Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Sabella

The summer holidays have always been my favorite time, but I'm glad when the final school year starts in January. Being occupied helps to take my mind off everything that happened around my birthday.

The rhythm is harsh and the subject material tough. Colin and I work hard, studying together every day. I push myself more than ever, because when I'm busy, I don't have to think. I don't have time to mourn the loss of something that never had a chance to start.

I haven't seen Roch since the day he dragged me out of the sea. That doesn't prevent me from being jittery when I leave the house. I'm constantly scanning the faces of the people in the street or in the mall. Both Colin and Mattie remark how nervous I seem when I'm out, but I'm attributing my behavior to the stress of the matric year.

Celeste and Ryan's baby boy is born at the end of January. We drive to Cape Town to visit them at the private clinic where Ryan has arranged to sleep until Celeste and the baby are strong enough to be discharged.

Mom, Dad, Mattie, and I stay at Ryan and Celeste's house, a big property with white-washed walls and a gable in the typical Cape Dutch style in Bloubergstrand. Jared booked into a guesthouse. Mom doesn't want him to sleep in the same house as Mattie before they're married.

The name-giving party for the baby is on the day that Ryan and his family arrive home. Mattie and I set tables on the lawn and decorate them with blue tablecloths and white overlays. Mom is overseeing the flowers and the catering. Dad is constantly on his phone, standing apart from the rest of us.

I grab a bottle of sparking water from the ice tub and carry it over to where he leans against a tree.

"I have to go," he says as I approach. "I'll call you back later."

"Here," I say. "You must be thirsty. It's hot today."

Smiling, he takes the water, but he doesn't open it. A frown pleats his brow as he looks out over the sea.

"Who were you talking to?" I ask. "I didn't mean to cut your conversation short."

"Just work. Don't worry about it."

I take his hand. "You look stressed."

"It's the upcoming financial year-end. It's always a stressful period."

"You work too hard. I'm worried about you."

He squeezes my fingers. "It'll calm down once the audit is over."

Tenderness overwhelms me when I study his face. The bags under his eyes have become permanent features. "We haven't been to the aquarium in ages." I remember how relaxed he was when he took me three years ago, how he laughed when he lifted me onto his shoulders for a better view of the shark tank. "We can go to the waterfront tomorrow. We're here anyway."

"Maybe another time." He lets my hand go. "I'm planning on heading back to George early."

"Sure," I say, not wanting to show him how much his rejection hurts.

I hoped my mistake wouldn't cause a rift between us, but my dad has been more distant since the incident with Angelo. We're not as close as we used to be, and I hate how little time he spends at home these days. I hate how it's my fault.

He must've seen the dejection on my face, because he grips my shoulder and says, "You know what? There's a documentary about the lifespan of an octopus on the Discovery channel, tonight. Feel like watching it? We can make popcorn." He grimaces. "If we can find such a thing in this house. There only seems to be seaweed and tofu."

I smile, but his attempt at humor doesn't touch my heart. "Okay."

He's only suggesting watching the program because he feels bad about shooting down my idea of visiting the aquarium. It's not a spontaneous invitation because he wants to spend time with me, not that I deserve his time. I can't expect him to feel the same about me when I betrayed him.

"Sabella," my mom calls, making her way over to us. "Celeste's parents just arrived. Why don't you help them to bring some of the…"—she makes a face—"…origami flower decorations from their car?" She acknowledges my dad with a strained smile. "I was wondering what happened to you. Mattie and Jared want to tell the caterers where to set up the wine spritzers." She adds before walking off, "If it's not too much trouble, you can give them some input."

Celeste's mom is a yogi, and her dad is a non-denominational minister, but he prefers to be called a spiritual worker. Her dad carries out the naming ceremony, which involves burning incense while asking the universe to bless the youngest addition to the family. When it's time for the big revelation, Celeste and Ryan share their baby's name. They decided to call him Bradfield Edwards.

Bradfield is Celeste's maiden name. Mom hates the name instantly. Dad, as usual, is impartial.

"You'd think they'd call him Benjamin Junior," Mom says through tight lips when Celeste and her parents are out of earshot.

