Confessions of a Bitch

Secret Recordings

I underestimated Alyssa.

Long gone is the flower print dress, purple glasses and red shoes. Low cut jeans and heels define who she is now: a wannabee.

It’s pathetic really, how everyone’s head turns as she makes her way through the hallways. It’s like I’m in a cliché movie where the nerd gets a makeover and comes back looking like Miranda Kerr. We walk past each other without exchanging a single word. To others she has done in inevitable by becoming ‘popular’ over the course of five weeks. She still reminds me of the cowardly bitch hiding the shadows. I still see the fat chick in year eight stuffing KFC chicken. No amount of makeup plastered on her face will change my mind.

In Literature, an essay is done on A Doll’s House and a topic test is done in Mathematics. My mind isn’t on my tests or on those around me. It’s divided between Baby G and Victoria. Part of me wants to lunge at Baby G and give her a fractured jaw. The other half wants to throw her into a torture dungeon.

By the time school finishes, I take my bag out of my locker and begin driving to the shops intent on getting my hands on some sour straps. I hurriedly make my way inside the cool building and purchase two packets of sour goodness, as Victoria would call it. As I walk outside, a woman in a velvet coat and sunglasses catches my eye. I ignore her and begin walking away.

The sound of heels tapping softly on the pavement sends chills down my spine. My mind whirls as I turn around. “Viper!” I call out into the wind. There’s no one behind me. I slowly turn around and begin walking once again, towards my car.

A week and a half has passed and there hasn’t been any news on Victoria. It’s slowly turning from a missing person. Dad and I remain distant because things are extremely awkward and mum refuses to talk more about Old Man Bl –I mean, my grandfather. I don’t want to return to school, but my parents throw me out the door.

Life seems to have moved on. That’s what happens when no more gossip can be unearthed about Victoria. The wanted posters of Victoria seem to have faded away. It’s as if no one cares. Hotpants doesn’t rock up to school and Mrs. Potts and Mr. Kennedy have a go at me for not doing homework.

What a waste of time.

After school, I find myself driving to Victoria’s family church. Her mum had somehow pressured me into going to church. They had a program on… something about praying to God for Victoria’s return. I don’t do church, but this was Victoria and I’d do any damn thing to get her back; even if that meant dragging up my ass to church.

I pull up next to the large, white building and shake my head. I’m scared. Actually no, I’m petrified. The big guy in the sky is probably waiting to throw lightning bolts at me for all the wrong crap I’ve done. I’m trying not to swear. I’m at church.

I reach into my duffel bag, grab one of mum’s frumpy shirts that I stole from her wardrobe this morning, and throw it over my head. I hesitantly take the key out of ignition and step out of the car. As I walk towards the church, I ask for forgiveness for all my sins because quite frankly, I don’t want to die. I slowly open the door and almost run out. Everyone is in deep prayer and when I say that, I mean the way Victoria acts when she’s praying.

Everyone’s moving about praying loudly for Victoria’s safe return. No one even notices I’m in the building. Instead of bolting out of the building, I quietly shut the door behind me and take a sit at the back pew, away from all the action. Everywhere I turn, I see black people. After all, Victoria said she went to a black church. That was to be expected. It still doesn’t take away the fact I feel incredibly awkward.

I hesitantly look at the stained glass at the front of the church. It’s a painting of Jesus sitting in a field and a beam of light coming from the sky. I can’t help but sigh. I am no saint. I shouldn’t even be here. I inspect my nails and wiggle my toes. I even play with my hair. Seeing my effort isn’t going to past time, I stare at the stained glass for a moment before the words burst forth from my mouth. “Hello Jesus… God…. Jesus… I dunno…. But please wave your magic wand and bring Victoria back. Thanks.” And with that, I get up and begin walking out. As I’m about opening the door, I see a little offering box near a bench. I open my wallet and place a fifty dollar note inside. Hopefully the big guy up there will accept my peace offering.

I slowly drive home whilst listening to the endless list of depressing songs playing on the radio. It’s awkward seeing dad in the kitchen, making dinner with mum. I still haven’t talked to him since the day I apologized. Before mum and dad can realize I’m home, I sprint into my bedroom and shut the door. That should keep them out for a while. I take all my books from my bookshelf and spread them out on the floor. One by one, I begin doing all my school work as the smell of spaghetti bolognaise wafts through the house. My stomach growls. This isn’t good.

Within three hours, my catch up on Maths and History is completed. The hardest task is Literature. Studying Australian texts aren’t my favorite things in the world. Studying Gwen Harwood’s poetry is like trying to make a cat take a bath. It sucks. I don’t know what’s worse: reading her poetry or trying to analyze it. Half the time, I don’t understand what she’s talking about. Quite frankly, I think it’s a waste of my time.

I’m about throwing the book on the floor when someone knocks on the door. My heart skips a beat and I dump the book on the ground, jump on my bed and hide myself under the covers.

“Amanda,” It’s dad and the smell of food is quickly filling my room. I’m so hungry. “I know you’re still awake.” I grunt and slowly emerge from my hiding place. He stands beside my bed, holding a big plate of spaghetti. “Hungry?”

“Yes.” I reply as my mouth begins to water. He smiles and hands me the plate and watches as I begin scuffing it down.

“You need to do something about your hair.” He says, pointing to my mattered hair. No shit, dad.  He sighs and sits at the edge of the bed. He begins twiddling his thumbs; a sign he wants to give a lecture. “I know you’re going through a hard time, Amanda.” I grunt softly. I don’t want to listen to what he has to say. “Victoria has been missing for a while now, and I realized you’ve been shutting everyone out.”

“That’s what you do when you want to be left alone.” I retort as I chew my food. Dad wrinkles his nose.

“Well, I just wanted to say that I’ll always be here for you, including your mum.” Before I can reply, he stands up, walks out of the room and closes the door. I slowly finish eating and place the plate on the floor. I’ll return it to the kitchen tomorrow morning. I quickly change out of my clothes and into my pyjamas before throwing myself into the heavenly comfort of my bed and before I can think of anything else, I fall asleep.

My eyes burst open at the sound of my phone ringing. I blindly search around my bed for my phone before finding it at the other end of the bed. I squint my eyes at the sudden burst of light emitted from the phone when I unlock the phone. It’s a message from an unknown number: Viper.

I hurriedly click it, hoping it’s a message discussing Victoria’s impending release. It’s not. Instead it’s a voice recording.  Groaning, I use the phone’s light to find my earphones, which had been deposited near my books. I find it and plug it into my phone and play the recording. My eyes widen as the recording plays. My blood runs cold and throat burns. My heart beats erratically as I snatch my earphones from my ears and throw my phone at the wall. I bring my knees to my chest, trembling as the recording plays over and over and over again in my mind.

It was a recording of Victoria screaming.