Koala Style

Chapter 7

"Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." I mutter to myself. Pacing up and down Dan's bedroom. Being in his room isn't helping, so I leave and close the door behind me.

"Don't fucking cry." I hiss as I walk into the living room where, as expected, Dan isn't.

They look up, but don't say anything. I sigh and grab my stuff from the counter and stuff it inside my backpack, then sling it over my shoulder.

"Where are you going?" PJ asks, suddenly concerned.

"Home." I say, not looking at my face.

"No, you can't. Why would you?"

"Because someone really doesn't want me here. I really don't want me here. And besides, I've caused enough trouble as it is."

And before they can stop me, I leave the flat without another word. I make my way down to the nearest bus stop and wait for a bus to arrive and when it finally does, I hop on and pay for a ticket. I sit at the back and immediately put my headphones in as soon as I sit down. A loud electronica track starts playing and I lean back into the chair.

There is Steve, back at home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Maybe he's grown out of his alcoholic douche-y stage.

Sometimes, I wonder if it isn't actually his fault he's like that. I mean, when Mum was alive he was actually all right. He always acted like a friend to me. It wasn't actually long ago when he started using alcohol as an anti-depressant. I don't know, but it's a poison. And I'm not having it. I'm not having my guardian be wasted all the time, especially now.

So when I get home, I stomp inside and shout; "STEVE?!"

"Wha-"

I walk straight to the fridge, swing it open and start to take all the beers out of it, throwing them into the bin behind me.

"Where were you?" he asks, groggily. Probably unaware of what I'm doing.

"At a friend's house."

"Look, I'm really sorry about Friday, I…"

"It's fine, Steve. I don't give a shit."

"What are you doing?!" he shouts, running over to me.

"This," I say, waving a beer in his face. "Has to stop. Now."

He sighs and slumps back into a chair by the kitchen table. He doesn't protest or stop me. He knows, he knows he needs help. Maybe he has finally realised the damage he has caused. Finally.

I picks up the last beer bottle, drain the contents into the sink and smash it into the bin, before taking it outside to the bottom of the drive. I should probably recycle them but this gives more of an intense message.

I empty the bin into the large one, the black one that the lorry comes and takes away. With a sigh, I carry the can back to the house and place it back where it was. Then I stomp up to my room.

"Are you all right?" Steve calls after me, but I ignore him.

No.

No, Olivia, don't do it.

Don't do it.

But of course, I do. I walk into the office, by Steve's room and pick up the old Toshiba laptop. No one really uses it. I have sometimes, for school work. I flip it open and turn it on. It takes a while to load, but when it does I open up the web browser and type the word into Google. The first link is a redirect to a video on YouTube, so I click on that. I lean back against the wall and watch the laptop screen.

"Welcome to the internet support group, with Dan. Hey guys, so today I would like to talk about alcohol. Don't worry, nothing educational or informative."

I slam the lid down and shove the laptop back on the desk, running out of the office and back up into my bedroom. I shouldn't have done that. What was I expecting?

I look down at the pot on my arm. I grab the nearest pair of scissors and cut it off, throwing it across the room. Ugh, I don't need a bloody cast for my arm. It barely hurts. I use it to pull myself up. See, it doesn't hurt.

Oh my GOD! Am I blaming Dan for this? It's not his fault. It's my fault. All. My. Fault. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it because he probably hates my guts. I guess I hate my guts too? Not really. I just, it was fun while it lasted but when I think about it. Me and Dan were never meant to be.

I sigh. It was nice while it lasted, and now I know what it's like to be in a relationship. Sort of.

He might not be my boyfriend and he might not be my friend at all. But he was my first sort of love and first kiss.

He will always be that.