Archive of Our Own

It was hard to tell whether Jecka was pretending to be drunk or, given the crowd around her, simply trying to blend in. She was blushing, which to some would clearly indicate that, yes, Jecka was currently under a state of delirium, but Nicole wasn’t entirely convinced. They’d talked many times about how reckless it was to boldly indulge in unknown drinks at parties. Despite that, Jecka’s body swayed from left to right, as if on the deck of a ship, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. A handful of people surrounding her were also exhibiting similar symptoms, so some of Nicole’s doubts were dispelled.

It was a pleasant sight to behold: Jecka, free of any worries or cares, dancing clumsily on the dance floor. Nicole quickly concluded that it was a rather gay and perversive pleasure, thus she decided that the carpets on floor were much more interesting and fixed her gaze on them.

Someone could also accuse Nicole of being a hypocrite. After all, she was clearly clutching a bottle of Burnett’s in her left hand. This couldn’t be further from the truth! The alcohol was hers; she’d taken it from her own home and kept it close to her like the apple of her eye. She wouldn’t let herself get drugged that easily—oh no! Some desperate guy might take advantage of her, and oops! Suddenly she’d have some little shit in her belly. Holy shit, then she’d have to go to her mother and beg her to agree to an abortion. No, that’s out of the question—every conversation Nicole had with her mom makes her want to shove a gun as far down her throat and paint the white walls of their current home crimson.

But she hadn’t opened the bottle in quite a while; even though her body craved just one more sip, she fought the urge. Nicole was bursting with pride; she was actually keeping herself in check. The plan was simple: they’d drop in for a bit, hang around, chat with some idiots, make fun of them while they’re at it, and look for a quick exit if an opportunity presents itself. Kelly’s parties were always meant to be a spectacle, but they were rarely truly interesting. Lots of people yell, some puke on the doormat, and the lovey-dovey couples loudly display their affection to everyone, making out all over the couch or in the kitchen.

It was a damn good plan— truly Nicole’s magnum opus, and you must admit that dear reader. Realistically, this was a total Armageddon and not a good plan at all, because holy fucking shit, Jecka was their driver! So now Nicole was racking her brain, figuring a way to skedaddle from this shithole, while doing it without any stupid problems or unnecessary attention, and most importantly, ensuring her friend’s safety. ‘Well, surely there’s someone here who’d be happy to give you a ride home,’ haha, real funny, Nicole replies in her head, real funny, you brainless chimp. Any guy would take that as an invitation to rape them—just take them out on an off-road trail, and boom! Game over. As for the girls here, most are fucked-up lunatics and ticking time bombs ready to explode—not happening.

What a stroke of luck—one of those specimens is just heading her way. Fuuuuuck.

“Sup, Nicole,” said that walking peacock of an aberration—I mean, Ari.

“Hey?” replied Nicole, who immediately felt a sense of aversion toward this soon to be conversation. She hoped to convey that to the redhead with this reluctant and puzzled tone. That just didn’t happen—Ari paid no attention to Nicole’s speech or her expression, which spoke of consternation.

“So, I just stopped by to say...” Ari began. Her lilac eyes were unfocused, wandering aimlessly, unsure exactly where to rest. This was shaping up to be a truly delightful talk.

“Oh my, hah...” Ari ran her hand through her red curls and flashed a small smile.

“You know, thanks to you, I’ve discovered a lot about myself.”

“Uh-huh.” Nicole had to admit; Kelly’s armchairs were very comfortable. They were upholstered in a fabric that made it extremely difficult to not close your eyes, let alone fall asleep. The armrests were made of smooth ebony wood, which added to their luxurious craftsmanship. All around, you could see plenty of such furniture—of the highest caliber and the finest quality. Why am I mentioning this? Well, the memories of Ari and Nicole’s confrontation in the school cafeteria suddenly came flooding back. Except this time, Nicole approached the remembrance with a slightly more critical eye. And no matter how comfortable the material of this armchair she was currently sitting in might be, it couldn’t provide her with the comfort she wanted.

The peacock fanned out its feathers. That’s just how this animal is—no other means of self-defense, nothing actually threatening. It’ll spread its wings and look menacing, but it won’t hurt you. You’ll face the peacock’s eye, and that’s it.

Yeah… only it.

I’d also like to take a moment to talk about a tiny digression. Nicole hated school for many reasons. One of them was how teachers exploited their position for their own gain. The student is just helpless in the face of these machinations. You sit at your desk in front of the towering teacher and have no right but to be obedient. Nicole was just now feeling the same emotions as I’ve described regarding the teacher’s primacy. To tell the truth, it was always Megan who exhibited behavior similar to that of teachers, not Ari. Apparently, life plays the strangest tricks.

“First, I wanted to thank you,” Ari said slowly. “Due to our brief time together, I’ve become much more authoritative. You showed me what it’s like to have control over someone.”

“Okay?” Said Nicole slowly.

“Domination is such a high! It gives me immense pleasure—I’m sure you know what I mean.” Nicole didn't deny it.

Many people, out of curiosity—and rather rudely—watched the scene unfold. It was no secret to anyone that the two of them had dated once.

“Hunter’s so susceptible to it. At first, when we started dating, he didn’t seem interested in this kind of, hmmm relation, but over time, hah.” The blush on Ari’s face was now impossible to miss. She dragged out some of her words, and certain phrases, were spoken so quietly that Nicole couldn’t make out what her she was getting at.

Tell the truth, the wallpapers on the walls were more interesting than Ari’s ramblings; Nicole had been trying for quite some time to figure out whether the intricate patterns depicted some exotic flowers or perhaps vulvas. Or maybe the same thing at the same time. Seriously, rich pigs come up with the strangest ideas.

Nicole was struggling fiercely with her left hand. She wasn’t sure whether her body wanted to drain the drink to the last drop—making this conversation only then bearable—or to punch that lousy face of hers with all her might.

“Now he’s stuttering in front of me. When he wants something, I have to force him to speak up…”

And there wasn’t much she could do to prepare for this unstable emotional outburst.

“You filthy whore! You petty, slutty, sociopathic viper. You’ve ruined my life!” Just in case, Nicole set Burnett’s down on the table next to her. Her hand was already itching violently. Many who had been engrossed in their own conversations or other trivial activities suddenly stopped everything to figure out where such eloquent insults were coming from.

“You manipulated me into doing the most fucked-up things in the world. You know I still have that shitty little heart with our initials! Every time I go to bed, I see that fuckass thing—I’ll have it for the rest of my life, and it’ll remind me of what a brain-dead psychopath I was dating!” Nicole cursed under her breath.

What Ari was referring to now—and what Nicole wasn’t willing to admit to anyone ever—was the heart-shaped scar with an “N+A” carved into it on Ari’s thigh. Exact circumstances under which the redhead allowed herself to commit such an act of idiocy remain unknown even to those involved, though they certainly weren’t sober at the time. Nicole was definitely drunk then, too. At least that’s how she tries to explain it to herself. The scar itself was, of course, Nicole’s handiwork—after all, no one else could have carved it so dexterously.

