Scarred Roses

Chapter 6-A night out

Thursday and Friday passed by fairly quickly. To Nicholas’s credit, he managed to leave me alone, those two days, and focused only on his new school and his new friends. I did the class work, as was expected, got my homework done on time, so when Saturday came along, I felt deserving of this night out. In the morning I ate my breakfast, did my fair share of the chores, then messaged Ingrid to confirm the meeting-place. We’d all rendezvous at Bridget’s around six, then arrive at The Square at six fifteen-enough time to get some dinner there before everything started up. Mum and dad knew what time I was going to be home, so I wouldn’t have the same problem with them twice, and Audrey and kindly volunteered (And by that, I mean decided) to help pick out what I’m going to wear. So far, it was going swimmingly.

“Ugh! Do you have anything that’s not floral?” She grumbled dumping an armful of garments on my bed.

“Audrey, it’s just an open-mic night.”

“I know, but you know most people there are going to make some kind of effort. You know Derby rarely has anything like this going on; hell, I bet Flora’s treating this like a fairy tale ball.”

She was probably right, I thought. Knowing Flora, she’d find yet another way to out-do herself, wearing probably a dress made of the many shades of pink and purple that came from her wardrobe. Perhaps, I thought, it might’ve just been all those dressed, constructed into one, flowery garment.

“What about this one?” I suggested, holding up a black-and-white, polka dot dress.

“No-they’ll think you murdered Minnie Mouse for it.” She said, waving her hand dismissively.

“How about this?” It was a mint-green, strapless dress with little sparrows on it.

“Pretty-but not what we’re looking for.”

We kept on searching. Audrey had me try on garment after garment, each with different combinations of scarves, jewellery and shoes. By the time she was making me totter around in a pair of her high heels, I was getting fed up. I just wanted to pick a dress and stick with it.

“How about this one?” out from the very bottom, she pulled out a soft, baby-blue dress, made of flowing chiffon, the scalloped neckline embroidered with flowers. It was one of grandma’s dresses-not one she bought me, but a party-frock of her very own that she’d given to me for my sixteenth birthday. I was beautiful, indeed; I just didn’t know where I would wear it.

“Is it no too formal?”

“No. No, it’ll do just fine for tonight. It compliments your skin tone, and with this in your hair,” She plucked the white rose-clip from my dresser table. “No man shall resist your charms.”

“What makes you think I’ll be fishing for one?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You won’t need to-with you looking like you’ve come, straight out of an Elizabeth Taylor film, the boys will running. Soon enough, they’ll be using hand-held mirrors, just to catch a glimpse of you in class.”

“Audrey, that’s silly. Boys don’t look at me, and that’s that.”

“They do so!” She argued, “I’ve seen them; they ogle you when they think you’re not looking. They love that you’re so pretty and pure and completely virtuous. But you’re so shy and timid-you could have any one of those boys, but you never try.”

“That’s because I haven’t found the right boy.” I answered, “I don’t even know if I ever will.”

“You will: someday. It’s just a matter of scouring the globe until the boy who owns the heart of Hazel Marie Kazia shows up with a bouquet of red roses and a bag of boiled raspberries.”

“If he knows my favourite sweet before he even meets me, then perhaps it must be fate.” I chuckled, mostly joking of course. “Alright, I’ll try this dress. I suppose it can’t hurt to take it out for one night.”

I needed the petticoat to wear underneath, which gave the skirt the bit of volume it needed. And I had to admit that now, with just a little makeup and my hair brushed and pinned painstakingly into place, that Audrey was right about the dress. It had an effect. With Audrey’s fine hand, she really had managed to make me look like a poster-girl from a forties magazine. I wondered if even Nicholas could have just one, bad word to say about me if he saw me now.

“Now, for the finishing touch.” Audrey pulled out a pair of short, black wedges. Black shoes, as she’d always said, went with everything. “They’re comfortable enough, and casual.”

“Perhaps I should just wear my flats…”

“They’re old, and look childish. Trust me, these will do nicely.”

