys as Dotty sat down.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I like your jeans,” I said.
“You like my jeans?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Thanks. I got them in Paris.”
“Paris? Nice.” She smiled. “So we’re having a party at my place on Saturday. Fancy coming?”
“A party? At your house?”
“Yeah but you’re gonna have to stop repeating what I say. It’s kind of annoying.”
“Sorry.”
“And stop saying sorry.”
“Sorry…oh sorry,” she sighed, put her head in her hands and shut up. I laughed.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“I can probably come. I’ll check with my mum.”
“Okay then. Great.”