MC - CHP 17 pt 1

Chapter Seventeen – Nuit Blanche




I tried not to mess with my hair, but I just knew it was sneaking out of place.
Despite my persistence, the back of my head would undoubtedly look how always does: like I’d spent about half an hour rubbing it with a balloon.
The hall was set up with tables and chairs, but mostly everyone was standing, conversing and nursing plastic cups of soft drink. I noted a podium and a projection screen; doubtless there would be speeches at some point, and probably a photo montage or commemorative video (the kind that was made by the most outgoing and extracurricular students, and whatever footage they’d pieced together was guaranteed to feature only themselves).
Behind me, I heard Xeeva mention Farrere.
‘What?’ I turned to her.
‘I was just saying I bet Farrere would think this was the tackiest thing since...’ she grinned, searching for an example.
‘Black layered under lighter neutrals or colours?’ Iggy suggested.
‘Huh?’ Xeeva said, and Iggy shrugged.
‘What do you reckon they have at private school formals in Nielle? Champagne? Diamonds? Politicians as guest speakers?’ he said.
‘Certainly not balloons and streamers,’ Xeeva cast her eyes around the walls, before directing them upwards. ‘Or mirror balls.’
I stared at them. Surely they weren’t being serious? I opened my mouth to tell them they’d clearly spent too long in the city when a shrill, excitable voice called my name. I heard: ‘... not the only the gay in the village,’ before someone bumped against my side and threaded his arm around mine. ‘Oh my God, your hair!’
I’d barely registered his face before his hand was over my eyes, his fingers brushing along my fringe. My shock was the only thing that stopped me recoiling.
Teddy Driscoll never spoke to me, unless he felt the need to exchange words with a “fellow queer”, as he so put it. He was shallow, mean-spirited, and, as far as I could smell, currently drunk. No doubt he and his contemporaries must’ve had a fair old go of it at some pre-formal cocktail party.
‘That does look really nice, Harry,’ Lea Fournier was in our midst as well, rarely far from Teddy, who was one of her favourite confidantes. As head girl and chief organiser of the formal perhaps she was doing the rounds, thinking herself the host. ‘You should wear your fringe like that more often, you look so much older.’
I did my best to smile at both of them, wondering whether they were genuinely oblivious to people’s feelings, or if it was an act. I didn’t know which was worse.
‘I really like your scarf,’ Teddy released me, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I saw his expression become ominously blank when his eyes fell on Iggy. Lea was staring at him, too. There was a nasty silence.
‘Iggy, I’m just gonna say it,’ Teddy extended an apologetic hand. ‘Boy, you clean up good!’
Lea giggled. ‘I’ll say.’
They weren’t being sarcastic, but Xeeva was glaring daggers at them like they were.
‘Take the compliment,’ Teddy advised, reaching forward and tugging coyly on the lapel of Iggy’s coat.
‘Uh,’ Iggy opened his mouth, bewildered, but Lea looped an arm around Teddy’s waist, and together they flounced away tittering.
I felt someone else move flush against my side, but her voice was familiar and welcome. ‘Awful bitches,’ Janey muttered to me as Teddy and Lea retreated.
‘Hey,’ I turned to her.
‘Hello,’ she kissed my cheek, smiling bracingly at Iggy and Xeeva. ‘Um, this is Ryan,’ she stretched out a hand, and a tall, slight boy accepted it.
‘Hey,’ he smiled round at us. ‘I’m, uh, at St Ormond’s.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Iggy’s hands were wedged firmly in the pockets of his coat, but there was a determined brightness in his eyes. ‘So how many kids from St Ormond’s does it take to screw in a light bulb? I don’t think I’ve ever heard your one.’
Ryan grinned, appreciative. ‘Only takes one, mate. He holds the bulb and the world revolves around him.’
We laughed.
‘What’s Ascott’s one?’ Xeeva asked Iggy.
‘We don’t have anyone to change our light bulb, we’re too busy smoking at our tram stop,’ he told her.
‘Nah, that’s not it,’ Ryan put forward. ‘We say it takes two of you, a teacher and a student, but not before they’ve made out.’
‘That never happened,’ Janey rolled her eyes.
