Hook, Line and Sinker

It was late and I was sat on my bed, sheets of paper haphazardly strewn across the clean duvet. I scribbled the answer to the math question in the provided box; 7. I stared at the number, bringing my pencil up to my mouth and started to tap the small pink eraser against my lips in a fast rhythm.

Seven, it was a peculiar number, some say it’s the luckiest in the infinite amount of numbers out there. I, on the other hand have to disagree. Yes, it was the amount of weeks I had left of school, the number of friends I had, which were quite good things. But it was also how many boyfriends Mom had had since Dad left us for a younger woman, who coincidently was seven years younger than him. It had been seven months since I’d been truly happy; seven months since he’d left taking a piece of me with him. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about it. But his face flashed across my mind, striking as quick as a snake, only I couldn’t suck away the memory of his cheeky grin like I could with snake poison.

Eventually my brain refused to digest anymore information and I decided to call it a night. I gathered my homework into one single mountain of paper and dumped it onto the floor beside my bed, then I fell back onto my mattress with a sigh and flicked my lamp off.

A sliver of moonlight filtered through the thin net curtains that covered the window, it provided little light. I could only just about make out the structure of my desk at the far end of my room, my laptop sat open on top of it, the screen showed a picture of me and my best friends with grins on our faces.

It was taken a few weeks ago, you could see the sun reflecting off the lake behind us, fishing rods high up in the air with the line trailing into the water. Everyone had commented on how happy I looked.

I told you it would get better Poppy, my friend Eliza had said, smiling encouragingly at me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it hadn’t gotten better, that I had just gotten better at faking it.

I heard a creak from somewhere in the house, my senses were on high alert. I could see the shadows of the branches from the tree outside on the hardwood floor of my bedroom, they were swaying lightly in the breeze. The familiar scent of fresh clothes and my mom’s sickly sweet perfume tickled my nostrils. I could hear an owl hooting, somewhere outside which was sort of comforting. But then I heard my mother giggling like some love struck teenager as she no doubt led her latest conquest up the stairs and into her bedroom, which took any comfort I had and made it disappear.

A light switch flicked on, a small shaft of light appeared on the floor under the door. They stumbled up the stairs and I could tell that they stumbled a few times from the loud giggling that ensued, followed by my moms frantic ‘shhh’. They came to a stop in the hallway outside my room and I could hear the loud and sickeningly wet sound of smacking lips. I had to resist the urge to gag.

My mom moaned loudly, saying something like “John,” or it could have been Don. I gave up learning the names of the men my mom brought home from the bar a while back, now they just got assigned a number. John or Don or whatever the hell his name is was lucky number seven.

My mom giggled again causing me to roll my eyes. My mother acted as if she were the teenager sometimes, leaving me no choice but to be the adult of the house.

I heard Seven groan, his deep voice floating under the bedroom door like a ghost. “Oh yeah baby, right there.”

I tasted bile in my mouth when the unbidden thoughts of what my mother was doing out there came into my mind, I squeezed my eyes closed hoping that would help shut the thoughts out, but images of it just flashed across my closed eyelids. It was like a scene out of a horror movie.

Finally I heard a door slam as the oh so happy and obviously thoroughly drunk couple locked themselves away in the room.

Thank God for that.

The house was encased in silence, I could hear the rustling leaves of the tree outside my window, the owl’s hooting no longer sounded comforting, but instead reminded me of the music that preceded a gruesome death in a horror movie. Yet even with those little sounds, the silence of the house was deafening.

I had to get out of here.

I debated on calling Maya, my best friend, surely she would let me hide out there till Seven left. I reached over to the wooden bedside cabinet, snatching my phone up. But just as I was about to hit call I remembered that Maya had been going on a date with her boyfriend Will tonight to celebrate their one year anniversary.

I chewed on my lip, a nervous habit of mine and cast a quick glance at the clock. I was shocked to see midnight had already came and gone thirty minutes earlier.

Calling Maya was out of the question; she was now either a) snuggled up in bed, dreaming, or b) making out with Will in the backseat of his car. I was leaning towards the latter of the two and I really didn’t want to interrupt.

I scrolled through my phone, wondering who else I could call. I didn’t want to call any of my other friends for one simple reason, I’d have to explain why I needed to escape my house and I really didn’t want to admit that my mom had brought yet another stranger home.

My finger hovered over Dad for only a fraction of a second too long. I rewarded myself with a mental pat on the back, it was getting slightly easier. I’m only a phone call away Poppy, he’d said when he left. I closed my eyes, tears stinging behind my eyelids. I couldn’t call my dad, I refused to.

I kicked back my duvet and swung my legs out of bed. The hardwood floor felt cold under my bare feet, sending a chill up through my bones. Repressing a shiver, I strode over to my dresser and quickly pulled a pair on a pair of jeans. I grabbed my favourite hoodie - not that it was mine, but my dad had left it behind along with everything else.

Including me, I thought sullenly.

I pulled it on over my pyjama top, relishing in the comforting scent that washed over me. The navy fabric of the hoodie still clung to the scent of its former owner, the mint bodywash and cigarettes was a scent that I distinctly labeled as my dad’s.

The moans from my mothers room picked up, gaining so much volume that even two closed doors couldn’t stop me from hearing the descriptive words. Curbing my disgust, I moved to the window and flicked open the latch.

I was now thanking whoever the hell designed this house for his or her - in my opinion - genius idea. My room was directly above the kitchen and my window was above the door that led out to the backyard, the door had a roof. Albeit a small and gradually sloping roof, but a roof nonetheless.