I slipped on the heels, taking my beaded shoulder-bag to complete the look. It was only two inches in difference, but I did feel just a little taller. Perhaps I was even a little taller than Ingrid, in these shoes. Only one way to find out, I thought. As I left my bedroom, Audrey followed close behind. Closing the door behind us. Mum and dad were in the living room, along with Nicholas, so when Audrey cleared her throat to get their attention, all eyes were on me. In mum’s eyes, was pride and affection. In dads was a mixture of admiration and fatherly concern. And Nicholas’s…it was the first time I had trouble reading what he was thinking. For there was no, blunt emotion on his face, but one of awe, surprise and doubt, all mixed into one. Admittedly, it was nice to be able to shock him for once. To wipe that smirk of certainty off of his face, even just for a few seconds.

“Hazel, you look lovely!” Mum praised, coming toward me with her arms outstretched. “I’m glad you’re wearing your grandmother’s dress; it looks perfect on you.”

“Thanks mum,” I replied shyly, eyes falling to my feet.

“I better not see any boys following you back home tonight,” Dad said, mockingly stern. “You know I have a special rifle reserved for the occasion.”

“Don’t worry; you can be assured that no boy will ever have the barrel of your rifle.”

“I should hope not,” He replied, satisfied. “You look beautiful though. You have a great time with your friends.”

“Save a dance for me?” Nicholas asked with a smile. Wait-what did he mean?

“Are you going too?” Audrey asked him, with a hint of distaste.

“I thought I might check it out. That mate of yours, Anton said it was supposed to be a pretty good gig.”

He could be avoided, I thought. Just stick to the opposite end of the café, dance with the group, cheer on the performers. Perhaps I wouldn’t even notice he was there.

“So, will you?” he was still looking at me, daring me with those ice-cold eyes.

“Of course,” I lied, thickly through my teeth. “I’m not much of a dancer though.”

“Oh, I’m sure you know some things.” He replied, playing with the meaning hidden in those words. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Well, I’d best be off.” I announced, heading towards the door. “The other’s will be waiting for me.”

“Call us if you need anything!” Mum said.

“And be back before eleven!” Dad added.

Audrey had already volunteered to walk me to Bridget’s house. She heard on Thursday from Viola that Trevor was back in town for the weekend, and being the protective, big sister that she was, offered to walk me to Bridget’s house, then meet me there when I was finished so we could go home together. I know it didn’t generally sound normal for a big sister to be so protective when it came to a guy but Audrey…Audrey had every right to feel that way. She was there when it happened. The only witness to his crime. If there was anyone who could see Trevor for the person he truly was, it was Audrey.

After the short walk to Bridget’s house, Audrey gave me a sisterly kiss before departing back home, intent of binge-watching old episodes of ‘Skins’ and munching on some praline chocolate. Everyone was there before me, hanging out on Bridget’s porch, in their going-out clothes. Leo, looking more casual than usual in a mint-green button-up, an unbuttoned waistcoat, and the only pair of jeans I think he owned. Ingrid looked particularly pretty tonight in a paisley, strapless dress with a wide belt, and knee-high, wedged boots. Bridget, not too girly, but gorgeous nonetheless in a sequined top and skin-tight jeans that accentuated her curvy, athletic build. Marlon, decked in his favourite brands, with a snapback worn backwards, and his best pair of globes. And Flora…Flora was just as I imagined. Wearing a flowy, magenta dress that rippled and swished as she walked, hibiscus’s in her hair, and a pair of hot-pink heels, Flora was every bit a modern-day, fairy-tale princess. All she was missing was the tiara.

“Looking lovely Hazel!” Flora complimented, watching me give a quick twirl. “Are we all ready then?”

“Ready!” We all chimed.

“Then to The Square we go!”

The Square café, one of the only two café’s in Derby, had the interior of a 1950’s diner. Seats upholstered in bright, red leather, table-tops of white and black, checker marble, a floor polished and gleamed to perfection, and décor on the walls of silver-screen stars like Audrey Hepburn, Marylin Monroe and mum’s favourite; Elvis Pressley. It was the best place to go, in my opinion. And we’d gotten there just in time, it seemed. For there were but a few customers here, and the backstage crew were only just setting up the equipment.