"No solidarity whatsoever. You never let me do anything I wanted, but I was always the one who had to bend over backwards—work my ass off to make your little trivialities happen! They told me to never date you, because it would end so fucking disastrously. But I, a birdbrain, listened to my own needs, my own twisted desires. And for what I ask my self?" Nicole gritted her teeth again, so strong if fact, that the enamel almost came of.

"Now. Now I go every week, every Thursday, to a fucking psychologist. I fall into some kind of crazy rage every time someone asks me for anything practically. I’m so damn dictatorial that it’s driven all my friends away. I don’t go to Scouts anymore; the leaders told me, ‘Take a month or two off and come back when you’re gonna be feeling better.’” Nicole had many sharp comebacks that could have completely shut down, discredited, and ridiculed Ari’s statement. But she kept them to herself. She narrowed her eyes and, with a mouth zipped shut, let the girl continue.

During the last few months of school, Nicole had noticed Ari’s chronic absences from class. The girl was, by and large, a diligent student—maybe not an A-grader like Jeffery, but she was still doing more then well. Nicole had a pretty good idea who Ari had to thank for this downward spiral.

“Helloooo? What, is your conscience suddenly getting at you? Could it be that you’re capable of even the slightest bit of empathy? Has something finally clicked in that lunatic head of yours, realizing just how twisted you are?... But I have to admit, as I said before, you’ve made me aware of how pleasant this… this hegemony is. How forcing someone while they’re helpless can lead to such ecstasy.” Ari finished, getting increasingly closer to Nicole, now, not once breaking eye contact.

What the fuck.

“It’s ridiculous—at the same time, I hate this feeling and I love it. People have told me over and over that this is all result of our relationship. That it’s not my fault, it's Nicole’s fault. The thing is though; I let all of this happen—I was just as much a part of it as you were. I let myself be treated this way; I even encouraged it—after all, I asked you to..." To be honest, Nicole could no longer focus on or care what this whack job was babbling about. One thought kept bouncing around in her head like an echo in a cave.

Nicole’s fault.

Nicole’s fault.

She could see Ari moving her mouth, her defiant eyes expecting something from her. Music was playing in the background, but it was so muffled that she couldn’t for the life of her say what pop trash the DJ was playing. She didn’t even notice her hands shaking and her breathing quickening. Her heart began pounding in an aggressive staccato rhythm.

Why was this my fault? What on earth had I done to make this my fault?

Nicole fixed her gaze on the floor, on the brown wooden planks. She looked as if she were staring at the most revolting image, the most hideous sight in the world. As if the feces of an entire state had materialized beneath her feet, as if larvae were crawling all around her, the most disgusting flies were buzzing through, and she felt like she was sitting on a throne of mold. Maggots crawled up her leg, and the rotting carcass lying a few centimeters away gave off a stench powerful enough to knock Goliath off his feet. Nicole clenched her fists; her fingernails began to dig so deeply into her skin that in a moment she would feel blood trickling down her hands onto the floor.

She looked at Ari; hatred emanated from every millimeter of Nicole’s body. She was trembling like someone who had just surfaced from a dive... though she wasn’t splashing in water. She was simply sitting in a comfortable chair. She raised her head, stood up, and realized once again that she towered over Ari. She took a deep breath and—unable to believe what was actually happening—said, very slowly and very, very quietly...

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure if Ari had heard her, but she wasn’t going to repeat herself. The humiliation had reached its peak; she was already burning with shame and had no intention of starting a conflagration. With legs like jelly, she slowly made her way toward the center of the dance floor, where her peers no longer resembled a dancing crowd of teenagers but rather excited seals, bobbing their heads with joy as if possessed.

“Sorry? Your ‘sorry’?! You can kiss my ass with your ‘sorry’. I guess you can’t grasp how you’ve literally shattered my last few months! Every single day, with every fucking thing I did, I was afraid, not knowing how you’d react. And you weren’t fucking there for me anymore. You were supposed to be a memory, all gone by now, but it was an illusion. It would’ve been better—fuck, you should've said nothing.” Nicole didn’t let on for a second show how that last sentence had affected her.

She continued walking briskly, though rather unsteadily, towards Jecka, towards her sanctuary. But inside, something churned, something stirred. As if someone had sliced open a wound that had already healed and dug out all her guts. Nicole’s breath faltered, but only for a moment. She focused.

You’re so fucking pathetic.

It seemed to her as if someone had hurled an insult behind her back. Nicole didn’t know if it was actually some asshole looking for a quarrel, but she didn't dare to check.

Ari was still shouting out some complaints and insults, although Nicole didn't listen. Partly she was afraid, the thought of such a state infuriated her, but it was the truth. Her nerves had long since been frayed, so she had to be very careful not to push them too far. The cacophony that would come out of her would be unbearable. She didn’t know exactly for whom.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Nicole dodged a barrage of elbows and held her breath as she passed close by the jumping, arm-waving guys bobbing their heads to the beat of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.” A few of them were singing the song brazenly off-key, but that didn’t faze them. They seemed to be on cloud nine.

She spotted her.

Without a second thought, she quickly darted toward Jecka, almost like a harpoon. Jecka’s beaming smile suddenly seemed to widen even more upon seeing her friend. Unable to recognize Nicole’s state of fury, she grabbed her friend’s hands and began waving them back and forth. The brunette, of course, being very reluctant to display any happiness so nonchalantly, especially in front of some strangers she didn’t know, tensed up. Moreover, because of the earlier conversation, dancing was the last thing she considered doing right now. So, she basically pushed Jecka away and, for a very brief moment, gave Jecka—who didn’t seem to care at all—the same look she’d given Ari.

However, it was for a very brief moment; she quickly adopted a sulky expression and started snapping her finger in front of Jecka’s face.

“Let’s go, come on!”

“What!?”

“We’re leaving!”

“What?!” Again.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She grabbed Jecka by the wrist—perhaps a bit too harshly—and led them toward the exit.

“I can’t hear you!” Jecka shouted.

“I’m not saying a damn thing, goddamn it!”

She’s so fucking idiotic.

At that, Nicole slammed on the brakes, and Jecka clumsily bumped into her back. She looked around, though she didn’t see anyone interested in them let alone even staring. Slowly, still on guard, she started walking again.

She spotted Ari, sitting somewhere in the corner, crying her eyes out. Nicole furrowed her brow even more.

At the other end of the room, Emily was haggling with a large group of potential buyers for some kind of drugs. She held four packets of some kind of powder in her right hand and pointed with her other hand at someone in the crowd around her.

Street methadone. Nicole figured it out right away. Emily had said she was up to her neck in that shit; all her contacts were willing to sell it to her. What did she give them in return? Who the hell knows—she never shared that information with Nicole. But the answer wasn’t trivial; it wasn’t what many people initially assumed without thinking. Nicole knows because she’d been asking around quite insistently, but she never got a clear answer. Emily basically didn’t know what was in those little packets; many dealers add some other interesting “treats” to make the high even more exciting.

