I look down at my feet. My white ballet shoes look precarious and stupid. I wonder if I will ever be brave enough to wear high heels.
I want Shepherd to like my dress. I can deny it plenty of times, but I want his attention. Because without it, I will vanish.
I get a text from Shepherd.
Where are you? Waiting in my car. You’ve got five mins, then I’m coming up, S
I take one last glance in the mirror. I look very strange, and very thin.
Not like me at all.
24
ME
In the car, Amy asks, ‘Is this dress okay?’
She looks too pretty for where we’re going. And fuck if I don’t wish Amy was an ugly sister of some kind. Hell, she’s pure as the fucking snow. A goddamn snowflake princess. Her natural beauty stands out like a sunflower in the company of weeds.
But I just say, ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’
My black Aston Martin smells like smokes and cherry air freshener. I crack open the windows to let in some air, but the air outside smells like overripe lilacs, which isn’t better.
We go all the way outside Greystone and into The Valley where it’s more crowded. It’s darker out here, too, somehow. The streets are packed. The air has a buzzing sound like the neon of broken club signs. I try to smell the fresh air far away, out of the city, but all I smell is the burning tar and soot of The Valley.
Outside The Wicked Witch, there is a clump of girls. The Coven is what I call them. Portia and her delinquent entourage. They’re smoking by this shiny white BMW, and stare as I pull in.
They have on tight mini-dresses, big lace-up boots and lots of dark eye makeup. I glance over at Amy, all in her pretty princess dress. She outshines every one of them in class.
I park and sit there for a second, staring out through the windshield into the night. It’s soulless and dark except for the lit-up signs around my warehouse.
I rake back my hair and look at her. ‘Okay. You ready, baby?’
‘Yes, think so. Are you sure I look okay?’
‘You look . . . ’
You look too fucking beautiful, Amylocks.
‘You look stellar.’
It’s getting chilly. I let her wear my leather jacket, after I remove the pack of cigarettes. I feel better her walking past the girls wearing it. Protection. The girls, specifically Portia, the head witch, are checking me out, definitely. I don’t want Amy to think they’re even close to being on my radar. I barely acknowledge them.
Portia says hi and I nod at her. She gives Amy this look like she wants to deck Amy. Weird part is, Amy looks like she kinda likes the idea that these girls are jealous of her. And I like the idea that Amy likes it.
I lean down and whisper to Amy, ‘How’re you doing?’
She looks up at me, blinks, and I feel the heat on her through my jacket. My skin fizzes with electricity.
We go inside. The place is packed. The air ventilation system inadequate. And heat permeates the warehouse. A film of condensation gathers on the ceiling and drips down the walls from the mass of bodies jammed into the nightclub.
Newbies don’t take to the heat. Don’t know how popular my club nights are on a Saturday night. My dark eyes gauge the crowd as I make our way through, pushing people away from Amy and avoiding contact with the sweaty bodies around us. Amy looks ready to die, but I keep an eye out for any sign of trouble. Nobody’s touching a single hair on her head.
Soon enough, we’re through to the VIP lounge. I get her a pomegranate and lime mock-tail from the bar. It has a rainbow umbrella dipped into it. It’s pretty like Amy. I say hi to Fab5 who’s managing the place tonight.
The club is playing techno music, and people are dancing around in the spinning coloured lights.
I light an electronic cigarette and say to Amy, ‘It sucks here tonight. We — I mean they don’t usually play this shit music.’
Don’t know why I dragged her to my club. It’s like I’m my own worst enemy. Like the sadist in me wants her to catch the lie.
Like I said, pretending I’m a psychologist is probably the sickest lie I’ve spun. But it’s the only fucking way I know how to get her to do what I want.
When I saw you, Amy, saw what you’ve become . . . I had to fix you to make up for what I’d done.
I watch her take off my jacket and her cardigan. And then her little bony elbows come out. I just want to drag my tongue over them.
Screw it, I’ll kiss her, see what happens. I reach, but she turns at the last minute. My hand lands clumsy and heavy on her shoulder. My stomach bites.
The fuck is happening to me tonight?
I’ve dipped my fingers too deep inside her cookie jar. Amy is like a sugar rush. That feeling you get when you’ve eaten too much sugar. You feel sick, but you crave it and crave it some more. You keeping eating, until it kills you.
I can feel the sweat trickling down my sides. My hair is slick with sweat. The butterflies in my stomach are flapping like mad. Don’t get why I’m nervous all of a sudden.
Amy drinks from her glass, and I don’t get how this girl