“We’ll be doing a soundcheck soon,” One of the guys said, “It won’t bother you guys, will it?”

“Not at all,” Bridget answered, “We just want to get something to eat before everything starts up.”

We ordered three, big baskets of fries, complete with nacho cheese, salsa and sour cream, and some coca colas. This, of course, was brought to us promptly by Gertie-the waitress in charge, and one of the kindest people you’d ever hope to meet.

“You all look lovely tonight,” She gushed, handing up our fries and cokes. “It’s sure to be great fun, I hope.”

“So, do I,” Flora replied. “God knows how long it took to talk the arts department into funding this whole thing.”

“Are they still hoping to get more people interested?” I asked her.

“They’re always looking for budding, new talent.” Flora replied dryly, swirling a fry in the droopy, yellow-orange cheese. “They reckon that if we get more people on board for next year, the finances department might take them seriously and cave in for a better budget on future productions. I have to say, they’ve got a point on that one. I’m sick of watching the school rugby team get new jackets while we’re forced to reuse the same sets for three, straight years because we can’t even afford custom-made!”

“I thought the year twelve wood shop class was happy to help out with sets.” Ingrid piped in.

“Yes, but custom-made! It’s been a long time since we’ve had custom-made anything. Custom-made costumes, custom-made dance shoes…”

“Custom-made props?” Leo added, with a hint of humour. “You’ll have to go on using the donated items from the Salvation Army.”

“I swear, that telephone has to be Mrs. Lambart’s.” Marlon claimed, “I saw her talking on one like it, years ago. Talking about the good-old days where it was okay to shag a sailor when you knew you’d never see him again.”

“She did not say that!” Bridget laughed.

“Did too! She was involved with a guy called Reginald. Said he had beautiful, curly-brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and the biggest- “

“Marlon!” Flora scolded, choking back the laughter.

“Muscles, she had ever seen. Oh, and his p***s was pretty big too.”

“What happened?” I wanted to know. It seemed so bizarre to picture this crotchety, old lady as a lusty, young woman with a taste for well-endowed sailors.

“Never saw him again. He went back to America after he was done doing whatever he was doing here. She must’ve liked him though; she named her beloved mutt after him, didn’t she?”

“And we all know how she dotes on her dear Reggie.” Bridget said, rolling her eyes. “But why name your dog after a guy you slept with?”

“Beats me.” Marlon shrugged. “I’m just glad she didn’t know I was listening. I took off after she went into detail about his junk.”

We laughed as we ate, gradually devouring the baskets of French-fries with a vengeance, until soon enough my stomach was begging to be left alone. The cokes were drained, and replaced with full glasses. And one by one, like the dripping flow of a faucet, people began to filter in. Filling the various booths and tables, their talk and laughter echoing off the walls, bouncing around people’s heads and ears. Within half an hour of being there, everything was set up, and the café was nearly up to capacity. Which meant it was time for somebody to get up there and get things started. Instinctively, we all looked to Flora. She was the one who wrangled the drama department into organizing this-we would’ve thought she’d be our gracious host for the night.

Unsurprisingly, Flora stood from the booth and took the stage. The stage-lights setting a flattering glow on her freckled skin. She really did look as if she belonged up there, I thought. Like the stage was a second home to her. At least she was comfortable with crowds; I couldn’t fault her in that. Just her prescience had everybody’s attention almost immediately.

“Hello, students of Derby High! This is Flora Field, caption of the year twelve improv group, as your humble host of our first open-mic night! Now, this is open to anyone who likes to sing, so just give your sheet music to Marcus and the band, and they’ll sort you out. Now, who’s first?”

Lucas Abel took the stage, with his acoustic guitar, and played a soft, romantic version of ‘falling in love with you’ by Elvis Pressley. He played it perfectly-what else could we expect from one of Flora’s recruits? His guitar-playing was flawless, his voice as smooth as honey, and the song had its’ desired effect of pulling at everybody’s heart-strings. Ingrid was listening with a far-away look in her eyes, resting her chin into her palm, even Bridget couldn’t take her eyes off of Lucas, or the stage. Leo and Marlon however, just took one, irritated look at all the girls in the café and mouthed ‘women’ to one another.