‘But it must’ve,’ Xeeva said. ‘Why else do you think all the phys-ed teachers they hire now are old and unattractive?’
‘I dunno, I think Mr Martell’s pretty fit,’ Janey shrugged.
‘Is he actually? Should I be worried?’ Ryan asked us.
‘He’s about forty,’ Xeeva said considerately.
‘His hairline is fast retreating,’ Iggy added.
‘His voice is like chocolate,’ I said sagely.
‘Thank you,’ Janey said pertly. ‘Oh, sorry – Ryan, this is Harry, Xeeva and Iggy,’ she pointed to each of us in turn.
‘I... may forget. Not good with names,’ Ryan admitted. Janey gave him a reassuring smile before looking around the room.
‘Well. I guess Lea did an alright job. Hey, there’s Denis and Mel,’ she started forward. ‘You guys wanna sit down?’
We nodded, smiled, and followed. The room seemed to have become twice as full in the last ten minutes. Our modest hall with its bare-brick walls and worn timber floor could comfortably fit our grade, but our grade plus their dates had it at capacity. Weaving through colourful dresses and plain suits, we headed for the tables. Denis and Mel, and their respective dates, Ash and Peter, awaited us, not-so-discreetly switching the placeholders on the tables so we could all sit together.
‘Check out this anarchy,’ Mel collected up all the placeholders on a neighbouring table and tried to feed them into a pink jar housing a tea candle. ‘Shit,’ she added when the cardboard proved too dense for the tiny flame. ‘Why would they bother having assigned seating? No one’s gonna heed it.’
I pulled out a chair, and beside me Xeeva and Iggy did the same. I watched them in my periphery; Xeeva murmured something to Iggy, smiling, and he smiled back. He looked dazed, almost serene, but his ears kept moving with tiny flicks, forward and back, listening intently.
Janey and Mel stole more tea candles to dip their fingers in the wax, while Denis returned successful from a journey to the buffet table with a plate of canapés. Mel leaned across the table every time the topic of conversation turned, determinedly seeking Iggy and Xeeva’s opinions. Slowly, Iggy’s ears stopped flicking, and he sat forward, his hands venturing onto the table, shielded but not hidden by a tea candle jar. Xeeva shrugged off her coat and scarf, at ease with making small talk, subtly giving every second smoked salmon cracker she chose from the plate to Iggy so he wouldn’t have to reach.
I tried not to feel struck by Xeeva’s salmon cracker gesture, or by Ash painting a lopsided smiley face on Denis’ hand with candle wax. Never mind the couples dancing at the other of end of the room.
I felt myself slipping away from the conversation, my mind no longer turning fast enough to keep up. I was properly hungry now, I realised, but a glance at the buffet table revealed it was still spread with canapés. Surely they were going to bring more substantial food out at some point? Perhaps not. I fiddled with a toothpick absently, peeling it apart in splinters.
‘Harry, where’s all your wrist regalia?’ Mel asked, pointing.
‘Hm?’ I glanced down. ‘Oh. I guess I must’ve decided rubber wasn’t formal enough,’ I said with a smile.
Mel scoffed, sitting back in her chair and lifting her heel up onto the edge of the table. She was clad in red leather high-heeled boots adorned in decorative buckles.
I fawned over her boots with due promptness, wishing inwardly I had the gall to make such a statement. What would I wear if I found the gall, though? Heels? They looked mightily uncomfortable, and that didn’t sound much like me – whoever “me” might be. My collection of colourful rubber and thread bracelets were “me” by extension of habit, so why hadn’t I worn them? Maybe I was growing up.
My phone buzzed in my jeans’ pocket.
I wasn’t even wearing any of my coloured jeans, I noted as I dug into my pocket. Formal was my final chance to wear something colourful at school in place of my drab uniform – why had I picked grey jeans? Evidently, Iggy and Xeeva weren’t the only ones who’d spent too long in the city.
I opened my phone expecting an automated message telling me how much credit I had, but the message was from Cam.

Harry this is crazy stupid, but I’m in the kitchen and Farrere’s in the lounge and he doesn’t know I’m standing here and I think he’s crying and I have no idea what to do at all

For a few seconds, the hall was silent. When the sound faded back in it was muffled and blurred.
