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‘Archer—‘
The brakes slam on. The car screeches to a stop and my seatbelt digs into me.
‘I’m trying to drive!’ Saliva spits out with his words.
It’s like I turn inward. It’s like I’ve been struck and I’ve recoiled. I go quiet, my breathing and my heart and my mind. I can’t move.
Gone is the tentative boy who touched me so gently like he worried he’d break me. Now his hands grip the wheel so tight his knuckles are white and his eyes are wide and raging and his breathing is heavy.
‘Jesus, Frankie.’ His voice softens with his expression. He rests his head against the wheel. ‘Don’t nag me when I’m driving. You could cause an accident.’
Tears slide down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to wipe them away.
‘Why are you crying? Because Ishoutedat you?’
I can’t speak.
‘Why are you so sensitive all the time? Whenever we’re together, you cry, and it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong when I know I haven’t.’
I’m frozen.
‘What’s the matter with you today? You’ve been a proper bitch, to me and especially to Cassie. Can you just tell me so we can move on from it?’
What’s the matter with me? My mum left and now my dad is alone and depressed because of me. I feel like I have no friends, notruefriends I share interests with, and even Chase hates me now. And you’re being a dick, but despite being infatuated with your best friend, I’m settling for you. And each day the mountain throws boulders at me and the rocks under my feet come loose and make me slide down, inch by inch, further and further, until I have more to climb than what I have already, and I’m starting to wonder what the point is to all of this. If life is just learning to cope with suffering and if happiness is found in those fleeting moments when you watch a sunset or sip a cup of tea or listen to the birds sing—if happiness is ever constant, and if it’s those brief flashes of clarity that people hold on to, to keep from sinking.
But I can’t tell him any of that, because the way he asks makes me realise he doesn’t actually care for the answer. He just wants me to give him something so he can brush it away and forget about it.
My voice is quiet. ‘I’m just on my period.’
He gives a breathy laugh. ‘Well, that explains a lot.’
He pulls into his drive and whisks me into his bedroom.
I didn’t imagine the putrid aroma from the party, then. His room is probably messier than it was that night: clothes are strewn across the carpet, a carpet that looks like it hasn’t been hoovered in months. The curtains are drawn, and it’s stuffy in here. Pieces of scrunched tissue scatters the TV stand, but I don’t look too closely at those.
I can’t look too closely at anything, because the moment the door closes behind me, Archer walks me back towards his bed and pushes me down on it and climbs on top of me.
I push weakly at his chest. ‘Arch,’ I say.
He groans as he kisses a line down my throat. He draws my shirt up and yanks down my bra; he sucks my nipple into his mouth, and I gasp as I arch up against him.
‘Archer.’
When he lifts his head, his cheeks are flushed. ‘Can I cum inside you?’
I wait for the punchline, because obviously he’s joking, but he says nothing. I scramble upright. ‘What kind of question is that?!’
‘A serious one?’
‘I’m not on anything. I’ll get pregnant.’
‘You can’t get pregnant on periods.’
‘Um, yes, you can. Sperm can stay up there for, like, seven days.’ I can always get the morning after pill, just to be sure.
‘Did Cassie tell you that?’ When I say nothing, he snorts. ‘Do you listen to everything she says? Because she’s full of shit, you know.’
‘She also said having sex on your period is the worst thing.’
