Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Alfie

M um was as good as her word.

By the time my dad came home from wherever he'd stormed off to in a rage, she'd packed her bags and left. Without her, the house felt weirdly empty. For such a small person, she'd somehow managed to make four walls feel like a home. Not to mention the fact that my dad had no idea how to look after himself. It was pretty pathetic really. He was slowly working his way through all the town's takeaway menus, exhausting the crockery in the kitchen cupboards within a few days. Watching him trying to figure out how to use the dishwasher was kind of hilarious, or it would have been if he hadn't lost his temper with it and broken the damn thing.

The worst of it was that I was just grateful it was the dishwasher that took the heat instead of me.

His stopwatch had become a violently regular part of my days since Mum had left, and my muscles were crying out for rest. I wouldn't give them any, though. I wasn't giving my dad any excuse to call me flabby and lazy or to give me that look over the top of the stopwatch.

So, just like the stopwatch, that garish no pain, no gain sign in the gym had become a regular feature of my days. Morning and afternoon, I was there, desperately pushing my body to its limits in order to try to forget… everything else.

Mum was gone, Dad was a prick, and apparently, I was just like him.

Every time I saw Summer around college, all I could hear was my mum's voice saying those words: Do better or I fear you'll wind up a very lonely person.

I'd treated Summer exactly the way my dad had always taught me girls wanted to be treated, and what had it got me? Summer wouldn't even look at me, my dad still thought I was a massive loser, and even my best mate didn't really want to be seen with me. I, Alfie Wilson, had somehow become a social pariah.

At the gym, though, it didn't matter. With my AirPods in and my workout playlist turned up so loud it would probably destroy my ear drums, it was much easier to block out the real world and everything except the feel of the blood pumping urgently through my system and the punishing way my body felt like it was constantly on the edge of collapse. Even my body hated me, and that was fine.

For a little while, I was alone to stew in my self hatred and make myself pay in the only way I knew how. And then, of course, the only person in the world who despised me more than I despised myself walked into the damn room. Naturally, she looked like every one of my dreams all rolled into one perfect package as she kept her eyes averted, refusing to even give me air time in her world now.

She set herself up at the treadmill furthest away from me, using her long, silky blonde hair as a curtain between us instead of dragging it up into her usual messy bun.

I tried, I really did. I attempted to take deep interest in the changing numbers on my treadmill display, but the numbers could just never be as interesting as she was, even when she hid her face from me.

What had I done?

The girl was a freaking goddess and I'd let her get away from me because of some stupid rule I'd learned from a dad who couldn't even keep his marriage together. All those years I'd been following the wrong role model and now, there was an ache right beneath my sternum to remind me constantly what I'd lost.

The morbid music blasting through my AirPods began to grate on every single one of my nerves so I grabbed them from my ears and stuffed them into my pocket with an irritable sigh and turned the speed up another two notches.

I couldn't fix any of the hurt I'd caused or take back the mistakes I'd made, but I could make myself hurt with every breath by pushing my body to the brink.

My feet adapted quickly to the new, more punishing rhythm, but my lungs refused to catch up. Before long, I was fighting for every breath, but I refused to alter the settings of the machine. Not until the moment my feet turned to jelly and my toes scuffed against the opposite heel, sending me clattering to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

Lying on the ground for the longest moment, I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, putting off the moment I'd have to take stock of my body and figure out which bits hurt.

"You're making a habit of falling at my feet like this. Are you okay?" a soft voice sighed from above me, its gentleness disarming enough to force my eyes open and send me spiralling into the bright blue pair staring back at me in concern.

"I, uh…" I trailed off, mentally examining my body parts one by one for damage. "Yeah. I think so."

Her inner conflict was written all over her face—that choice between maintaining the stony wall of silence between us for a bit longer or doing what she evidently thought was the right thing by helping the treadmill loser from the floor.

Her decision solidified in her gaze a moment before she dropped to her knees beside me and reached out a single hand to caress and squeeze my shoulder.

"Do you think you can get up?" she asked softly.

"Probably," I mumbled, making absolutely no effort to do so.

"Okay, well…" She waved her hands a little as though to encourage me to move.