‘Sorry,’ I said to no one in particular, standing and backing away from the table. Some part of me had decided to call Cam, but I couldn’t do that in the hall, it was too noisy. I’d nearly reached the doors when my phone buzzed again.

Wooooahhhh false alarm sorry he’s not crying!!!

Strangely, I felt no rush of relief. I stood still, waiting without realising. Sure enough, Cam soon expounded.

He’s fine, he said he had a bad dream (he fell asleep on the couch) and he's just tired (his face was in his hands so I really couldn’t tell). All is ok. I'm so sorry for worrying you!!! How’s it going??

I didn’t know what to do. I needed to reply to Cam and answer her question. I needed to return to the table. No, no, what I needed to do was call Farrere and make sure he was ok, because I knew he wasn’t, tears or no.
He’d asked me what was wrong, that afternoon in the café. So it was alright for me to ask, surely. Perhaps not right now, by way of desperate phone call.
But I didn’t want to ask, because I knew the answer, and I knew he didn’t want to tell me.
You’re projecting, I reminded myself, forcing my thumbs down on the unwilling touchpad of my old phone, tapping out a response to Cam. I told her I hoped Farrere was ok (sad face), and that the evening thus far had been fine.
I returned to the table.
Iggy and Xeeva had vanished; gone to get drinks, I was told. When I checked the drinks table over my shoulder they were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they’d gone outside to the bathrooms.
‘You ok?’ Janey asked, and I found her watching me closely.
I nodded, smiling and sitting forward.
‘Just tired,’ I said.




Iggy hiked his shoulders higher against the wall, but dropped them when he remembered doing so made him look like a delinquent.
Perhaps his coat cancelled out his usual appearance of delinquency, though. It was such a svelte, tight fit that it was making him too hot, but he considered that a necessary evil for the confidence it bought him.
He heard giggling a long way off, and flicked his ear to place the sound. There were a group of girls huddled in the garden outside the foyer, smoking and talking. They hadn’t noticed him yet, and he was hoping Xeeva would emerge from the bathroom before they did.
He dipped his head and drew a breath. This was going ok. He had forgotten to take into account that some of Harry’s friends would bring dates from other schools; a small group of new people with whom he could make first impressions. They could assume what they would about him because of his ears and hands – but they needn’t know anything about the years he’d spent at school as an outcast. As far as they were concerned, he was just a moderately well-dressed Cynimpial with an intelligent and attractive girlfriend, and that suited him just fine.
Across from him the bathroom door opened, and Xeeva ventured out accompanied by a girl Iggy was quite sure was named Jessica. Whoever she was, she smiled nervously at Iggy before hurrying back into the hall.
‘Sorry,’ Xeeva gave him a gentle dig with her elbow. ‘I got chatting with Jess. I know her because we’re always trying to hire out the same law texts from the library.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Iggy said, smiling. ‘I know girls don’t chat in bathrooms. You conduct secret meetings to topple the State, and end resource shortages, and... and the rising price of avocadoes.’
‘All of which requires chatting,’ Xeeva linked her arm in his.
They’d only taken a few steps towards the hall when he heard the door to the foyer squeak open, and the girls in the garden trouped back inside. He turned an ear to them without realising.
‘Anyone else need to go to the bathroom?’
‘Yeah, me – woah, holy shit,’ the voice fell to a whisper. ‘Who’s the girl with Iggy Mottley?’
‘Dude, that’s Xeeva. How many people do you know with hair like that?’
‘But... that’s like bringing your sister.’
The doors to the hall were looming closer, but Iggy barely saw them, both his ears now trained on the faint voices behind him.
‘Tilly, they’re not related.’
‘I know, I said it’s like bringing your sister. Would you date your step-brother?’
‘Fuck no.’
‘Are they actually dating?’
‘I dunno, they sure look like they are.’
‘Man, she better keep her legs crossed.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’ll fuck her up, that’s why. Read a book, Hayley, Cyns don’t have any self-control. Have you seen his teeth?’
‘No, he never smiles.’