After Lucas had finished the song, over half the female population in the room called out for an encore. He obliged politely, this time standing up with his guitar and whispered something unidentifiable to the band. They all smiled at him knowingly, waiting before he took his place behind the microphone again before they launched, head-first into the song. ‘Drive it like you stole it’, from that movie ‘Sing Street’. Feeling the infectious beat, people started to get up and dance. Our glasses were nearly empty again, and seeing that there were enough people on the dance floor, the five of us got up and started to dance as well. Aside from Flora, none of us were very great dancers. I learnt a little tap until I was twelve, but it was hardly suited for a just dancing to a band. So that made our less-than-skilled dancing all the more strange. Still, it didn’t quite seem to matter, the way everybody else was moving. So, we did just as we wanted to do, and it was fun. We twirled each other, we jumped, did a few moves that were popular nearly ten years ago, and we loved it. We loved being different and goofy, as long as it meant we were being us.

The second song was finished before we were ready for it to end. People screamed for an encore once more, but Lucas had kindly declared that everyone else should have a turn. The next person to take the stage was Tahlia Hannigan, who launched into everybody’s old favourite ‘Bring me to life’. Only, this song, dance-wise, was limited to just jumping up and down, and pumping one’s fist in the air. Actually…it gave me an idea. I brought my digital camera with me, and Flora would’ve appreciated some promotional pictures for the event. Why not?

I waded through the dancing crowd, until I finally had a good position of the band. I waited patiently for a few minutes, just to work out the timing of the lights. Three seconds red, three seconds blue, and three seconds yellow. Sorting out the focus, I used my small timeframes to get Tahlia and the band, highlighted in red, blue, then yellow. The yellow, I thought, looked the best. All was going well so far, as Tahlia belted out into the microphone. I took some pictures of the audience, jumping and shaking their heads about; smiling wildly, obviously having the time of their lives. I took a picture of a guy and a girl dancing together, looking at one another as if they were the only two people in the world. Then I got a picture of Margaret Ottoman, looking rebellious and edgy as she leaned against the wall, arms folded, wearing a studded, leather jacket and a tight, black dress. After I showed her the photograph, she thanked me for it and told me to stop by her families’ market-stall sometime. She’d appreciate the visit.

After the song wound down, Flora dragged Marlon onstage and announced that it was time for something silly. And when the music sounded from the band’s keyboard, we quickly realised what she meant. Barbie girl, by Aqua. It was something Flora and Marlon used to do as kids, at school disco’s every year, and became popular amongst our classes. Only this time, they weren’t ten, and they couldn’t mime the lyrics. They would have to sing it themselves.

“Hey Barbie,” Marlon deepened his voice, putting on a bad, American accent.

“Hi Ken!” Flora’s was better, obviously, but really put-on.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

“Sure Ken!”

“Hop in!”

And then they began singing. The vocals weren’t bad, but the accents were too much. The rest of us started howling with laughter, and, seeing as we’d never get an opportunity like this again, we all got up and resumed our wacky dancing. I felt like a kid again! Silly, innocent, before Trevor or even Nicholas. I really did have to thank my friends for this later on-they talked me into coming here, into forgetting Nicholas for one night to just have some fun. And thanks to them, I was having so much fun. I didn’t want it to end! I just wanted to dance, and sing, and just keep taking lots of photographs. Then later on, I would write it all down, then save every single picture I took-so I wouldn’t forget.

“s**t,” Ingrid hissed under her breath, her eyes wandering elsewhere. “What the hell is he doing here?”

I already knew that Nicholas might have come-that, I wasn’t surprised about. What did surprise me, however, was the person who followed closely behind. And I used the term ‘person’ very loosely. Truthfully, he was a monster. Of course, when he walked in, he looked as handsome as ever in a black shirt, and a pair of black jeans. Making simple garments look like they were being advertised in an Armani catalogue. But his appearance didn’t fool me for a second. I knew what he was really like under that illusion-I only wished everybody else could see it too.