"Not yet." Breathing deeply, I allowed my shoulders to relax into their strange position on the floor, and the rest of my body followed.

"No rush, I guess?" she said, her words and her face full of questions as she slipped from kneeling to sitting with her back against the treadmill and her knees pulled into her chest by her arms.

"Right," I agreed, just staring at her face, at the gentle curve of her cheeks, the firm, determined set of her chin, and the vortex of mysteries contained within her eyes. "While I'm lying here, already deeply mortified, I just want to say… I fucked up. Badly. I hurt you, and you deserve so much better than that. I'm sorry, Summer."

"I'm sorry, did I just hear Alfie Wilson apologise? Did you bump that head of yours?" Summer replied, as witty as ever..

Groaning, I raked my fingers through my hair, wincing as my shoulder smarted where I'd landed on it. "Pretty sure I bumped everywhere but my head. No, I mean it. I was a massive idiot and I'm sorry."

"I think I have to agree with you on that one. But, I need to move on from what happened. We both do. I'm not sure about you but, quite frankly, after having the whole school flaunt our business, I'm pretty sick of the subject. It's all good, Wilson." Summer smiled in a forgiving way and then stood and offered her hand once more. "Come on. I've got you,"

I stared at her hand for a moment, barely able to trust how easily she'd apparently forgiven me. But when I cautiously reached out and took it, her soft fingers curled around mine and she gave a tug, pulling me to my feet.

Everything hurt. I sucked in air through my teeth and attempted to shake out the pain from my fall. "Treadmill 1 - Alfie nil, I guess."

"I don't know. I think the treadmill took just as much of a beating from you on your way down. What had you running like that? I saw you from across the room and couldn't take my eyes off…" Summer stopped midway through, blushing a little, her gaze dropping to the floor.

I managed a small smile, limping over to the weights bench with her and sitting down beside her. "You were watching me?" I tried to sound arrogant but in reality I just sounded needy as hell. Dipping my head, I sniffed a laugh. "For what it's worth, I was watching you, too. Regretting. Hating myself. You know, the usual?"

Summer ran her hands from the top of her torso down to her waist, and it drove me crazy. "That's nice to know. But, you don't have to hate yourself anymore. I forgive you, so let's just move past it and be mates? After the week I've had, I could do with knowing I have an Alfie by my side."

Nodding gently, I smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. "That sounds like a deal. What's got your week upside down? Aside from those infernal badges."

"What hasn't? I decided it would be a good idea to give my dad another chance, and he stood me up. I don't know why I thought it could be different," she said, that sparkle in her eyes fading as a defeated look swept her face. "Oh, and to top it all off, I took everything out on my mum. She's been absent for years, and well, if she didn't know it before, she certainly does now. Let's just say she took the brunt of how I felt about you, my dad and those awful badges."

"Wow… it sounds like your week has been crazier than mine. Are things okay with your mum?"

"Yeah, we're all good. She actually skipped out on work for me. She's never been off this long, not even for Christmas or when she's ill. Why has your week been crazy?" The minute she was done talking about herself, her eyes looked deep into mine rather than skirting the floor and it felt as though she was looking right into my soul.

As much as I wanted to shrug it off and lie, make up some trivial drama, the idea of actually talking about what had happened was suddenly more of a desperate need and the words practically spewed from my mouth, falling over themselves in the rush.

"Turns out my dad is a massive prick and my mum has had enough. They had a massive row and she moved out and I've not heard from her since. Not to mention the fact that apparently, I'm just like him."

By the time I'd finished, I was breathing heavily but somehow, my mind felt lighter. Was it true what they said about sharing problems halving them?

"That sounds heavy. I'm sorry, Alfie. We're a right pair, aren't we?"

"Turns out we are," I replied with a low chuckle. "But misery loves company, right?"

"You've got that right. Well, I guess I'll see you next week?" she said, pushing to her feet.

"Yeah, see you, Summer. Hey, I'm glad we talked."

"Me too," she threw back with a smile that made her blue eyes sparkle before making her way back to the treadmill she'd abandoned when I'd kamikazed my way to the ground.

I watched for a moment as she regained her focus and lost herself in the rhythm of the exercise. The tightness was gone from her shoulders and I realised that it was gone from my own, too.