They dissolved into giggles.
‘Iggy.’ Xeeva gave his arm a tug.
‘Do you think it’d be like fucking a vampire?’
‘What’s wrong?’ Xeeva was frowning at him.
‘You are a sad, sad girl. And no, it wouldn’t. It’d probably be like fucking a rabid dog.’
‘Um,’ Iggy forced his ears forward, his breath shallow. He looked past Xeeva into the yellow light of the hall, now catching snippets of conversation from within. He could still hear laughter behind him. ‘Do you wanna go outside?’
‘Outisde?’ Xeeva balked.
‘Like, just to the hallway across from the lockers. It’ll be out of the wind.’
‘Why?’
‘I dunno. Just for ten minutes or so.’
Iggy watched her compute his request; he saw the prospect of ten minutes alone appeal to her, but then she checked his face again to find no trace of desire, and resumed frowning.
‘Ok,’ she shrugged.
He unlinked his arm from hers and set a brisk pace towards the door at the opposite end of the foyer. He feared Xeeva might protest, but she kept up without remark, her heels scraping over the worn, wiry carpet. He let the sound fill his head, trying not to hear anything else until they were outside in the icy wind. He heard and felt Xeeva shudder, but he breathed a shallow sigh of relief.
On the wind was the promise of snow, a fresh, piercing scent, accompanied by exhaust, greenery, distant food, rotting wood, and earth. A small owl was huddled on a gutter high above them, its claws clinking on the metal as it shifted along, scanning the grass below. Iggy watched its dark eyes until Xeeva punched his arm.
‘What’s up?’ she said. ‘Things were going fine. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I just didn’t...’ as per usual, when he hoped a lie would come to him, none did.
Xeeva pursed her lips, unimpressed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and adjusting her coat.
‘Are we going to the corridor out of the wind or not?’
‘Yeah,’ he began to move, but she caught him this time, threading her arm around his back. They mounted concrete steps, and moved past dark doors to darker classrooms.
‘Do you think it’s weird we’re dating?’ Iggy murmured, knowing he wouldn’t succeed in making the question sound casual, so he opted for “only vaguely concerned” instead.
‘In what regard?’
‘Because we grew up together.’
‘Oh. Yeah, maybe. I used to wonder about that, but then I just stopped caring. And I didn’t really care in the first place. Mostly it just seems like... natural progression.’
They turned a corner and headed for a wooden bench that had spent so long in the corridor its rivets were little more than sunken chunks of rust.
‘Natural progression?’ Iggy echoed dubiously.
‘Yeah. Like that movie.’ They sat, and she huddled against him. ‘The one where that boy and girl get stuck on a desert island. And they grow up, and just... inevitably... bang, basically. And I think they’re cousins.’
‘Xee,’ Iggy breathed.
‘We’re not cousins,’ she grumbled.
‘Yeah, but we weren’t stuck on a desert island, either.’
‘No, my point just is it’s not rocket science. We’ve always been weird with each other,’ her voice faded on her second remark.
Iggy watched the top of her head tucked against his shoulder, focusing on the faint light catching on her hair and eyelashes.
‘Oh, right, now you admit it,’ he extracted his hand from his pocket and put it around her shoulders.
‘Well, we have,’ she said petulantly. ‘I wish we were on a desert island, it’s fucking freezing.’
‘You’re not by any chance related to Farrere, are you?’
She lifted her head and glared at him. He smiled guiltily.
‘You can have my coat.’
‘No, it’s ok,’ she tucked her chin onto his shoulder, still looking at him, her eyes softening.
‘Nah, come on,’ he dropped his gaze, shifting so she’d move away. ‘Let’s pretend I’m a gentleman,’ he tugged the back of his coat out from under him and stiffly shrugged it off.
‘You are a gentleman,’ Xeeva said, her tone strange, soft and weary. She accepted the coat when he handed it to her, pulling it around her shoulders like a shawl.
‘Aren’t you cold now?’ she asked dimly.
He was, but before he could even attempt to summon a lie, she stood and stepped before him. Carefully, she straddled his lap, letting her feet slip out of her heels in the process. She grabbed his hands and tugged them under her coat and around her back, and then she tucked her face into his neck.