"You didn't call Ryan Benjamin Junior," I point out.

My mom shoves her empty teacup in my hand and says with a saccharine smile, "Be a darling and put that on the table."

I don't care what the baby's name is. With his blond curls, he's the cutest thing ever. He looks just like Ryan. I cuddle him against my chest until Celeste pulls him away, saying he's too young to be handled that much.

After the excitement of the birth is over, I fall into a kind of a depression. I never read the texts or listen to the voice messages that Angelo sends like clockwork every day. I always delete them immediately, but I don't dare to get rid of the phone. Getting those messages every morning and every night, even if I don't open them, makes it impossible to forget about him. It makes me spiral into a place of desperation and heartache from which I find it difficult to return.

During that darker period in February, I stop deleting his messages. I tell myself I won't read them, that I just don't care enough anymore, but, like a lot of other things I tell myself about Angelo, it's a lie.

One evening in my bed, when I'm at my lowest, I click on his message.

Angelo: Sleep well, cara. I'll see you in my dreams.

An arrow shoots straight into my heart. Tears build behind my eyes. He has no right to say things like that. He has no right to make me keep this phone and force me to think about him day and night. I'll never heal like this, and I have a sneaking suspicion that's his intention. He deceived me, but he won't grant me the mercy of setting me free.

Angelo: You're awake.

The double checkmarks on his phone would've told him I read his message. I wipe angrily at the tears on my face.

Angelo: I miss talking to you.

Why am I even crying? I hate him.

Angelo: I miss you.

Angelo: Do you need something, bella? You only have to ask.

I blink more tears away.

Angelo: How's school? Tell me about?—

Dropping the phone on the bed, I bury my face in my hands. I can't do this. I can't pine for a man who doesn't deserve me, a man who's a deceitful blackmailer. So I go back to deleting the messages and putting on a bright smile for my family and teachers until March arrives and the preparations for my university enrollment distract me.

In April, Colin and I submit our applications for the University of Cape Town. A lot depends on the marks we'll get in our final exams in October. The fight is far from over. My Dad drives us to the university and takes us on a tour of the buildings. It's a magical day in which I have him all to myself—well, if you don't count Colin—but Colin is kind and wise enough to give my Dad and me some space.

My spirits lift a little in May. I haven't seen Roch in four months. There's a good chance he's no longer around and that I'm stressing about nothing. The more I think about it, the more I believe I'm right. My actions become carefree again, and I feel more like my old self. When a girl in my class invites me to her birthday party, I accept. It's time to live again and to have some fun.

May is a pretty girl with a great sense of humor. I don't tell my parents that hers are out of town on the weekend of her party. If Mom and Dad know the truth, they won't let me go. May invited the whole of our class as well as Colin's. The fact that Colin is going sways my parents to let me stay until midnight.

I pull on fishnet stockings and a black denim skirt with my Caterpillar boots, rounding off the outfit with one of Colin's shirts knotted in the front. I do my make-up dark and tie my hair into two high ponytails.

I'm painting my nails black when Mattie enters my room.

She stops behind me and studies my reflection in the mirror of my dressing table. "I don't know what look you're trying to pull off, but you're not quite cutting it."

I shrug. "It's my look."

She sighs. "That's why I'm not letting you wear whatever you want to my wedding. Thank goodness the bridesmaid dresses are designed in Cape Town." Reaching over me, she takes the bottle of nail polish. "You're smudging it. Let me."

I prop my left hand under my chin and give her my right hand, spreading my fingers. I'm wearing a ring on every finger like I often do when I dress to go out, but her gaze homes in on the ring on my thumb.

"I never noticed this ring," she says, frowning. "It looks like a signet ring."

I swallow. "It's just something I found at the antique flea market."

She grips the brush, dips it in the polish, and drags a neat line over my nail. "Has someone told you that you have weird taste?"

"You. All the time."

She sighs again as if there's no hope for me. "At least one of us was born with a good dress sense."

When my nails are dry, I grab my phone and a leather jacket, say goodbye to my parents, and meet Colin outside. Mattie is driving us. I can't wait to get my permanent license when I turn eighteen.