I looked to Ingrid; she looked pissed. Same went for Leo and Bridget. They heard that Trevor was back in town, just as I had, but to see him here, with Nicholas…he must’ve known I’d be here too. And I had just one guess as to who told him this. That’s it. He’s done some cruel things to me as we’d known each other, but this…this must’ve been the cruellest, by far. I wasn’t going to stay here-not when he was there, taking up all the space and oxygen. I had to get out, to go home, and wait it out until he was gone again. As long as he was here, he’d never let me forget that he could turn the tables on everything. And his nasty, little friends wouldn’t either.

“I’ve got to go.” I said to them, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Hazel, wait!” Bridget said, “Why should you leave, just because he’s here?”

“Because I already have to live with one monster-I can’t face them both, together.” I sounded weak-I was weak. But the fear, the pain, I couldn’t face, right here and now. In front of everybody. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Tell Flora, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

And so, I did as any coward would. I fled. I took my purse, pushed my way through the dancing crowd, and located the back entrance. I couldn’t stay there and face him-not when I vowed, never to see, speak to, or even look at him again. Right now, I was determined to go home, sleep it off, and explain to everyone the next day why I was such a pathetic weakling. If my sister asked, I’d tell her I wasn’t feeling well. Anything for people to just leave me alone for one, godforsaken night.

As soon as I was outside, I took off those stupid shoes and ran. The stones of the gravelled roads, cutting into my feet, my nerves crying for some relief. No. No relief until I was back at home. And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, I heard somebody following me. Shoes, crunching into the gravel as whoever was behind me tried to match my speed. Despite my aching feet, I began to run faster. Determined to outrun whoever it was and close the door behind them. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite fast enough. Whoever it was, caught my arm and spun me around to face them. I couldn’t see their face in darkness so I did my best to pull myself out of their grasp.

“Let go of me!” I snapped, prying their fingers from my arm.

“Kazia, stop!” Nicholas. I should’ve known.

“I said, let go of me!” I screeched, snatching my arm back. It stung, his fingernails that had dug into my forearm. But it felt much better than having him grab me. “Haven’t you had enough fun? Bringing that leech here, just to make me suffer?!”

“Kazia, I- “

“Oh, for god’s sake, would you stop calling me Kazia! Hazel. My name is Hazel. But of course, that would be too difficult for you. Calling me by my name would be too kind for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Kaz-Hazel.” He corrected himself. “I’m…”

“You’re what? Just let me go, Nicholas. For once in your life, leave me alone.” I turned away from him, walking briskly down the gravel. I wished he would just disappear. Let me suffer in my own solitude.

“Hazel, I’m sorry.”

I halted, turning around to do a double-take. What did he just say?

“I’m sorry I brought Trevor here. I just…those people told me what he said. They reckon you made a pass at him at a party once, and he turned you down. I thought you were just embarrassed about it, and he seemed as if he wanted to see you again. I just…I didn’t know your side of the story.”

“Didn’t want to hear it, you mean.”

“I…” He couldn’t finish that sentence. Because he knew that I was right.

“I knew you hated me, Nicholas.” I said, not quite as angry but still bitter. “I knew there was never a chance that we could’ve been friends. I wanted to be your friend, I really did, but you…that doesn’t matter. I accepted that you were always going to hate me. I just didn’t think you’d hate me enough to bring that monster here, without even bothering to ask me or anyone else what actually happened. I didn’t think you would put your own feelings towards me ahead of the truth. But obviously, I was wrong. And I wish I could put it down to grief; say that I’m sorry you lost your family, all at once, and was forced to move away from your home and live with a girl you loath, but after tonight…I can’t excuse this. Not this time. So, I am begging you Nicholas, please leave me alone. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t do anything. You can go on hating me if you wish, but I don’t want to know about it. Just stay away.”

I left him again, and this time he did nothing to stop me.

I got home quickly enough. Mum and dad didn’t even notice I was home, and until I got upstairs, neither did Audrey. She just thought I would’ve called or texted her for when I wanted to home. It surprised her when I didn’t say anything at all. I didn’t mean to treat her as if she were invisible, but until I had some sleep and some breakfast, I wasn’t talking to anyone about tonight.

