Page 4 of House of Bass

She flopped flat onto the floor and I jumped back a bit, startled, “What are you doing and what did you do?”

She sat upright then folded her hands in the image of a prayer and gently said, “Thou doth not speak at what happens at St.Agnes School for Troubled Young Girls.”

“Troubled girls?”

She waved me off, “Valérie and Michael are exerting a power play and trying to tame me. Unfortunately for them, I can’t be tamed.”

“Who are Valérie and Michael?” I asked, confused by how far left this conversation had gone. Which was how our relationship went, she had confused me into loving her, so when she started dating the love of my life I couldn’t resent her.

“My awful parents,” she pouted. I later learned this was just how she always talked about them, she loved her parents more than anything. Her family meant the world to her but she also had enough abandonment issues to fill a tank because her parents were always sending her off from boarding school to boarding school instead of just letting her do what she wanted, which was be with them. She was so different from me and that was what I loved the most about her. She’s fun, my MJ, and I needed it so desperately at that time.

I try to centre myself back into the riveting conversation at hand that I had barely been listening to because my eyes keep flickering from her to where her hands nest in Arden’s hair. I used to do that. I rapidly blink at that thought and finally attune myself back into it, “...since you went ghost for two weeks. So, we made a group decision to have it at Dan’s place instead.”

My brows furrow, “Have what?”

“The party!” Oh. She is likely talking about the parties one of us tends to host at the beginning and the end of the academic year. We’ve all done it at least once.

“I thought you were going to do it?”

I get a deadpan look in return, “Did you have your ears plugged for ten minutes? That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. Renovations at my place start on Friday, so I’m staying at Arden’s.”

Arden, who has been passively engaging, finally perks up at the sound of his name, “For three weeks.”

“How exciting,” I mutter, hoping I’ve managed to shield the bitterness from my voice. Arden and I briefly make eye contact but I turn away, ignoring the fact that I can feel him looking at me, and focus on MJ. The thin window of understanding between us has now closed, and we are back to the reality of our lives. I am okay with this. I had to be. Going down the path where I am not would mean losing the person who brought me back from the brink of rock bottom at a time when I needed it.

“What time on Saturday ?” I ask.

“If you read the group messages, you’d know,” she replies. I stick my tongue out at her and she does the same, confirming she isn’t the least bit miffed that I hadn’t been listening to her.

“Want to stay at mine for the next couple days? We can get ready for Dan’s together,” I say.

“I wish but the parents and brothers from hell are in tomorrow. Compulsory family meeting,” she says with an eye roll. MJ is the youngest of three (very fit) older brothers she can’t stand because of how incredibly overprotective they are of her. Not a single one likes Arden, much to my admitted delight, but it pisses her off to no end because they have been dating for five years and still haven’t warmed up to him. It doesn’t help that Arden is a dick and doesn’t exactly go out of his way to make them like him either.

She also hates how much everyone lusts after them; everyone has a favourite Cox brother (Mine is Gabe).

“They also wanted to see their son-in-law,” she tells me, my face scrunched up immediately, “That’s what dad calls him now. Even though he’s aware of the plan for marriage at twenty-five, there’s still four years to go.”

“Technically three and half,” Arden joins in.

“Oh my god, you’re right. Babe, we’re getting old.” She pouts and taps her lips twice, subsequently he kisses her. I can feel myself drowning in jealousy, so I make a point to stand up abruptly.

“I have to go, a little tired.” I say, making a show of exhaustion on my face.

“Already? But I didn’t get to see you for two whole months.” She frowns and I tell myself not to feel bad. It is better than the alternative of watching them be so in love, I’d end up making due of the promise to poke someone in the eyeballs.

“Sorry, but I’ll be there Saturday. I promise,” she gets up and hugs me, “and I’ll read the groupchat.” My eyes flickered towards Arden, who is staring at me in a way that makes me want to turn back time, with his soul. I realise right now that I was wrong. The window isn’t closed, it has launched itself wide open.

✧✧✧

Saturday evening came around much quicker than I’d liked. I drive the distance it took to get to Dan’s house in Belgravia and am met with flashes of camera trying to get into the house. “Annabel, look here!” “No, Annabel this way!” “Smile for us beautiful !”

It doesn’t matter that I had managed to get back into the city quietly, now my name will be everywhere within minutes. I’m pissed off because this isn’t the kind of party that requires media attention. I dart straight into the kitchen to find something to drink, smiling and waving to each person I walk past, trying to keep up pretenses as I have done for many years.

The kitchen is filled to the brim with multiple people engaged in conversations of their own, so much that it is easy enough for me to get a drink undetected. There are a couple cans of beer in the fridge and I frown at the sight of them. Beer isn’t drunk for the awful taste but to get drunk, so it will have to do for now. I don’t care at the moment how I will get home. Any excuse to get pissed is met with enthusiasm.

Leaning against the archway, I scroll through my phone instead of going to find my friends. I come across pictures of me and Arden from the other day featured in some trashy new outlet and stare longingly at the back of his head like some lovesick fool.

Unexpectedly, big ringed hands cover my eyes, and I don’t even flinch (which should tell you an awful lot about my current state of self-preservation). With it came the whisper of “Guess who?” from a voice I recognise all too well.