In my memory, my old mate Fiona grins, stretched out on a towel as the waves lap at the shore. She wears large sunglasses, her flaming red hair fanning out around her like fire. She’s chattering on about something. It doesn’t matter what. Could be the twat of a French teacher we have, the new shoes her sister Sheena bought her, or her childhood crush, Lachlan.
The jarring crash as we hit a particularly large pothole yanks me out of my memories. My thoughts are jumbled and confused, floating through my mind like snowflakes.
Lachlan’s Fiona’s husband now. Do they have a child? Does she hate me? Do they live by the mansion in Ballyhock?
Why are some places to live so much nicer than others?
Why do some people get all the luck in life and others nothing but shite and misery?
Who have I become?
I clutch my stomach as it churns again, and the cabbie glances at me in the mirror.
“You going to be sick, luv?”
I shake my head, because if I open my mouth to respond I just may make a liar out of myself.
He pulls up in front of the old house I share with five others, and he frowns at me.
“You need something? Can I help you get in?”
Do I really look that bad?
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
I open my bag to pay him when I realize my wallet’s gone. Sickening dread pools in my stomach. No.
Did the bastard I spent the night with clean me out? My memory of the night before may be shite, but I know for a fact I had three hundred quid tucked away in here from my work the night before, goddammit it. Part of that was for my rent. What the bloody hell am I going to do now?
I have some money tucked under my mattress, but that will mean leaving the cab, stumbling inside, retrieving the money, then coming back out here. And right now, the very thought seems like running a marathon.
He looks at me and must see the panic in my eyes, for he smiles benignly. “Ride’s on me,” he says. “You go take care of yourself now, will you?”
To my shame, my eyes fill with tears. I can’t speak, but only nod, and finally force myself to eke out a trembly, “Thank you.”
He opens the door for me and reaches for my hand, but I brush him off.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. By the way his eyes look troubled, I think I missed the mark.
I somehow make my way inside. My hands shake when I hold the keys, but the door’s flimsy and old, and easily gives way.
The sour smell of garbage, dirty dishes, and soiled laundry hits my nose when I open the door, and it only makes my queasy stomach clench even harder. When I’m sober and home, I clean the place, but neither of those circumstances happens often enough to make a difference.
I squint at the bright lights, a bare bulb in the kitchen shining like a beacon. Shane’s sprawled on the sofa, with a girl I’ve never seen before hanging over him, her tight shorts so high her arse is on display for all to see. I roll my eyes and stumble toward my bedroom.
Four of us work for Vivian, and I’d wager a bet that a few haven’t come home yet for the night. I push open my bedroom door, and nearly groan when I see Klara leaning over the dresser, staring at herself in the mirror as she curls her eyelashes. Guessed she’d be at school by now, but it must be earlier than I thought.
I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, least of all Klara, because she’ll want to know what happened last night. And bloody hell if I know.
“Aisling, you look like absolute shite, love.”
“Thanks, babe. You, too.” It’s a lie. She’s lovely.
I toss my bag on the bed and reach for the bedside table, fumbling through the drawers. I’ll wait until she’s gone to shoot up. My hands shake, my mouth dry at the prospect of the hit I need so badly, that I briefly consider shooting up now, blissful relief just inches away.
Klara doesn’t turn around. With her back turned, I open the small bottles of pills I use for a quick fix and slide one under my tongue.
Instant. Relief.
I exhale as my body begins to go numb, and I roll over onto my bed. I close my eyes and hold my head in my hands.
“Aisling.” Her voice is closer, yet everything seems distant already.
“Leave me ’lone.” I don’t want a lecture or even concern right now.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
The side of the bed sags when she sits down beside me. I roll over, my back to her, and reach for the duvet. I yank it up to my chin.