‘Security blanket,’ she announced.
He had no return quip. Her hair was under his nose, and her scent was as comforting as her warmth.
He ran the tip of his tongue under one of his canines, trying to be conscious of whether it was sharp, but it felt just like it always had. Fretfully, he recalled the times he’d bitten her – but he was always gentle, and he only ever used his incisors. And she’d bite back twice as hard. Sometimes she left marks, but he never left any, so maybe he was being stupid for worrying.
He felt stupid.  He wasn’t sure if that was because he currently wanted nothing more than to kiss her, and that always clouded his head – or was it because he was being irresponsible for allowing his instincts to rule him? He’d never read anything about Cyns and sex, excepting what happened when alcohol was added to the equation.  But he didn’t drink, and he never would.
It seemed poetic, really, that right when he’d started to consider intimacy without fear, he’d been given another reason to second guess himself. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.
But Xeeva was telling him she wanted to kiss, by way of her fingertips kneading his chest, and although it shamed him how quickly his misgivings dispersed, he moved his hand from her hip to her throat. She emerged from his neck smiling, and leaned in – but she halted, scoffing, digging furiously in the pocket of her coat layered beneath his.
Her hand surfaced clutching a tissue, which she pressed hard to her lips and then inspected.
‘I think my lipstick’s set,’ she shoved the tissue thoughtlessly into his coat pocket, wiggled closer to him, and pecked his lips. She chuckled under her breath at his expression, fondly tucking his fringe off his forehead. ‘You always look so worried,’ she whispered. She flattened her lips between her teeth to moisten them, and kissed him again, slowly. ‘Stop worrying.’
He grabbed his coat to pull her snug against him, meeting her smile with a determined one of his own.
When he tasted sarsaparilla on her tongue he had a second to regret not noticing there was root beer on the drinks table before thought left him entirely.
He returned his hands to her hips, unconsciously squeezing, and she shuffled closer, hitching up her skirt. She reached for his right hand, pulling it towards her ribs, until he slipped his hand from hers and laid it over her breast. He inched his fingertips over the fabric and onto her skin, curling them carefully beneath the lip of her bodice and sneaking them downward.
She sighed into his ear, tugging her bodice away from her chest and curving her spine so the goal of his quest connected suddenly with his knuckles and hardened to his touch.
‘They were sore after last time,’ she chuckled, and Iggy’s fingers stopped circling. ‘It felt nice,’ she nibbled his ear, finding and pinching his nipple through his shirt. ‘I bet yours were sore, too.’
They had been, he remembered, and it had kept him up at night.
‘I’m sorry you saw my new bras,’ Xeeva whispered.
‘Mm?’
‘My new bras,’ she began to kiss his neck with the rhythm she hoped his fingers emulate within her dress. ‘On my chest-of-drawers. I wanted to... wear one tonight, so...’ she paused when he cottoned on, pinching her far too gently. ‘So I tried taking their straps off, but they just looked stupid, so I’m just... wearing my boring tan strapless one.’
‘I told you,’ Iggy murmured. ‘I don’t care what bra you’re wearing.’
Xeeva sighed, her shoulders slumping, jolting her breast away from his fingers. ‘I hope you decide to care later, that was the last of my babysitting money.’
Iggy fell still, withdrawing his hand and moving back from her.
‘What’ve you spent the rest of it on?’ he asked. ‘You... you had quite a bit, didn’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘I dunno. School books. Presents for people. Clothes. Stationary. Chocolate. Too many anklets.’
Knowing the answer, Iggy enquired warily none-the-less: ‘What’re you gonna do if you need more?’
‘Ask Farrere,’ Xeeva replied, steadfast and unapologetic. ‘Don’t look at me like that, it’s only for a year, and when I’m finished school I’ll get a job. I’d promise to pay him back, but that’d be pointless.’
Iggy considered this heavily, worried that for the most part he wished his hand was still down her dress.
‘I study too much to have a job,’ she said, indignant. ‘I never had as much saved as you.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He watched her a moment. ‘You could always ask me, y’know, if you need to.’
‘Iggy,’ she pursed her lips, wordlessly calling him ridiculous for suggesting it.