May's house is in a suburb of George. The beautifully renovated old stone building stands on the slope of a hill. The Porsches and vintage convertibles parked outside in the street give an indication of the status of the kids she invited. We all come from money. The private school we attend has an elitist reputation. Admission isn't easy, and not everyone can afford the extortionate fees.

"Looks like there are a lot of older kids here," Mattie says with a pleated brow as we pass the line of cars parked on the curb.

"Don't worry." Colin leans from the back and pats her shoulder. "I'll take care of Bella."

A car comes up too fast behind us, the headlights bouncing off the rearview mirror.

"Mm." Mattie squints and adjusts the mirror. "Maybe I should go inside with you."

"Maybe not," I say, rolling my eyes.

The car on our tail skips lanes. A midnight-blue Alpha Spider cruises past. The guy in the driver's seat has dark hair and a square jaw. He reminds me a little of Angelo. My heart squeezes. The guy grins and overtakes us to park farther up the road.

"Asshole," Mattie mumbles.

I jump out before she's brought the car to a complete stop, worried she'll make good on her promise and escort us into the house. "Thanks, Mattie."

Colin parrots me, thanking her for the ride as he gets out of the back.

"I'll be here at midnight," she says through the open window on the passenger side. "Wait for me inside."

I wave, already running through the open gates.

"Let me know if you want me to fetch you earlier," she calls. "Or if there's a problem."

Before she can say more, I take the porch steps two by two and walk through the door. The music is pumping. A few people stand in the hallway, chatting and clutching paper cups. I make my way to the lounge, which is packed. Disco lights cut over the dancers who are gyrating to the beat of crunk rap.

"Wow," Colin says in my ear, his volume hurting my eardrum.

I spot May in the center of the floor and wave. When she sees me, she utters a shriek so sharp it's audible above the music and fights her way through the crowd toward us.

"Bella," she shouts when she reaches me, throwing her arms around my neck. "I'm so glad you could make it." She releases me and bats her eyelashes at Colin. "You look handsome. As always." Hooking one arm through mine and the other through Colin's, she drags us to the pool deck where a bowl of punch and paper cups are set out. "Let's get you a drink."

When we each have a cup in our hands, she introduces us to the people hanging out by the pool. The setup is pretty with tea candles floating on the water and colorful lights running along the edge of the awning. Chinese torches are planted in the lawn, their flames throwing a golden light over the garden. Thanks to an unexpected Indian summer, the evening isn't cold, but it's fresh enough for no one to be swimming.

I don't remember half of the names of the people after we've done the whole round. Some, I recognize from school. Many of them finished the year before and are first-years at uni. May has always been social and popular.

"Let's go dance," she says, pulling Colin and me into the lounge.

Dancing isn't one of my strengths, but Colin is great at it. One of Colin's classmates plays DJ. She goes up to him and says something in his ear. A moment later, the hip-hop beat changes to rock and roll. The crowd boos, but May only laughs, curling a finger at Colin and giving him a come-hither look.

The dancers clear a circle as Colin takes her hand and leads her into a spin. I forgot they both took dance classes in tenth grade. They're well-coordinated. They quickly attract a large group of spectators who whistle and cheer them on.

I watch for a bit until my cup is empty. Not enjoying the jostling on the dance floor, I go outside for a refill, and when I return, May and Colin are gone. The music is back to hip-hop, and people are grinding against each other on the floor.

My drink spills on my boots as I wrestle my way through the wiggling bodies. By the time I reach the hallway, the cup is already half-empty again. I don't mind. The punch is a disgusting mixture of something fizzy that tastes like orange, artificial sugar, and turpentine. Judging by the empty bottles lined up on the table, the turpentine is cheap tequila.

I empty the rest of the drink in a flowerpot, mumbling an apology to the plastic tree, and try to locate a trashcan. I follow a line of people to what I assume to be the bathroom, cut left to what must be the kitchen, and stop dead in the doorframe.