“Ehhh, heroin’s better,” Nicole said to herself without a second thought.

Kelly was chatting up some other girls. She was daringly showing off her bare stomach, and the two girls next to her were staring greedily.

Crispin was also trying to chat up some girls, but he wasn’t having much luck. The girls pretended that what he was saying was fascinating, but Nicole was sure that as soon as he would leave them be, they’d start making fun of him mercilessly.

Kylar, who’d been shirtless for ages, was being held by his legs, upside down, drinking alcohol from some kind of flask through a straw. Maybe Nicole was wrong, but this was probably the second time at this party that he’d been showing off like that. Nicole couldn’t have cared less.

If he was going to die from respiratory depression, maybe it would be better for the world...

God, I sound evil.

Nicole snorted.

“Hey, Jecka, gimme the keys.”

“Wha-?” Nicole sighed and started rummaging through Jecka’s pockets. Jecka, wasn’t willing to give a helping hand and instead started giggling quietly. Fortunately, this awkward situation didn’t take long—Nicole found the car keys in a flash.

“Hey, Nicole!”

“Yeah?”

“You look nice today!” Jecka said cheekily, trying to shout over the speakers.

“…Uhhh, thanks.”

I can’t believe it—are my eyes deceiving me, or are you, Nicole, a fucking fag. Kinda like Ari?

Nicole sighed once again, this time a hundred times more ostentatiously and bitterly. They went out into the fresh air, where the music finally gave them at least some peace. Here, many people who weren’t as drunk as the rest were talking about all sorts of things. Sometimes of very high importance, and some of extremely low ones.

For example: ‘Hey, umm, I think my mom might be terminally ill’ or ‘Holy, we’ve gotta sneak this couch out!’—that sort of emotional dichotomy could be experienced here. The couch in question was also on the Kelly family’s property. Whenever Nicole visited the blonde-haired girl’s house and no one else was hogging that couch, she had to admit, her back was in seventh heaven. So, the feeling was mutual.

I can't believe it.

Haha, what's this loser doing here?

Jeffery appeared along the sidewalk. He was walking much more unsteadily than Nicole had been a few minutes ago indoors—which was already quite a feat. Also, he was slouching, and one of his hands kept adjusting his round glasses.

“The hell are you doing here, Jeffery?”

“Oh, hello, Nicole. Hello to you too, Jecka.” Jecka mumbled something, but neither of them understood what.

“Oh! I see you’re having a good time. Tell me, is this one of those snobby parties, or is it actually more down-to-earth?” As he asked, the guy kept wiping his free, sweaty hand on his shirt over and over.

“What on earth are you talking about, Jeffery? ‘Snobby’?”

What a socially inept ape. Ask him if at the ‘down-to-earth’ parties they play Pokémon cards and drink orangeade. And do everyone jerk off to Jax and Dexter.

“Well, you know… the kind where everyone laughs at me and makes fun of me. Where my manga hobby is considered some kind of weirdness. Please tell me it’s not that kind of party.”

Holy shit, I can’t believe it.

Nicole was about to say something, but Jecka beat her to it.

“No no no no. It’s a great party, really, really laid-back. Awesome people, right, Nicole?”

“Jeffery, who told you about this party?”

“The school counsellor. He said he’d also like to join in the fun so he could keep an eye on us, just in case we got into any trouble.”

If this were a Bugs Bunny-style cartoon, Nicole’s eyes would surely have shot out like missiles right then and there, and her face would have slammed into the ground, causing tectonic shifts. That didn’t happen, though. Nicole merely turned even paler—as if that were possible—and her hand gripping Jecka’s arm tightened further.

She looked up at the second floor of the house, from which the girls’ muffled moans were coming. Nicole imagined one of the dark rooms where the Counsellor was alone with some drunk and not entirely coherent girl, about to do—well, everyone knows what they were about to do.

Nicole silenced Jeffery’s chatter. He talked and talked, fluently and without any apparent end.

“Jeffery, get the hell out of here.”

“What—Why!? I have just as much right to be at this party as anyone else.” Nicole rubbed her eyes.

“What's that?” Nicole was referring to a box Jeffery was holding with his right hand. She had seen the cover of it many times, back before... she used to spend a lot of time with her dad, so she knew what Jeffrey was holding. Her father’s collection was modest at best, and she doesn’t think she ever caught him actually playing the game, but he liked to paint those miniatures in the evenings under the warm glow of a lamp in his studio. And when they started moving from house to house like maniacs, he gave up his collection. He couldn’t be bothered to deal with moving his plastic army.

“Oh, are you interested in Warhammer?” Jeffrey asked, forgetting Nicole’s earlier, very polite request.

“How on earth did you come to that conclusion? I asked what’s that, and you’re beaming as if you’d seen your soulmate. Go talk to Mark Foley—I’m sure he’ll definitely be interested in playing this game with you.” Nicole smiled to herself.

“Mark Foley—who’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter who he is, Jeffery, what, are you retarded? You brought a fucking math game to a party. Don’t tell me you’ve got a protractor and a ruler stashed somewhere in your pants. You’ll find some fucking friends at DSS, because your p—”

Because your fucking parents couldn’t bear what an idiot they raised, and they’re considering of giving you to an orphanage shelter.

She didn’t finish, thankfully. Jeffery’s expression as Nicole spoke shifted from sheer ecstasy at her knowledge (preliminary, but still some knowledge) of how to command Martian battalions, to a sulky frown.

“Hey! But—”

“Jeffery, for fuck’s sake, this is the first and last time I’m giving you advice; I’m not going to repeat myself.” Still holding Jecka by the wrist, she walked past the boy.

“Byeeee, Jeffery,” Jecka waved cheerfully at him.

He didn’t answer. I mean, he mumbled something under his breath, but Nicole didn’t hear, and didn’t really care what.

They walked for a few minutes. Their arrival at the party was pretty late, so the entire path had long since been taken over by all kinds of cars. Here we could see the less exclusive ones—Fords and Hondas, bought from junkyards or passed down from generation to generation. Then they kept passing Jeeps and pickup trucks. Finally, they also spotted a Ferrari or two. Nicole treaded carefully as they walked down the hill. She was worried about Jecka; her legs were sliding across the ground like noodles. Once or twice, she caught her before felling. Jecka thanked her with a laugh.

Upon finally making it to Jecka’s car, Nicole grabbed her friend by the shoulders to hold her in place to widen Jecka’s eyes. They were slightly bloodshot and very glassy, sweat was also pouring down her forehead.

How naive can you be?

…

She trusts me.

Well, she can't comprehend anything right now, so then how is she supposed to trust you? Besides, you? Who on earth would trust you? Under what circumstances? Ari definitely trusts you since we gave her such a nice gift.

Nicole bit her lip in frustration. She opened the car door and carefully helped Jecka get in.