‘Not if you’re just gonna buy bras, though,’ he added, chancing a smile.
‘I don’t get you,’ she huffed, playful. ‘Boys are supposed to like lingerie on girls.’
‘We... probably just say that because girls in lingerie is so often a precursor to girls in nothing,’ he said smugly, proud of his wit.
Xeeva’s ears wavered, her smile shrinking to one that was small and warm. ‘You haven’t seen me in nothing,’ she said, shy but assured.
He wanted to.
‘Effectively,’ he began lightly, but she cut him off.
‘It doesn’t count if you’ve seen me in parts,’ she pertly adjusted her bodice. ‘I haven’t see you in nothing, either,’ she granted, her voice low. ‘And I’ve seen, um...’ she dropped a hand to his hip, brushing her thumb quickly over his fly. ‘Yep, only seen that four times. Four times in three months,’ her voice all but vanished into an embarrassed, earnest whisper. ‘I’ve never seen you come, and you’ve seen me... lots of times,’ she gave a weak laugh. ‘It’s the complete opposite of normal situations.’
‘I bet it’s not,’ he appealed feebly. ‘It... it makes a mess, so...’ and that was the extent of his excuse.
‘So tissues,’ Xeeva said frankly, but she was still flushed. She nervously hummed her next words: ‘How... do you do it... by yourself?’
Iggy stared at her in silence, marvelling that the question didn’t shock him. Perhaps he’d made some concrete progress.
He relented. ‘I do it in the shower.’
‘I shower in that shower,’ Xeeva said, pretending to be affronted. And then she wrinkled her nose. ‘Harry showers in that shower.’
Iggy groaned, leaning forward and hiding his face in her thickly-padded shoulder. She hugged him, moving a protective hand to the back of his neck and petting him.
‘Maybe we could shower together,’ she suggested.
Iggy didn’t answer, too busy thinking about kissing her in the shower and trying to head off his body’s natural reaction to such thoughts.
And then he remembered why she couldn’t see him naked.
Xeeva felt a slump go through him, and bit back a sigh.
‘Unless you’re saving us being completely naked for sex... because that’s my last theory.’ She tried not to sound bitter, because it didn’t stem from frustration anymore, only worry.
After a moment she became sure he wasn’t going to reply, and she would be stuck with him in one of his impenetrable funks for the remainder of the evening.
‘I dunno what I’m doing,’ he murmured.
There, he’d finally managed a lie. Granted, it was cloaked by truth. He had no tangible idea why he hadn’t just told her about his scars, but that was exactly the problem. He couldn’t ignore his misgivings, he knew she wouldn’t take it well, but the longer he left it the worse it would be.
And below all that, cowering beneath circling guilt and shame, he wasn’t sure he could talk about it.
‘Yes, you do,’ she found a tiny velvet freckle on his neck with her fingertip. ‘We’ll just figure it out,’ she said. ‘Like the kids on the desert island.’
He surfaced, smirking at her.
‘I am actually fucking cold now,’ she said bluntly.
He kissed her, he didn’t want to go back inside. She settled, content to trial kissing as a method of keeping warm.
‘Mm, I remember what I was trying to tell you before, about my bras,’ she mumbled, her mouth open on his. ‘I bought matching underwear,’ she widened her legs over his hips, grinning like she couldn’t help it. ‘You should touch them, because they look like the least comfortable underwear in the world, but they’re crazy soft.’
He put a hand on her knee. ‘What are they? Like, what kind?’
‘A g-string?’ she answered, unsure.
He breathed in, and it sounded embarrassingly similar to a gasp.
‘You’re kidding me – they’re comfortable?’
Xeeva nodded, muffling her giggles.
‘No wonder you’re cold,’ Iggy laughed, and Xeeva tugged her skirt over his hand. He slid his fingers to her hip without pause until they connected with silken fabric.
‘Woah,’ he said. ‘It is soft.’
Xeeva chewed her lip. ‘Go left a bit.’
‘My left?’
‘Your left.’
He complied, aware of what contour he was following.
‘What colour are they?’ he asked numbly.
Xeeva didn’t answer right away, looking triumphant.
