BOYTOY

~ Chapter 14 ~

My shoulders and arms felt stiff and sore from sunburn and I winced whenever I moved. All night I tossed and turned, my mind churning over the events of the day; if I had known Opal's birthday party would have ended in such a way, I would not have gone. But I had and things were as bad as they could ever become. The next day, I didn't see Amber at all. I met up with Kim at her house and spent a few lazy hours listening to the radio and painting our nails. But there was a great cloud hanging over me, one that Kim picked up on. Before I left, she touched my arm and gave me a sad, worried look.

"Are you going to be OK?" she asked softly.

I shrugged and smiled shortly and my taut sunburned skin pulled and stung. "I'm going to have to be," I said.

At home, my parents were working in the front garden; dirt bruised up their limbs and smeared across their noses and trimmed branches scattered across the path. My mum looked up when I slid from the car, squinting against the bright sunlight. "Have fun?" she asked cheerily. My dad broke his concentration from the tree he was pruning and gave me a tired sort of wave.

I strained a smile. "Yeah," I said weakly, "I did."

My dad was frowning. He held a hand up to shield his eyes and tilted his head sideways. "You sure, babe? You look a little..."

"I'm just tired." I nodded and yawned to show him I was being truthful; in fact I was exhausted. "I think I'm just going to go upstairs and rest a bit."

"If you're sure." He stared at me as I crossed the path and climbed up onto the porch. Before I went inside, I looked over my shoulder to find both my parents staring after me. Bemused, I waved and released a relieved breath as soon as I was in the shade of my home. I climbed the stairs, step after weary step, and I paused outside my sister's open doorway, staring sadly inside. It was clean and white and empty. I went to my room and closed the door, leaning my back against it as I looked over my messy floor and unmade bed.

Releasing a breath, I started to clean up.

School passed by. Day after day, class after class. I still hadn't started my History assignment. I just couldn't find the energy; not anymore. It was at lunch, on Thursday after having suffered through a grueling Maths class that Matt dropped down beside me on the bench. "Hey," he said and poked my cheek. I smiled and he tutted. "Now don't give me any of that."

I frowned, asking, "Any of what?"

"Any fake smiles." Matt's eyes flicked over my face and I knew he was taking in the dark smudges below my eyes and my limp, oily hair which I didn't have time to wash that morning after waking up late; I hadn't been able to sleep the night before until the early green hours of post- midnight. He glanced around at the others, all too busy either eating or mucking around, and when he spoke, his voice was low with rare emotion. "Bronny," he murmured, "don't do this to yourself."

"Do what?" I laughed.

"That."

I shifted uneasily. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're trying to fool everyone," he said. His fingers tapped on my wrist, making me look down. Our knees were touching, my bare skin pressed against Matt's out-of-uniform denim jeans. I stared at a hole in his pants. "You can't do it anymore, Bron. Let us help."

I started shaking my head. "You can't help."

"We can try," he said, but I cut him off.

"You can't." I met his eyes and smiled sadly. "I have to fix this. I just don't know how."

"Bronny..." Matt bumped his forehead into mine and he said softly into my ear, "you can't fix everything."

I sighed and locked my hands together, pressing them between my knees. "I have to try," I murmured.