“At least help me out with that huge ass of yours, you broad!” Nicole yelled at Jecka, who was blissfully unaware of the world around her. Getting her to cooperate was a futile effort.

After seating her in the front seat, she buckled Jecka’s seatbelt. She then climbed into the driver’s seat, and… was greeted with silence. Well, okay, very faint music from the direction they’d come from was still playing. But other than that, Nicole could hear nothing but her own breathing. She glanced once more at Jecka, who looked as if she were about to fall asleep at any moment.

“Hey, Jecka.” Girl in question mumbled something in response.

“Drink.” Nicole pulled a bottle of sparkling water—which had long since lost its fizz—from under the seat and handed it to her friend.

Trying to put off the moment that was coming, she adjusted the rearview mirror three times. She didn’t feel comfortable being either too close to the breaks and gas pedal or too far away from it. She couldn’t find the right grip on the steering wheel, all positions felt weird, as if she wasn’t in control.

She was supposed to drive down the hill—that’s it. She was repeating all the steps she had to do over and over in her head. Start the car, let the clutch out, and give it a little gas. And, of course, not crash into the car in front of her. No one was pulling out from behind her, but Nicole hesitated. Driving down a hill is supposed to be a piece of cake; you don’t even have to be precise when you start moving.

But Nicole wasn’t sure.

God, it stinks of cigarettes in here.

After a moment’s thought, she pulled out a pack along with a pink lighter that was stashed in the door. She rolled down the window and took a breath of fresh air. Jecka smoked some pretty strong ones, but to Nicole they were quite lenient.

Damn, nothing but this weak crap. Hey, check that stash under her elbow—maybe she’s got some Percocet in there.

She didn’t check.

You’re such a wimp these days, y’know? ‘Oh no, something terrible is definitely going to happen to your poor Jecka!’ Dude, she wouldn’t give a flying fuck. There’s no one on the road at this hour anyway, who the fuck cares.

It was one in the morning, and they really should have expected no one on their way back. That didn’t change the fact that Nicole was in company of an extra, very important person on board. Someone who shall not lose a single hair on their head.

What was that supposed to be earlier anyway? “I’m sorry”? That fucking whore got what she deserved—she should even be thanking us, actually. She realized that the only way for her to survive, if she stayed the way she was, would be to sleep around with bunch of different guys. Sometimes she’d get lucky—maybe once in a blue moon she’d find a girl—and from the age of twenty, her body would be fair game, but by the time she hit thirty, she’d be as worn out as a deflated balloon. Now at least she’s gained a pinch of charisma to maybe step away from that path.

...

The hell is wrong with me?

The cigarette was almost finished, and Nicole, eager to let her thoughts wander in a completely different direction, took the plunge and started the car.

She glanced once more at Jecka’s still body, at her chest rising and falling monotonously. At her pink lips and the faint blush—the fading trace of today’s festivities.

All right, stop dithering—just drive, for heaven’s sake.

Okay… Just like Dad said, lift your foot off the clutch and press the gas pedal a little, alternating between the two.

The first attempt went poorly. Nicole lifted her foot too abruptly and the car braked aggressively, throwing both girls forward. The second attempt turned out almost exactly the same; Nicole did lift her foot slower, but since she wasn’t familiar with the car, it didn’t make much of a difference. It wasn’t until the third time, when she had a better feel for this heap of metal—it was by no means a luxurious car—that it didn’t come to a screeching stop and slowly they rolled down the street. Nicole, still inexperienced, pumped the brakes, not wanting to lose control of the vehicle.

They now drove along at about twenty kilometers per hour. On the horizon they could see a crosswalk and an intersection. It was a minor road, and Nicole hadn’t noticed the stop signs posted there and just passed by. You didn’t turn on your headlight’s idiot. Her heart skipped a beat. But no harm was done, and the lights placed across the road gave them more then enough vision.

Fuck, can I even drive right now? I guess… I’ve had about as much as a cat could cry. Cops chug twice as much, and then they’re surprised when a woman calling for help is left to fend for herself.

Nicole’s inner monologue, as always, was presented through a distorted lens. If the city authorities caught Nicole driving under the influence of “as much as a cat could cry,” amount of alcohol they could have sent her to jail for around two days. She could have survived it, but she preferred to avoid that outcome.

She’d already driven down the hill. She steered the car across the flat surface, staying on the left side of the road. He’d told her time and time again that the right side of the road was full of damn potholes, kinda like Maasdam cheese.

What the fuck are we, some shitty old farts in their sixties? Speed up.

Nicole didn’t speed the fuck up. Every time she hit accidentally a rut, she quickly checked to see if she’d woken Jecka up. That never seemed to be the case which was splendid. So, they drove in third gear, slowly and steadily.

Hey, moron. Everyone knows what a waste of oxygen you are now, you cunt. You acted like those cry-baby, frightened, shy girls in those shitty Japanese movies who curl up into a ball at a man’s word and lament their miserable fate. I only feel sorry for the parents who raised these sodding effluvium’s. Well, just kidding, I don’t really feel bad for those asswad’s. If you live past twenty-five and decide to have a kid, that alone proves you’ve got something seriously wrong with your head.

And I’m just thinking, Jecka’s cool, but the way you rely on her is embarrassing. What, is it because she reminds you of your mother that you’ve clung to her so much? Was there no warmth at home, so you found it in a classmate? That’s hilarious. Is that some kind of fucked-up fetish? Repressed feelings, a need to patch up the hole—sorry, a fucking chasm—that separates you from your mother? What, are you five?

Nicole clenched her hands on the steering wheel. She was driving rather clumsily, constantly veering to the right instinctively, only to realize that the car’s wheels were bouncing over the bumps. The silence on the road was both pleasant and unsettling.

It’s unbelievable what kinds of weird nonsense I’m capable of thinking about.

…

Soon, you’ll fall so far in the school hierarchy that Crispin will start tormenting us with his spastic intellect.

That though wasn’t bothered by the fact that it’s been few month since she attended school. Right after the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection (if that actually happened) would come the miracle of Nicole passing high school. She expected nothing, zilch, nada nada—in fact, she bet she wouldn’t make it—but she did indeed pass. She didn’t have to repeat any classes, she earned the required number of credits in every subject, and she managed to pass every class with a final grade of D. Where did this determination come from?

She had a plan, of sorts. Nicole considered herself an intelligent person who could come up with insightful and clever ideas on demand. Many adults didn’t see it that way. They claimed she was muddling through life without a plan or a future, and that to find success, she would have to radically change the way she perceived reality. Nicole ignored their warnings… till she didn’t. The situation had clearly changed. She’d signed up for a job—and now, though many might not believe it—at an ice cream shop. Jecka didn’t believe it at first either, but Nicole dismissed her doubts about whether the brunette had perhaps taken an interest in the culinary industry.

