Annabel's POV
The car shuddered to a slow stop on my street, (my...still the concept of me living there hadn't fully been interpreted) the night basking the houses in a thick blanket of darkness. I could see the light on in my kitchen, which confirmed my fear; they were waiting up for me.
I turned to Billie, whose hands were still poised on the steering wheel, as if ready to take off at any second. His eyes gleamed green, a strange shade of jade as if belonging to a cat's, his unruly hair blending into the blackness surrounding us. He looked at me for a moment, eyebrows scrunching as if considering something.
"What?" My voice had defaulted to a whisper, probably due to the mere exhaustion the day had caused me.
He shook his head slightly, shrugging heavily, before catching my gaze again. A ghost of smile etched itself across his lips.
"I feel like I've known you for a long time. I can't explain it...but I feel as if we've met before, y'know? In another place, or another time or some bullshit like that."
I smiled, glancing down at my hands before up at him again.
"Don't get all philosophical on me. It's too late and I'm going to be way too fucked in about three minutes to think about things like that."
Usually, once I would have realised I had said something as idiotic as that to a boy who had perhaps given me the best time I had experienced in a long while I would contemplate whether or not I had some sort of birth defect that caused me to say such mind-bogglingly stupid sentences. But honestly, I was so done with everything that day that all I wanted was to curl up and fall into a peaceful oblivion of sleep.
He smirked, hands finally dropping from the steering wheel.
"I'll just say goodnight then."
I looked at him expectantly, a smile tugging my mouth. His smirk grew into a crooked grin, one that I was starting to become familiar with.
"Goodnight." He finally whispered, his voice softening along with his eyes. It was that same look he had given me the night previous, and today in the car; that strange understanding, that strange intensity as if we were both living with the same horrors. Despite whether that was true or not, it was the most comforting thing I had seen for years.
"Goodnight. God help me if you end up somehow spending tomorrow night with me as well."
And the last thing I heard was his warm chuckle, which did something weird to my heartbeat that I didn't particularly want to dwell on, before I exited the car and watched him disappear into blackness.
I hesitated at the front door, debating on whether the curb would really be that uncomfortable as a substitute for a mattress, but in the end I urged myself to grow a backbone and in I went.
Mom was pacing around the kitchen with a cup of cold tea in her clammy hands, hair dishevelled, night gown untied. I knew this look; the one that told me real shit was going to go down.
Jeremy was sitting at the table, arms crossed. He was the first to speak.
"What time is it Annabel?"
"11:36."
"What time does school end?"
"3."
"So, do you kindly wish to explain to your mother and I where you have been for 8 and a half hours?" His voice grew in octave, the latter part of the sentence a bark.
"I was with friends." This was the tactic I learned was the best; unmoved, calm, precise.
"Where the hell were you? What the hell were you doing?!"
He had gotten up now, an action my mom had closely observed with a franticness in the corner of her eye, and was pacing towards me.
"I'm sorry." My own voice betrayed me, wobbling as he came charging for me. He stopped mere inches from my face, hands balled into fists at his sides. His breath smelt of whiskey.
"Answer the question."
"We were just watching a band play and they were just some classmates..."
"You are grounded for 6 weeks, you got that? You're going to work off that attitude with hard work around the house!"
I could sense the dullness that was my mother stir, a hesitant voice perking up.
"That's a bit severe, don't you think dear? She is older now, she should be going out and..." But she soon as hell shut up when he gave her the look he did. Then, those eyes of metal were back on me.
"Anything else?" He snarled, hard mouth curling into a shape that said that he'd won.
I don't know why I said it. In the History of Stupid, Irrelevant or Merely Idiotically Concerning Things I Have Said (Edition 5) I have not said anything to the extent that I know what damage it will do. Because I know what he'll do, I know what I'll do, I practically could see the bruises fresh on my mom's face the next day that she would hollowly blame on an accident. But I'm a teenager, none of that matters, because my pride is worth the broken bones and tears. Because I'm selfish. Because I didn't want him to win.
"Yes. Next time, you might have the decency to clean the cum off your pant leg from whenever you last fucked some skank before you come home and fuck my mother."
I wasn't lying about the situation of his pants; we all learnt that in the two seconds it took for Mom to gasp and for both of them to look down to his trousers. His face began to bloom red, then purple, and by the time he snapped back up with shaking fists I was bolting up the stairs to my room. I could hear his footsteps after me, I could hear his hollering and Mom crying and I pushed my desk against the door, then my chair, then anything else I could find.
The door pounded and shook as he threatened to take it off its hinges as I started counting down the minutes before he'd lose interest and leave. It was 19; nearly a new record.
I slipped out of my clothes in the dark, feeling transparent, non existent, like a ghost. I climbed into bed in my underwear and forced myself to stop shaking, forced myself to lie still and breathe deeply and tell myself it was all ok until I fell asleep.
And my dreams were of cat eyes and burritos and crooked smiles lost amongst the red and cold and broken glass.
