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28
By the time we arrive back at Oceanside we’re all quiet, reflective. It’s been a good day. We mucked about on the beach for a while, spent some time in the kid’s playground being… well, kids. Then Kate and I had dragged Sonny and Ford around all the little boutique shops. I even managed to pick up some spray cans from a hardware store in town, and once the sky had darkened and most people had gone home, left a little piece of me on one of the more rundown beach huts. I wasn’t stupid enough to tag my graffiti art given my circumstances and all, but it felt good to just step back and look at something once so dull and lifeless transformed into a work of art. Whoever owns the beach hut, I hope they appreciate it.
“Well, I’m beat. I’m going to head back to my room. You coming, Asia?” Kate asks me.
We’re all standing in front of the residential annex, the lights of the cab pulling away, leaving us in semi-darkness.
“I’m going to grab something to eat from the rec room first. See you at breakfast?” I respond. I’m actually not that hungry, but I suddenly want a minute alone with Sonny and Ford. Stupid idea really, and I’m not really sure what I’m playing at, though I go with it anyway.
“Okay. Thanks for today,” she says almost shyly, squeezing my arm before nodding to Sonny and Ford and heading inside.
For a beat we stand awkwardly, the three of us, until I break the sudden silence. “Right then, I’m going to get that snack.” I say, hesitating, feeling a bit of an idiot standing here waiting to see if they’ll take a hint. I’m not going to ask them to come along, but I do want them to.
“I don’t think you should go there alone,” Ford states as I start to walk away. I’m not sure if he’s offering to come with me or not, but when he jogs to catch up with me, I figure that means he is.
“Good point. I could do with something to eat too,” Sonny agrees, resting his hand lightly on my back when he reaches me. My skin immediately heats under his touch and my body temperature rises even more when Ford scowls at Sonny and says, “We agreed no making a move on Asia today…”
“That’s right we did, but our agreement was whilst out on the day trip. Just as well it’s over then, isn’t it?” Sonny laughs and keeps his hand where it is, giving Ford a challenging look. What the actual fuck?
“Wait,what?” I blurt out, looking between them both.
“We’ll explain inside,” Ford snaps, anger blazing in his eyes. For someone who’s so adamant that rage should be kept in-check, he’s really not that good at it himself.
“He’s just pissed that he’s off his game,” Sonny whispers in my ear, successfully sending a shiver down my spine. We’ve been flirting all day, bantering back and forth. I feel at ease with him, more so than with Ford, and when he’s not talking about women all the time, he’s actually pretty intelligent. Apart from his question about Atlantis and merwomen earlier he hasn’t once talked about the opposite sex. It’s been refreshing. I like this Sonny. And Ford? He’s been way more open today. Joining in on conversations, having an opinion on stuff. He even laughed more than once, but despite that slight lowering of his walls, he was still intense, on guard for the most part. Spending time with him today has just intrigued me more. A couple of times I caught him staring at me when he thought I hadn’t noticed. It made my skin heat up from the inside out each time. When he looks at me now, like he wants to devour me, it does the same thing. I’m beginning to understand that today had been some kind of challenge of who can get the girl. Thing is, I’m not a prize to be won. I deserve to be a willing participant. Yes, I might be attracted to them both, but that doesn’t mean to say I lose my right to be a master of my own life.
We head towards the rec room. The lights are out, and the room is thrown into darkness. In fact, it’s suspiciously quiet given it’s still an hour until curfew.
“Where is everyone?” I whisper. I’m not sure why I keep my voice low. Instinct maybe? I feel like we’re about to get jumped or something.
“No idea,” Sonny responds, stepping closer to me.
Ford’s shoulders are tense underneath his hoody. “I don’t like it,” he mutters, glancing at me and giving Sonny a look. He steps closer too.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” I say.
“I’m not sure yet. Just stay behind me,” Ford responds, pushing open the door to the rec room. He flicks on the light switch and I walk straight into his back.
“Fuck!” he swears.
“Shit, sorry…” I begin, then my mouth drops open before my skin goes ice-cold as all the blood drains from my body.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sonny says, reaching for me. I shake off his arm reflexively.
“Don’t!” I snap.
The rec room is filled with drawings frommysketchbook. Except they’re all copies, enlarged and doctored, turnedugly. My sketch of Braydon, smiling in his wheelchair, has been drawn all over with black marker pen and pinned to the noticeboard. Someone’s written ‘spaz’ right across his beautiful face. I stumble towards it, my heart tearing open. I rip it from the wall, staring at it dumbfounded.
“No,” I whisper.
Twisting on my feet, I grab the next doctored sketch. This one of my little brothers holding hands and grinning. I sketched it one afternoon from a photograph I was given by their foster mum. I remember feeling gutted that I hadn’t been there to witness such love between them. Now, that love has been twisted and ridiculed with the words ‘gay boys’ scrawled across it. I choke back a sob.
“Asia, let me help you clean this up,” Sonny offers, his voice quiet, careful. He knows I’m on the verge of tears. I blink them back, refusing to let them win.
Breathe, Asia. Just breathe.
On the coffee table is another blown-up copy of the sketch I drew of my mother. The only sketch I’ve ever done of her. This one was from a memory, one of the only happy memories I have of her. She’s sitting on a chair next to her bedroom window smoking a cigarette. Even now, I remember how the morning light filtered through the glass surrounding her in a kind of ethereal glow. She’d been sober for three months at that point. It was the best three months of my life. Now some arsehole has drawn a cock in front of her face and written ‘Hackney’s Whore’ in capital letters beneath it. I gather that one too, gripping hold of it tightly as I scan the room.
Stuck to the fridge with masking tape is my sketch of Eastern. It’s one of my favourite drawings of him. I remember the moment well. It’d been a boring Sunday afternoon and I’d been doodling in my sketchpad when he’d offered to pose for me. I remember showing it to him once I’d finished and my cheeks matching the redness of his own. That day my feelings for Eastern had changed from just friends to something more. Now, his eyes have been blacked out and a gun drawn against his temple. The words‘dead meat’stamped across his face.