The ice cream shop was on the outskirts of town, a perfectly chosen workplace to avoid running into anyone from school. Overall, hardly anyone ever came by the stand, so she had the whole day to herself to snort some drugs or do some other stupid shit. She unfortunately had to hold on such jolly antics because she needed the money—but there were days when absolutely nothing happened, and she was so bored she’d give in. The job paid well—at least from Nicole’s perspective—because, in reality, it wasn’t just about serving ice cream to customers. She was also tasked with guarding the property. Her employer had bought a vacation home near the forest, but given the nature of his work, he rarely actually showed up on the property. So, Nicole sometimes had extra chores, like mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, and other stupid tasks.

One incredibly boring day, Nicole found a spare key to the owner’s house under a flowerpot. Since then, her job has become a little more thrilling. Not to the point where she wakes up in the morning with a huge grin on her face and briskly prepares breakfast, ready to face the day’s challenges. But it’s become bearable. While exploring her employer’s house, she came across some interesting things hidden in the cabinets.

“Fucking LSD?!” Nicole recalled the conversation when she first brought up the topic with Jecka.

“Yup. I walk into that study and bam! Acid in one of the cabinets,” Nicole replied to her friend.

“For fuck’s sake, Nicole! He’s got motion sensors or cameras in there—he knows that, at best, someone, and at worst, you were rummaging through his fucking sugar cubes stash! He’ll send a godforsaken cartel after you!”

“Calm down bitch. Your shouting is giving me a headache. First of all, I didn't take anything. Second, yes, there are cameras there, but they're turned off for whatever reason. Who knows why, but trust me, they are.” Well, of all the people in the world, Nicole was one of those who upon stating that a camera was not working, it didn’t work for certain.

So now, Nicole was contributing to the success of some drug dealer by laundering his money.

As for Nicole’s culinary shenanigans, which I mentioned earlier—the girl is completely incompetent at preparing any food that isn’t scrambled eggs. And even then, Nicole makes them bland and boring; she doesn’t add essential spices that make the dish interesting, like sweet paprika or dill. She even skips the pepper sometimes because she “couldn’t care less.”

To the right, soon.

If they were to live under the same roof with Jecka, there’s no way she would let Nicole cook. It’s not that she needs to eat like some old-fashioned magnate, but Jecka also has no desire for food that tastes like cat shit.

Yeah. If they were to live together. That’s Nicole’s whole idea—to move into a two-bedded dorm room with Jecka. That’s what all the cash is for. They agreed to be honest with each other. They’re saving up for a shared—and, by the way, ridiculously expensive—goal, so if either of them takes any of the money they’ve saved, she lets the other know. It’s happened a few times, but the amounts taken were small, so they’re smooth sailing for now at least.

The idea was petrifying. It terrified Nicole to the core, because up until then, life had been going on without change, getting closer and closer to that one day when she’d finally say, “Fuck this, I’ve had enough,” and hang herself. It was an apathetic but constant state, and that was enough for her. The status quo was maintained. But now—boom—suddenly, major changes! A possible moving, breaking free from her dependence on her mom (thank fucking God!), and learning to manage money like an adult. All of this was incredibly exhausting for Nicole, and in the midst of all that chaos, she figures she would have cracked if it hadn’t been for Jecka’s intervention.

It should be clarified that Jecka wasn’t suddenly touched by the magic wand of maturing; she still spent a lot of time mocking people on MySpace or downloading albums by some underground bands. But because of the plan they’d created, Jecka organized and figured out a lot of things, taking many responsibilities off Nicole’s shoulders. Especially since Nicole was busy struggling with her schoolwork.

She’d heard Nicole say many times, “This is so incredibly exhausting,” and “I’d rather kill myself than do one more problem” (in this case, they were struggling with the square function). Surprisingly, Nicole had a knack for science and math, which was a pleasant surprise for both of them, even though Nicole still constantly grumbled at the thought of tackling another exercise.

And what college majors did they decide to pursue? Nicole basically didn’t give a damn about that part of their plan. She’d heard a lot that majors focused on computer science or math would soon be in high demand, due to ever-changing, cutting-edge technology. You can make a fortune—some people already are, like that social media nimrod Mark Zuckerberg. If you look at it from the income perspective, sure, this path can be quite promising, even very, but the implications for her public image leave a lot to be desired. If Nicole decided to pursue this major, that decision would ruin her entire reputation in high school—everything she’d fought for. So non of that please.

Jecka, on the other hand, was thinking of studying law with the goal of eventually becoming a lawyer. Nicole thinks that this path suits Jecka rather well—it requires a certain type of person. Someone who knows how to speak sharply, who isn’t afraid to say things straight out, no matter how painful the implications might be.

And what about Jeffery? You couldn’t have looked any more ridiculous. After all, the little jerk is finishing while playing that shitass board game. He deserves nothing more than to have his pig-like cerebral divergences called out. And you treated him—how should I put it?—piously. Don’t tell me those toys stirred up some nostalgia in you?

She slowed down on the turn, forgetting to switch on her turn signal and shift gears. The car coughed and sputtered a bit, struggled, but didn’t come to a halt. It picked up speed after a moment and continued on smoothly. In the meantime, only one car passed them on the left, tearing down the road like crazy, and the newspapers lying on the road shot up into the air and were carried by the wind onto a lawn on the left. They passed a group of kids their age who, also under the influence of various substances, were singing some silly songs and bumping into each other haphazardly. One of them crashed into a trash can and spilled its entire contents onto the sidewalk, then got up, cursed so profusely that even a sailor would have been ashamed, and just presumed walking.

While we’re on the subject, your reaction to what Ari said was comical! Just two words, and you’re already acting like artsy bitches who sit quietly in the back of the classroom. And when something terrible happens, they go into some hysterical panic attack. You’re literally acting like Karen, like fucking Karen. Nicole this time dug her nails into the steering wheel. Did those words hurt you that much? After all, it’s just worthless, emotionally driven rambling from totally insignificant people who, in the end, won’t matter at all. You’ll break up with Jecka sooner or later—it’s just a matter of time, just like with every relationship after moving. Life will put this stupid plan to the test; some idiotic situation will come up, and one of you will have to move out.

Several times over the past few months, Nicole had wondered whether it was really such a good idea—spending so much time with Jecka. You see, there’s a difference between a school friendship that’s only active during class hours and one that spans several weeks, months—maybe even longer. It’s a completely different concept: when you spend all that time mainly with one person, you naturally shift from treating that other individual as something special—a contrast to your everyday routine—to seeing them as part of your everyday life. That person then becomes your everyday reality. Their private, very minor flaws now become your concerns as well.

That’s the most important thing, the biggest question that sometimes pops into Nicole’s head when she thinks about incoming future. Will she be able to get used to the everyday Jecka, rather than the Jecka who hangs out with Nicole—if you know what I mean. Will she be able to put up with her silly little needs, the kind of things Nicole’d never even bother to think about?