Christmas without my mum in the house was going to be weird. It didn't seem right watching the world turn festive without her around, humming that stupid Shakin' Stevens song all day long and baking cookies that made the house smell incredible.

Something told me that Christmas this year was going to be very different.

I'd managed to convince my dad to let me throw my usual pre-Christmas bash at the house, in spite of his misgivings, since everybody expected it of me, and keeping up appearances and pretending everything was completely normal was how he appeared to be planning to get through the separation.

It was the morning of the party, though, and it was just occurring to me that the house looked like it was inhabited by monkeys with questionable hygiene. I had six hours to make the place presentable and no idea how I was going to make it happen.

Since Summer and I had buried the hatchet and been seen around college chatting and being generally friendly towards each other, people seemed to have mostly forgiven me for what I'd done to her, thankfully including Tom. Things weren't quite how they'd been before and I still got the impression he was mad at me, but he'd turned up to help me turn the squalid state of the house around in time for the party. God bless him and all who sailed in him!

I couldn't even complain about his playlist of incessantly perky Christmas tunes, even though I'd heard Fairytale of sodding New York three times already, complete with his discordant attempts at singing along.

"So, what's on the agenda for tonight? Or should I say who?" he asked with a knowing smirk that made my stomach twist a little painfully.

People expected certain things from me at parties.

I shook my head, scrubbing at a questionable stain on the kitchen countertop that might once have been part of a takeaway curry or possibly a Chinese. "Nobody. I'm freewheeling tonight."

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead so quickly I was surprised they didn't actually take off altogether. "Nobody at all?"

"Nope," I confirmed, glowering at the stubborn food stain.

"Damn, my flabber is well and truly ghasted!"

I knew it was a joke, but it was only funny because I'd behaved a certain way, predictably, for so many years.

I hated that about myself.

My days of seeking my dad's approval were well and truly over. All I wanted now was to be as different from him as it was possible to be.

"Who tamed the beast?" he went on when I didn't reply. "Wait. Was it Summer Geary?"

I shrugged, those bright blue eyes flashing through my mind, followed closely by another set that closely matched my own.

"Actually, it was my mum," I said quietly. "The day she moved out."

His hands dropped into the soapy water of the dishes he was part way through washing and his chin dipped sadly. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"The three week old pizza box by Dad's chair didn't tip you off?"

"I just figured she was away or something. I never imagined… Damn."

"Yeah. Well, I guess she finally saw through my dad and the not-so-bad-on-the-surface life he gave her here. The trouble with stuff that's nice on the surface is that eventually the veneer gets scratched and all the secrets hidden underneath start to spill out."

"And so Casanova is experimenting with celibacy?"

"So it would seem."

The thing was… deep inside, I knew there was one girl I would have pushed my new pact aside for, but there was no way she'd ever want me that way now. Hell, she wasn't even coming to the party. No matter how hard I'd tried to convince her to come, she'd flat out refused. I couldn't really blame her after the humiliation she'd experienced the last time I'd thrown a party.

"Listen, Tom, thanks so much for your help today. There's no chance the house would've been ready without you here."

He grinned, flicking washing up suds at me. "No, it wouldn't. No offence but you and your dad are absolute gremlins. Your mum must have been a saint all these years."

"Yeah… Yeah, she was. She is."

It was a quieter party than usual, partly because it had taken so long to convince my dad to let me throw it, but also because there was a part of me that didn't want that huge old crowd there, pulling the same old crap in my parents' bed, or worse, mine.

It was cool to see Noah Larson finally getting somewhere with Lola Long after he'd been crushing on her for god knew how many years. And while it felt weird to me, not trying to bed anybody, I had to admit there was something about actually being present at the party and living in the moment with my friends that I really liked.

Especially when Evie sidled up to me just past midnight, throwing her arm over my shoulder and whispering in my ear, so softly I almost couldn't make out the words, "She still likes you, you know?"

And then she was gone, before I had the chance to ask her what she meant.

Nonetheless, her six simple words somehow left a warm glow in my chest that I didn't think had anything to do with the punch I'd been drinking all night.