I sucked in a breath of fresh air. The night was cool, considering summer was starting to make itself known, but I didn’t care. I gulped down the frigid air, delighting in the way it stung the back of my throat and my lungs.

After tucking my keys and my phone into my pocket I popped one leg out of the open window. For a moment, I just stood there as if I was suspended in time, one denim-clad leg dangling out so that my shoes brushed against the gray shingles on the roof, the rest of my body still fully inside my room. If my mom found out I’d snuck out in the middle of the night there would be hell to pay, because no matter the circumstances I was expected to act like a lady. Even if she didn’t most of the time. I sighed, she was such a hypocrite.

Screw it, I thought, glaring at the all too familiar lilac color that covered my walls. I directed the glare in the direction of my mom’s room, one corner of my mouth curling upwards. And screw her too.

Then as if to answer my thoughts I heard Seven’s loud groan of pleasure. “Oh God!” Apparently she was already getting screwed, I frowned at my thoughts and shook my head as if that simple action could rid my brain of them. I knew from experience it didn’t.

I turned and took the plunge, so to speak. I felt rebellious, free even. I lowered myself slowly onto the small roof and shifted around carefully until my back was pressed tightly up against the white clapboard of my childhood home and my knees were drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around them.

I took a quick look around and was left short of breath.

I have lived in this town my whole life, not just this town but this house. I have looked out of the bedroom window and saw my hometown every day for as long as I can remember. But I have never seen it like this before.

To my left there were more houses, stretching on as far as I could see. Red ones, white ones, even a blue one, some made from bricks, some clapboard. To my right, past the tree that held my lonely old tire swing was the small lake where my friends liked to go fishing on weekends. But right there, right in front of me, was the town. Full of shops, the colorful awnings a dull contrast to how they usually looked in daylight. Streetlights dotted around the abandoned streets casting small cones of light onto the pavements throughout the town. Beyond that I could just about make out the beach, the dark water stretching out to meet the horizon. The whole town was bathed in a breathtaking silvery light from the moon, which made it look almost magical.

I stared out at the town in a sort of dazed wonder. Had it always been this beautiful? How had I not noticed it before?

I was so busy gazing at the town that it took me a few moments to register the new sound. A low chuckle of amusement sounded out from beside me. I turned quickly, almost too quickly, but I somehow managed to remain seated.

To my right, on a roof identical to my own sat a guy. He was stretched out in an almost lazy manner, his legs from the knee downwards dangled over the edge of the roof.

He turned to me, his face partially visible thanks to the illumination from the moon and the orangey glow of the cigarette in between his lips. His lips curved around the cigarette, slowly but surely, into a smirk that made my heartbeat speed up frantically.

“Hey there Poppy,” he murmured when he plucked the cigarette away from his lips, a small cloud of smoke pouring from his mouth along with his words. His eyes were alight with humour.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Any bit of serenity that I had gained from being out here, from seeing the town and realising how beautiful it is, was snatched away as soon as those words left his lips.

I knew this guy all too well. I had grown up with him, we had been the best of friends once upon a time. For a brief second the memories that I’d been repressing flooded into my mind, as if the dam that I’d placed them behind had broke. No, not broke, shattered into a million tiny fragments.

“Hey there Tyler,” I responded, the words dripping with hate and malice.

I glared and he smirked. I wondered if he remembered everything that had happened between us, then almost scoffed aloud. Of course he did. He probably looked back on it on a frequent basis, that infuriating smirk on his lips as he did. He probably laughed so hard he got tears in his eyes when he remembered our past.

I turned my back on him, my mood well and truly soured. I decided to be the bigger person and to just ignore him.

Tyler Burke was not worth my time, nope, not one single second of it. He was like a piece of bubble gum I’d trodden in, an annoyance but not something to plague my thoughts with.

He chuckled once more and the sound carried on the wind, light and amused, just how I remembered it. I shook my head, pushing the thoughts back behind the wall in my mind. Just a piece of damn bubble gum, I told myself sternly and I could have ignored him. I really could have! If only he hadn’t let the next words slip out of those damn lips of his.

“G’night,” I cast my eyes in his direction, my expression wary no doubt, my body tense just from hearing his voice. The memories pressed against the wall in my mind. I watched with disinterest as he brought one of those long legs of his up, bending it at and ground it out on the sole of his motorcycle boot before flicking it to the ground.

I felt a flash of sympathy of Mrs. Burke, she would no doubt have to pick that cigarette butt and who knows how many others up off her patio in the morning.

“Goodnight,” I said stiffly. I was trying to be polite despite my feelings towards him, just as my parents had raised me. But he just made it so hard, with that smug look in his eyes, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

Ugh!

I pulled my gaze away from him when he started to pull himself back through the window, I heard a muffled thud as he landed on the carpeted floor followed by a string of curses that would have made my granny blush.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Poppet.”

I spun my head around so fast that my neck cracked and while the heat spread and the pain bloomed in my neck I heard his low laughter. The memories crashed around me and no wall would be reconstructed to hide them behind now. Now I had a throbbing pain in my heart that was so much worse than the pain in my neck.

I don’t know how long I sat there on that small roof and stared at his window; it could have been minutes or it could have been hours. But when I finally dragged myself in through my own window — almost falling off the roof as I did — I realised that his window had been firmly shut just as his door had been when I needed him most.