...And your father was a human blight, the biggest biological mistake on this fucking planet. Our grandparents slit their wrists out of shame for having sired such a deranged scumbag. The worst father in the whole fucking world—never affectionate toward us. Not once did he show any interest in my problems, my fucking needs, or my feelings. He was a mistake in my lousy, fucking life.

That’s how it is sometimes—we criticize those close to us, accusing them of incredibly nasty things that never had any basis in reality or justification, simply because it’s the most convenient defence mechanism in the moment. We don’t approach the situation with prudence, without pausing to consider whether our venomous beliefs might actually be justified. Nicole often reminisced of her relationship with her father. When he worried about her well-being during yet another moving—she couldn’t even remember which one—when he listened to her musings about the vanity of her classmates. When he tried to lift her spirits as she claimed that her entire life was heading toward passivity, toward inertia while facing the systems of which control reality. Until the moment when life turns into a mushy pile of shit, blending into a single colour, filling everything with lethargy.

Such and other eloquently expressed emo thoughts.

Her father listened to her then with a serious expression, his eyes showing understanding and deep compassion. Nicole had come to her father that day after witnessing a brazen attempt to harass a girl in her class. She reported it to the administration, which couldn’t care less about Nicole’s complaints and concerned questions. The lack of intervention more then upset her, triggering an emotional storm inside her, and with her mind in turmoil, she came to her father seeking some kind of reinforcement. He offered his help by calling the school and making some sort of attempt to rectify the situation. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a private school that her parents paid a fortune for, but a poor, heartless, and utterly unempathetic public institution that demanded hard evidence due to a shortage of teachers. Nicole’s father then had a long talk with her about whether she’d like to switch schools, which would potentially mean another moving.

Everything in our fucking lives ends up like this, doesn’t it? Moving from one place to another.

...

Hey, let’s do an experiment. I’ll start saying out loud those awful words that shook you up so much, and we’ll see how you react. Sounds like a sooo much fun, doesn’t it?

If this were one of those stupid Japanese anime that Jeffery watches—the ones that objectify female characters and crank the pathos and expressiveness up to the maximum—Nicole’s face would automatically turn bright red. Then, steam would burst violently from her ears, and the sound of a locomotive would be heard in the background.

But that didn’t happen, because this is a mimetic structure. Therefore, to maintain proper form, Nicole’s grip suddenly became so strong that her ankles turned pale. Her entire body, as if touched by ice, tensed and stiffened. Her jaw clenched, and her toes curled.

The buzz in the cafeteria seemed to die down; the world stopped—it ceased to spin—and the only thing that mattered was Jecka standing before us, her arms crossed. The last time we’d seen her this furious was when our fucked-up brother was flirting with her, but that was nothing compared to the current situation. Her face was full of hatred, disgust, and… terror? No, what am I saying—more like apathy, as if she’d been expecting something like this sooner or later. That we’d cross that line of norms, of human decency. Apparently, completely manipulating Ari had probably just crossed that line—or some other imaginary line. I don’t know why it shook Jecka so much; I guess she simply saw in us at that moment the very thing we’d been fighting against. In the end, the most important thing about all of this was what she said, her reaction—all the other stimuli around us were irrelevant.

Nicole has a knack for this kind of pompous way of expressing herself—this inner monologue that she sometimes can be so poignant.

You should've said nothing.

Every time Nicole recalls that sentence and the events that followed, it feels to her as if something terrible is unfolding. As if a glass window was shattering into millions of pieces with a gigantic crash—a thunderous roar that shakes her entire body, piercing right through it. And that whole window was a kind of vision of the future—a future that was more or less stable, clear, and understandable. When Jecka made it clear that Nicole’s behaviour had been awful, that started one of the worst periods of the brunette’s life.

For a little over a month, Jecka paid Nicole no attention whatsoever; she treated her like she was not there, as if she’d put on the Cloak of Invisibility or the One Ring. The first few days seemed bearable, but Nicole quickly realized just how lonely, how interwind she was with Jecka. Nicole even had no way to turn this fuck up into an asset, because in this painfully ridiculous school there was no one she could use on this “lonely persona.” I mean, of course there were people, but none of them gave Nicole any satisfaction—they all succumbed to her charm pitifully, the same old tune every time, like a stuck record. She played around with Karen for two days but quickly realized how trivial it all was and how little pleasure it gave her. She figured that if Jecka had been by her side during those moments, the fun would have been plentiful, and there would have been no end in sight. But Jecka wasn’t there then, and they didn’t see each other for several more moons.

Over the course of the first two weeks, Nicole became resigned, bored, thoroughly bratty, and unlikable to such an extreme degree that it was unheard of. True, her mother’s visits to school due to Nicole’s misconducts dropped drastically, but Nicole’s spirits had plummeted down the drain. In the third week, she stopped attending school altogether. She saw no point in an activity if it didn’t bring her even a pinch of pleasure. At first, she still thought she’d spend her time with Emily, and that in a certain sense, she would replace what she’d built with Jecka. Reality quickly put that idea to rest. Emily was unpredictable; you never knew the day or the hour when her mood would suddenly snap—she were completely bipolar, oscillating between two entirely different mental states. One moment she was super calm, almost as if she were constantly high on weed—fortunately, though, without acting like those insufferable young drug addicts and potheads. The next moment, she was so impulsive, so hot-headed, that Nicole felt as if she were walking on thin ice while talking to her. After just three days of spending time with her, Nicole was already extremely exhausted and genuinely worried about her safety.

After a month, Nicole had become somewhat unresponsive. Before arriving at this sorry excuse for a school, Nicole would likely have handled such a situation just fine; essentially, that had been the status quo for several years already. The closeness between her and Jecka, however, had changed Nicole’s demeanour, her personal savoir-vivre. Now, spending time alone seemed pointless; all the silly things she’d done that month were just to keep from getting bored, to avoid questioning the meaning of her actions. And that sounded so autistic and pathetic that at some point, Nicole really began to doubt whether she could keep it up much longer.

That loneliness made her realize a lot. Mainly, what a lousy life she’d been leading before meeting Jecka. She’d get out of bed late, always running late for whatever school she was attending. In said buildings, she literally despised everyone around her—that bitterness followed her everywhere she would go, and for that reason, everyone despised her too. On her way home, everyone gave her a wide berth. “Even dogs tuck their tails between their legs when they see her,” she once heard as she passed one of her classmates. And at home, her mother would yell at her for some reason that Nicole considered completely trivial, resulting in doors slamming and, on rare occasions—though it did happen—various objects being thrown, such as framed photos.

Somehow Nicole came to her senses and came up with a plan to apologize to Jecka (not Ari—“fuck her, what a stupid bitch”). She couldn’t act desperate; Jecka couldn’t detect even the slightest hint of remorse. She showed up at the school for the first time in three or more weeks. She’d probably come up with something like, “Hey, you stupid bitch, school is so ridiculously boring without you that I think I’m going to hang myself. Want to skip the next math class?” But she didn’t even get that far, because as soon as Jecka saw Nicole shuffling toward her, Jecka immediately declared that something was going to snap inside her if they didn’t smoke a peace pipe—literally, in their case, though not a pipe but a cigarette.