Once the door was locked behind me, I wasted no time in taking off the dress. Folding it carefully, then placing it atop the hamper to be washed tomorrow. The nightgown felt like refreshing change, compared to the constriction of my other clothes. A night gown could caress, comfort, erase the feel of an unwanted touch. Thin or thick, modest or revealing, a night gown could say something personal about the woman wearing it. For me, it said I wanted to look like a lady, but at the same time, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I just wanted to be there, to be me, without having to worry about what other people could think out of hatred and spite.

I crawled into bed, curling up beneath the covers like a question mark. The only source of light in the room left was the moon’s glow, spilling out from the gaps between the curtains. Just once, I was glad Audrey wasn’t in here with me. I needed to be alone for tonight. To reflect on all that had happened. I started out the night, having so much fun. I ate the best French-fries in the world, drank too much coca cola than was healthy, and I danced every out-dated dance I could think of. The evening was going well-until he showed up. With that sickening grin he always wore, and the same old, snake-crested ring on his index finger. I might’ve once thought that it was crazy how a night could go from good to bad so rapidly-with my experience however, it could just as easily happen to anyone.

{}

Morning was merciful-compared to night time. My night was riddled with restless sleep and dreams I’d been keeping at bay for over two years now. Every time I woke up I saw nothing by dark, and it honestly frightened me. Which is why I thought ‘thank goodness for mornings’ as I sat up, stretching towards heaven to squeeze every last ounce of sleep right out of me. Today I would work around home; helping mum with the housework, then perhaps seeing what I could do with those stills I took of the open-mic night. I’d message Ingrid later on, explaining things to her and hope that my friends didn’t think I was a coward for leaving because of him. Then, I would brace myself for school tomorrow. Thinking of ways to avoid those girls, asking questions, and most likely, Nicholas finding new ways to get to me. All in all, it would be busy. What fun.

“Hazel?” There was a soft tap on my door. “It’s me-can I come in?”

I gave some sound of consent, allowing Audrey to open and close the door quickly. She wore a long, silvery negligee that moved as one with her impressive figure as she crept over to my bed. Sliding under the covers, she gathered me in her arms and cuddled me close against her. The silky material of her nightgown, pillowing my cheek, and the Jasmine perfume on her pulse, though faint, was still there. Still soothing.

“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” She questioned, running a hand down, over my hair, again and again. “I know it upset you-I could see it when you came through the door.”

“So, I see I’m not very good at hiding my feelings then.”

“Not with me,” She said, kissing the top of my head. “So, what happened? I thought you would’ve had a good time.”

“I was having a very good time…mostly. I…I saw Trevor there, at the café.”

“He what?!”

“He showed up, around nine. I left the moment I saw him. I was a complete coward, but I couldn’t help it. Seeing him, and Nicholas- “

“I’ll murder that little scumbag!” She snarled, her grip tightening impulsively. “I’ll make him suffer for what he pulled.”

“He…he confronted me, as I was walking home. Nicholas, I mean. He actually told me he was sorry! Sorry he brought Trevor there, sorry he chose not to even hear the whole story because it gave him another reason to make my life miserable. I can’t believe he thought I threw myself at him! That…ugh! After all that, I told him to leave me alone. To let me be, be merciful for once in his life. So, if you want to hurt him Audrey, I don’t think I could stop you. Knowing him, they’ll be saying I threw myself at Nicholas too.”

“Oh Hazel,” She sighed, squeezing me tighter. “I hate hearing you sound so defeated. And knowing it’s because of Nicholas…I wish sometimes, that you were just a little more selfish. If you’d just said no to having Nicholas come here, you wouldn’t have had to go through all of this. But you and your good heart just had to say yes. So, what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to get on with my life. Do well in school, be there for my friends, and work for that job at Green Thumb. Nicholas doesn’t get a say in what I do, and neither does Trevor. So, if they want to waste their time being spiteful about what they think and feel, then it’s their problem, not mine.”

“Well said, baby sister.” She chuckled, “Let’s get some breakfast; waffles with bananas and maple syrup.”