Only the spotlights under the high shelves are on. Thick white candles burn on the countertops. The corners of the room are dark, but you can't miss the couple entangled in each other in front of the open fridge. The light spilling from the refrigerator is like a spotlight on Colin and May. They're so busy snogging that they don't notice me. Or anything else for that matter.

Grinning, I leave them to it and go to the pool deck where the music isn't so loud. I find an unoccupied deck chair and stretch out on it. I'm supposed to have fun, but to be honest, I'm bored.

A guy steps out from the lounge. My attention is drawn to him because he's so much taller than the other kids who are emptying the punch bowl. He's wearing jeans, a striped shirt, and a denim jacket. When he turns his head and fixes his gaze on me, I recognize him from outside. He's the driver of the Alpha Spider.

His lips tilt as he scrunches up the cup in his hand and aims for the trashcan against the wall, throwing a perfect hit without taking his eyes off me.

I only return his stare because he looks so much like Angelo. No. No one can look like Angelo. He just reminds me a lot of Angelo. It's the hard cut of his jaw and the way his dark curls fall messily over his forehead, but that's where the resemblance ends.

He aims straight for my chair and stops in front of me. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

He smiles. "Having fun?"

I pull up my knees. I'm not worried he'll catch an eyeful of my underwear because I always wear shorts under my miniskirts.

"Are you?" I deadpan.

"Not yet." He spreads his legs and straddles the edge of my chair. "I have a feeling I'm about to."

Reflexively, I scoot back. "If you don't mind, you can get your own chair."

His grin is boyish. "What if I mind?"

"This is a terrible pick-up act." I make a face. "The worst I've seen."

"That's because you've never been picked up properly."

"Yeah?" His choice of words makes me laugh. "Exactly how is a person picked up properly?"

He edges closer. "For starters, you don't ask for her name."

I raise a brow. "No?"

"That's too boring, don't you think?"

"What do you ask for then?"

His attention fixes on my mouth. "A kiss."

I laugh again. "Just like that. And why would any girl give you a kiss if you're not interested in who she is?"

"I never said I'm not interested." His eyelashes dip, and when they lift again, he's looking into my eyes. "A name doesn't define a person. A kiss, however, says everything there's to know."

He's such a bullshitter, but at least he's entertaining. "Are you asking me for a kiss?"

"What if I am?"

I'm not remotely interested in him. He's attractive, but he seems shallow. Immature. Not sure of himself and a little dangerous like?—

Shit.

Am I comparing him to Angelo now?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I glance toward the kitchen where Colin and May are probably still licking each other's tonsils. I've only had one kiss, and it was nothing but a peck on the lips. It was a kiss I saved for someone special, and I gave it to the wrong man. I'm seventeen. Most of my friends have already done a lot more than kissing. I'm lacking experience. I'm lacking fun. Hell, I'm lacking a life.

Facing him squarely, I say, "What if I say yes?"

His eyes narrow with satisfaction and a little surprise, maybe. Leaning forward, he grips the armrests and puts himself in my space. "You know what'll be even better?" He shifts his hands to my knees, tightening his fingers on my flesh as he drags me toward him. "Sitting on my lap while I kiss you."

Ew. My ass is not a wank cushion. I want to tell him to get off on the pillar if he's so desperate, but before I can utter a word, the guy is yanked off the chair and flung through the air. My jaw drops as he hits the pool on his back, causing a tsunami that washes out the candles.

The deck has gone quiet. It takes me a moment to process what's happening. I look up into Roch's face where he stands next to my chair, his fingers flexing at his sides.

The guy in the pool splutters and rows with his arms to keep himself afloat.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask Roch, shock and anger running through me. Shock, mostly. Because fuck. He's here.

Instead of replying, he grips my arm and drags me to my feet. People gape at us as he pulls me over the deck and through the garden to the front of the house.

"Let go," I say, straining in his hold.

His tone is hard. "Quiet."

He's here.

Even if Angelo isn't, his overbearing presence is everywhere, ruling my life with text messages and a muscle monkey set on ruining what's left of my freedom and my sanity.

I sag in Roch's hold as a terrible insight hits me.

There's no escape for me. Ever.