You should've said nothing.

Unknowingly, she added forty, fifty, sixty kilometers to the odometer. And that experience steered Nicole a bit in a better direction. Don’t get me wrong, dear reader—they still pulled off some stupid stunts, but now Nicole was much more self-aware. She cut back on the time she spent with Emily, because of the sour look Jecka always gave whenever the girl butted into their trivial conversation. They started meeting up after school all the time; sometimes they’d steal CDs from stores (but not the ones in shopping malls!), and sometimes they’d just gossip about the idiots in their class.

Most importantly, at some point Nicole gained some distance from herself; she partially abandoned her Wertherian demeanour, and if she did slip back into it, she at least tried to present it ironically. She still grumbled (and that will probably always be a part of her) about the perverse behaviour of others, but she didn’t do it as vehemently as before. Her long tirades about the vanity and meaninglessness of the world—which boiled down to an unreadable future reminiscent of a Kafkaesque situation—suddenly ceased to be so common, so saturated with emotional emphasis.

Okay, who are we kidding? This situation was nothing compared to… Nicole’s jaw began to tremble slightly. That… total shithole. And it never made sense to me—after all, when you shoot yourself in the head with a fucking Glock, there’s no dramatic explosion. There’s no gush of blood, just a little bit of it trickling out in a tiny stream once the body is lying there, gasping. So why, when we burst into that filthy shack, the walls were painted with red, as if I’d literally stepped onto the set of ‘Chainsaw Massacre’? It reeked so disgustingly—like Parmesan cheese mixed with the rotten carcass of a fish. The glass window next to it had cracked for some reason, shattering into a million pieces, and his body lay right in the middle. He was lying face-down on the ground, as if he didn’t want anything to do with us anymore, not even in the afterlife.

If her father’s body were left like that, a swarm of blowflies would have come right away, laying their larvae and spitting out their eggs, competing with one another over that fresh wound in his skull. Because of the humidity— this happened in a shitty summer—the blowflies would have entered a utopia, a dream come true. But this could have been an ecosystem, mites, parasitic wasps and carrion beetles would also want to join in, if the deceased were lying outdoors.

I should have called an ambulance. Even if the bill would cost a fortune, he is my father, after all, isn’t he? Yeah, but I couldn’t clear my head that quickly, especially after seeing that yellow, shitty note on the fridge. That damn, eye-catching note stuck to a fucking cookie monster magnet. On which was written…

Nicole really didn’t want to bring this up again.

…Nicole’s fault.

She’d revisited that moment, that day, countless times before, but today—now, sitting in the car—the memory hit her somehow harder. Damn hard, as if a colossus was pounding her relentlessly with a jackhammer until all that was left was red pulp. Nicole’s fault. The police were unable to determine exactly what had happened. It’s true, the scene looked like a really fierce struggle, but there were no signs of anyone else in the house. Nicole had literally walked in just as her father shot himself. She hadn’t seen anyone else either.

Nicole’s fault.

And it remained a mystery forever. He hadn’t shown any suicidal tendencies whatsoever, so it was unclear why he actually pulled the trigger, and certainly no one knew why, of all things…

Nicole’s fau—

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

She yanked Jecka violently out of her sleep. Jecka woke up with a deep sigh.

“What—Nicole!” When she realized what her friend was referring to, she instinctively slammed the brake pedal to the floor.

Suddenly, she felt her body go limp, tearing away from the seat, and flying forward. If it hadn’t been for the damn seatbelts—which she had belatedly begun to fasten in response to Jecka’s appeal to Nicole’s common sense—she would have smashed her face comically against the windshield. She doubts the pain from such an impact would have been just as comical.

“Holy fuck!” Nicole exclaimed loudly as the car to her right drove through the intersection just as quickly as Nicole seconds ago. Apparently, just like her, the driver hadn’t expected anyone on the road at that hour and was unconsciously talking on the phone with one hand while steering with the other. His eyes met Nicole’s for a moment, but in that second or two, she deciphered a string of elaborate and graphic insults directed at her, ranging from “What the fuck are you doing, you fucking fuck” to ones even Nicole wouldn’t dare utter.

Her heart began to race wildly again that night, and her whole body seemed to go into almost a convulsion, due to the near-accident and the emotional turmoil in her head. Under normal circumstances, Jecka would have yelled at Nicole, saying, “For crying out loud, of course he had the right of way!” There was even a visible sign, right here, to their right. But she held back when she saw Nicole’s glassy eyes—totally thrown off balance, completely unstable—which was a truly rare sight. She’d basically never seen her in that state before; she didn’t know what to say or how to act. And she didn’t know what Nicole was thinking…

…as I was trying to finish earlier, why did he blame Nicole, of all people?

The car turned off right in the middle of all this. Only now did Nicole realize what was happening, and she cursed loudly in her head. She tried once—no use. Twice—still no luck. After a third failed attempt, she slammed her hand on the steering wheel, setting off a long, shrill honk. The sound was accompanied by one of the many curses in Nicole’s colourful vocabulary.

“Ni-” Jecka ventured.

“What! What?!” Nicole snapped. Apparently, that was just what Nicole needed, because she immediately managed to get the car moving—quite spontaneously and without regard for a smooth ride—but they were on their way. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, but in the silent car, Jecka heard it without trouble.

And so, in that truly very comfortable silence, they drove the last minutes of the trip.

Nicole avoided Jecka’s gaze. It was a blessing in disguise—her task was made easier because the road demanded her full attention, something which she did not comply with before. Apparently, the water had partially diluted the alcohol in Jecka’s system, because it seemed to Nicole that she was no longer swaying from side to side like a zombie. Jecka was also paying attention to the road signs, ready to react again if the situation called for. Jecka’s mind kept returning to the same image of her friend. She couldn’t help it; it was a surreal experience for her—she’d never seen Nicole so distraught before. She allowed herself another glance at the brunette, and there they were again—those same tearful eyes, frantically trying to take in as much information from the surroundings as possible. The same restless breathing and the same attempt to maintain a stoic expression that did not help the case.

When they finally reached Nicole’s cul-de-sac, all the lights in the houses were off, except for one. The one Nicole knew all too well. She could make out two figures inside, one of whom she recognized immediately. For nearly eighteen years, she’d had to deal with her so it’s no wonder. The other, however, was a bit harder to make out, and from a distance she couldn’t see her clearly. She could tell it was a woman—one who looked quite attractive, with an hourglass figure. Her mother was sitting at the counter holding a glass of wine, and the other woman was standing in the kitchen, also with a drink in her hand.

A strange sight, indeed—her mother rarely socialized with others, and thanks to their constant moves, many of the friendships she’d once nurtured had long since faded into oblivion. But Jecka recognized this dear person very quickly. You could clearly see her face transform into utter bewilderment, which was incomprehensible to Nicole at first.