“That’s a great ideal, big sister. But we ran out of waffles yesterday.”

“I was talking about waffles at The Square, silly! You had to leave early last night, so it’s only fair you make up for the lost time. Besides, I can’t deny that they make excellent waffles.”

“I suppose we ought to get dressed then.” I replied, pulling away from her embrace to get out of bed. “The Square opens at nine.”

Audrey went back to her bedroom to get dressed as I began to pick out an outfit for the day. Feeling a little nostalgic this morning, I took out the daisy outfit. A black, daisy-patterned blouse, pleated, black skirt, my most comfortable pair of flats and the daisy-chain headband. Why were daisies so nostalgic to me? Easy. They’re Gretel’s favourite flowers. When we were little, people used to say she had hair of a daisies heart, and I the lips of a rosebud. Ever since, we played on the comparison of these flowers with nicknames, and sending one another themed gifts whenever we could. It was actually Gretel who gave me this outfit, when she came to Derby for my birthday last year. I wear it whenever I want to reminisce about the good times. About the few, good moments of my childhood.

After running the brush through my hair, then fixing the daisy-chain into place, I grabbed my purse from the dresser chair it was hanging from then raced downstairs to meet Audrey in the foyer. Donned in her favourite shade of emerald-green, we made a very striking pair as the two of us strolled, arm-in-arm, to the square. There was no Trevor this time; in fact, there was hardly anyone here at all when we chose our booth and made the orders. Which, I thought, made our breakfast all the more enjoyable. White-chocolate waffles, drenched in cream and maple syrup…this is what makes The Square my favourite café in the world. And Nicholas? I’d almost forgotten him.

Nicholas

I was watching her again-but I didn’t follow her this time. Just witnessed, gazed as she skipped down the staircase, apparently void of that heavy emotion that was drowning her last night. In fact, she was almost smiling. She did look very pretty in what she wore, I thought. Daisy-patterns, sprinkled over her blouse and daisies in her hair. Looking almost a little girlish, yet she couldn’t be all-girly. Hell, she was almost a woman. Almost. Part of her, maturity wise, still clung to part of her girlhood. But it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, I think it made her more appealing.

I knew I screwed up last night. Really screwed up. I brought that guy to the open-mic night, intent on teasing her about some pathetic, little crush she once had. I didn’t realise it was going to come with repercussions. Not to me, but to her. Even though I heard the stories about the silly, little girl, throwing herself at a senior, I’d also heard a few stories about the cradle-snatcher who tried to force himself on a fourteen-year-old. The weird one Kazia’s friend introduced me to believed the latter version of events, as did the girl called Margaret, the one they called the school’s greatest slut. I chose not to. I chose to believe a guy I didn’t know, just because it would hurt Kazia some way or another. Normally, I was all for finding ways to hurt and humiliate her, but this…I’d gone too far. I always had trouble admitting that I’d done something wrong, and even I could admit now that what I did wasn’t necessary. It was cruel.

It was a difficult choice I found myself facing. My pride was telling me to ignore her and continue as if the whole thing never happened, but my conscience; that annoying, little voice that somehow knew how to drown out the pride, was telling me that I needed to make amends. Apologise to Kazia-Hazel, and make things right, once and for all. The last thing I wanted to do was grovel to her, but…I think I needed to. I’d done something nasty, a thing I swore to my parents and to Alice that I’d never do again. I’d hurt somebody. Now I’d broken that promise, I felt as if I ought to make things right-not for her sake, but for theirs. They wouldn’t have wanted me to leave things so badly.

Though, I’ve been thinking about what she said-about grief. And I think she was right. I was stifling it; distracting myself from my own pain by inflicting it upon somebody else. And did it make me feel better? Not really. One way or another, I knew I’d have to stop all this. Hurting…Hazel wasn’t making me feel any better, nor was it making the grief any easier. So why go on with it? I couldn’t just become her friend, or honorary brother, but I couldn’t be her enemy either. It wouldn’t be fair on her parents. No. The best thing to do for her at the moment was just to leave her alone, like she said. Besides, she seemed a lot happier that way.