Lime and Soda ✓

nineteen - regret

I stand in front of the large, square mirror in the spare room, staring at myself, hating what I see. My eczema's back with a vengeance; it crawls up my arms, across my chest, creeps up my neck towards my throat, strangling me. I want to rip my skin off.

My hair is a tangled cloud about my head. I haven't brushed it since I got home.

I scrutinise my skin, my face, my slim frame, and what I see is weakness. A desire to please everyone that means I can't go anywhere without hurting the people I love.

I wonder if Astrid will ever forgive me. I don't know if I would, if she had been the one kissing Jay.

The smell of pancakes wafts towards me as I go down the stairs, wrapped up in my favourite fluffy white dressing gown, wrapped up in my thoughts. The dressing gown is my mum's, actually. I pinched it while I was packing for the summer, hoped she wouldn't notice. It's slightly too big for me, I have to roll the soft white sleeves up for it to fit. It smells like her, like incense and safety, like a big warm hug. Maybe that's why I put it on today, because it reminds me of her. I miss her. It's a long time to be away from your family.

I cautiously push open the kitchen door. Jules and Elliot are sitting at the table, which is strewn with boxes of cereal and dirty bowls, chatting over a mug of coffee. Bea's standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. She looks up when I walk in.

'Morning, sunshine,' she says brightly. 'Fancy some pancakes? I'm trying them out with spelt and buckwheat flour, so they won't irritate your skin.' She peers at me. 'Mind you, I'm not sure your skin could be any more irritated than it looks today.'

'Thanks, Bea.' I take a seat at the table. Jules passes me a mug of tea, catches my eye. You ok? Her raised eyebrows seem to ask.

I nod.

'Sleep well?' says Elliot, getting up and pouring me a bowl of museli. They're all staring at me as if I've contracted some strange disease.

'Why are you making my cereal for me?' I ask, batting his hand away. 'I can do it myself.'

He sits back down. 'Right. Sorry.'

'Stewed apple and cinnamon on the pancakes, Vi?' asks Bea.

I shrug. 'Sure. What does everyone else want?'

'We're happy with whatever you want, love.'

'Okay, what's going on?' I ask. 'Why are you all being so nice to me?'

Jules pretends to be offended. 'Aren't we always nice to you?'

I glare at her. 'You're all staring at me. Is there some spinach in my teeth or something?'

'No, love,' says Bea with a sigh. 'We just want to make sure you're okay, that's all. I wish you'd tell us what happened, why you were so upset when you got home the other day. You've locked yourself in your room ever since, you can't expect us not to worry.'

This much is true. I didn't have anything to say to anyone, so I figured there was no point coming downstairs. Astrid didn't call. Hasn't, yet.

'First of all, it's not my room,' I snap, pushing my bowl of museli away. 'Jules kicked me out of my room.'

There's a silence broken by Elliot slurping his coffee.

I sigh, look down at my hands. 'I'm sorry. I don't mean that.'

'I- I never thought about that,' says Jules in a small voice. 'That it's your room too.'

'Yeah, well, it was your room first,' I say, and the moment is over. Bea brings me a plate of hot, buttery pancakes loaded with hot apple and sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar, and I tuck in, suddenly ravenous. I haven't felt hungry since I got home.