Upon hearing who this figure might be, according to Jecka, Nicole was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of thoughts; she looked through an emotional kaleidoscope, and a variety of feelings—mostly negative—flooded her from all sides.

“Is—is that Miss Lynn?” Jecka blurted out, forgetting her embarrassment in the shock and bewilderment that had suddenly overcome her.

Nicole strained her eyes and compared the image of her headmistress with the one she saw in the window.

“Holy crap.”

“Nicole…”

“Don’t even.” “Your mum’s flirting with our headmistress. Again.” Normally, Jecka’s high-pitched voice would have been clearly audible when saying something like that. But this wasn’t a normal situation, and Nicole’s behaviour was out of the ordinary, so Jecka approached this utterly comical situation with deadly seriousness.

The topics of conversation between the two covered a vast range of subjects. From the childishly silly ones whilst wolfing down some rubbish fast food, to the very private ones, restricted to the ears of a select few, shared only at night beneath the canopy of stars. This little anecdote came to light in circumstances closer to the first example, when they were returning to Nicole’s home to revise for some silly test, which content of they immediately forgot about once they’d finished it.

Nicole, as always, exaggerated a bit, or as they say, made a mountain out of a molehill. So let me set the record straight. Nicole’s mum had been called to school to discuss the positive changes in her daughter’s academic performance. Nicole wouldn’t have wanted to be part of this conversation even for all the money in the world, but the issue was that before she’d even set foot outside the school, Miss Lynn had spotted her in one of the corridors. She took her to the headteacher’s office, and as soon as her mother arrived, the conversation began.

Nicole really had to bite her tongue to stop herself from blurting out that their conversation looked like a chat between a nincompoop and a dummkopf. ‘Two good-for-nothings who’ve failed at life are watching and secretly hoping I’ll overdose on heroin and sell myself to old men for a pittance, the sort who lick mushrooms off the walls of bridges’ Nicole thought recalling this incident. One woman, currently unemployed, tolerates—and even fosters—human vermin in her basement, whilst the other runs a center where pedophiles and the most depraved perverts roam freely, where that exact behaviour is supported and encouraged.

And as she plunder deeper and deeper in these thoughts she didn’t even realise they had long abandoned the idea of talking about Nicole. Miss Lynn hadn’t looked in Nicole’s direction for ages. They were smiling at each other, complimenting each other’s manicured nails and eye-enhancing make-up. Their behaviour left Nicole completely speechless, and the only thought that was unbearably clouding her mind was: am I currently getting third wheeled between my mother and my director?

All in all, quite a funny situation.

But right now, Nicole was in no mood to laugh. She felt a bitterness, that nasty bitterness that comes from swallowing medicines and various antibiotics. What annoyed her most was the possibility that, just when she’d finally made plans, her mother would now find a reason to stay in one place permanently. There was nothing to talk about just yet; after all, she didn’t know exactly what sort of relationship the two of them had. But the possibility that, for most of the last few years, she’d been living in fear that everything would fall apart at any moment, that it would all go to hell in a handbasket—it’d been in the background the whole time, constantly making its presence felt. Like that pain in the ass fly that buzzes aimlessly around your room whilst you’re trying to get some sleep.

She’s angry that once she’s freed from this ‘wonderfully cheerful little jest’ known as her mother and brother—and that usurping house—they’ll also find some peace. Fate is clearly the greatest dick, the greatest sadist and tormentor, the embodiment of Satan and Lucifer, because why should those who have shown not even a shadow of scruples or understanding towards Nicole have the door wide open to a paradise and idyll?

And she would have fallen into that spiral of lamenting her own fate, had it not been for Jecka’s sacred words, to which she often returns in such situations— ‘You’re white!’, which immediately calmed her and reminded her that things could always be worse.

Well, all right, they didn’t outright calm her down, but they did extinguish that smouldering fire of resentment. There was just one question left. What about her father? I mean, if her mum were actually to find herself a partner— purely hypothetically— whether it be their mentally slow headmistress or some other nutcase, what about her father’s suicide? Is Nicole simply supposed to forget about that? Nicole’s fault. She glanced at Jecka, who wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.

“Right, come on, let’s go,” said Nicole. Something clicked in Jecka’s little head, because she finally realised she shouldn’t be here. It was Nicole’s duty to drop her off at her own house, not here. She struggled to unbuckle her seatbelt and clambered out of the car, accidentally kicking an empty can of some alcoholic drink from under her feet.

“Nicole—fuck, sorry. Nicole, this is your house.” She stopped her friend in her tracks.

For a long moment, Nicole didn’t reply; her face gave little away, as if she’d just heard some weak, dry joke—not so corny that it naturally make you frown and feel disgruntled, but one of the lower-grade sort, after which you wonder whether you’re talking to a real person or a robot specifically modified to get under your skin. Nicole now looked like one of those chameleons that sit motionless on a branch, scanning their surroundings for potential threats.

“Err, we’ve come to my place because it’s quicker; you’re either about to throw up on my pants or I’m going to knock over some homeless bloke. After all, you’ve been throwing a tantrum recently because of me driving after a few drinks. Make up your mind, bitch.”

“Ah. Right.” Jecka’s head was throbbing too much to argue, but in her opinion, nothing was going to happen to them over the next ten minutes, and she certainly wasn’t going to throw up. The first sentence felt weak, Nicole speech was for a brief moment sore, but only for just a moment. That however did not go unbeknownst to Jecka. As she looked at Nicole, her friend avoided her gaze.

Well, the sofa in the brunette’s living room was rubbish, but you could live with it. Last time she’d been on that velour beast, she’d dreamt of Jeffery wanking off to their plush versions in a jar. A traumatic experience, but I guess you’ve just gotta deal with it. But they’d bypassed her front door, which could only mean one thing. Nicole wanted to slip back into her room silently through the low-hanging roof beneath her window, without any unnecessary fuss, without Nicole’s mum realising she’d returned.

Which meant a return to the realm of Morpheus without fresh sheets, a duvet meant for one but occupied by two, and the risk of stabbing her liver with one of the razor blades lost in the endless folds of Nicole’s bed. Jecka was about to protest and would have protested. But something spoke to her. She sighed quietly.

“Hold on, I need a smoke.”

In the final moments of her consciousness, Jecka’s mind raced through a multitude of thoughts. The list was endless, a veritable Hilbert’s paradox—only this time, her thoughts centred on just how insanely awkward this situation she’d found herself in is, rather than on hotel rooms.

Nicole, on the other hand, couldn’t fall asleep. She found no peace for the next few hours, during which she constantly battled her own mind.

Two words, like gnomes, ran chaotically through her head and played tricks on her. It was only when she was one hundred per cent—two hundred per cent sure—that her friend beside her was asleep, that darkness had swept her away from the realm of self-awareness.

She allowed herself, slowly, very, very slowly, with surgical precision, to slip her hands between the blonde’s arms and torso. She drew closer to her back and pressed her face into Jecka’s hair.

And it was only then, it seems, Nicole finally found peace.