‘You do care about the aesthetics of underwear,’ she mocked, and lifted her skirts to show him. Her underwear were light pink, sheer, and fringed with undulating lace roses that tapered around her hips. The colour was such a beautiful contrast to the caramel of her skin, he couldn’t help but stare.
‘They had them in mauve, too,’ she said, a smile on her voice. ‘I read that mauve is apparently the most subconsciously sexually appealing colour. But I dunno, I spend a lot of time with mauve, and it’s not that interesting.’
He looked up, beginning to smile.
‘I’m not sure pink even rates as a sexually appealing colour, though,’ she continued, becoming a little breathless, clearly searching for words. ‘You did notice they’re roses, right?’ she lifted her skirts higher, an action placed somewhere between seduction and teasing.
‘I noticed,’ he said, his grin widening to full capacity. He felt his canines slip past his lower lip to become visible, but he didn’t care. Some part of him knew that when he smiled at her like that she always softened, no matter if she was angry or intent on something else. Currently she was neither, and her face was colouring up, her eyes lost in his.
‘Hey,’ she whispered, leaning in. ‘They match the bracelet.’
It was considerable amount of time before Iggy realised he couldn’t breathe – he pulled his mouth from hers, sucking in a breath, and she followed, desperate.
‘Please, I know it’s your turn, and you do it all the time, but can you—’
He unfurled his hand against her, and slipped a finger inside her underwear. When she tightened her arms around his neck her bracelet ended up beside his ear with a soft, silver jingle.
She shuddered, muffling her cries on her arm, and soon fell still with a sigh. After a little while she began to nuzzle at him peaceably, and he drew back to check on her.
‘You don’t look worried anymore,’ she observed, blinking at him duskily. ‘Now you just look smug.’ She exhaled wanly, cocking her head. ‘I can do it myself now, but if I don’t do it exactly the way you do, it doesn’t work.’
His ears lifted higher at that, but he had the decency to look sheepish.
‘Yeah,’ she tutted, approving of his expression. ‘Thanks for ruining me.’ She reached under her dress, fixing her underwear, and he relocated his hand to her thigh. ‘I’m still no good with, like, internal stuff,’ she continued plainly. ‘I mean, I can put my finger in, but it doesn’t feel of anything.’
He registered the suggestion in her eyes. It was like she could read his mind, or at least his newfound confidence, because she always sought to push him further when she sensed it.
‘I can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘You know I can’t.’
‘That’s what you used to say about touching me at all, but we got there. Maybe if you kept your fingers straight?’ she suggested, hopeful.
‘I dunno, maybe,’ he conceded, smiling. ‘But I can’t do that with you in my lap, can I?’
‘No,’ she allowed. ‘Anyway, it’s not my turn.’ She inched forward, locking her hips down on his.
‘Xee,’ he said, but he didn’t sound remotely convincing. Probably because he didn’t want to convince her of anything – if she wanted to move against him like that, and make him that much warmer, he didn’t mind. There was no way she was going to ask him to take off his boxers here, and he was tired of fighting himself. He leaned into her, kissing her neck, and she dropped her hand to his jeans.
‘When we get home...’ she whispered, her fingers rubbing more firmly. ‘You’re gonna have to show me what you do, because I don’t...’ her tone of confidence waned. ‘Is it because I’m not any good at it? Is that why you haven’t—’
‘No,’ he murmured, his hips shifting towards her. ‘I’m just, I dunno... You’re fine. It feels...’ he screwed up his face, hiding in her neck, conflicted.
And then he let go. A cautionary vision involving making a mess of his new jeans passed him by without perturbing him. He didn’t care, jeans could be washed. He remembered all the times he’d fretted over how stupid he might look to her at his moment of release, but then he thought about how she looked at her peak, and swallowed a little moan, gently pressing his teeth to her throat.
She read that, plain and simple, and bit his ear in reply, her fingers darting for his zip.
I’ll tell her, he thought faintly. Her fingers closed around him, moving within his boxers.
‘If I take you out will you get cold?’ she murmured against his cheek.
‘No,’ he turned his head, finding her mouth with his.
When we get home, I’ll just tell her. He kissed her gently, his hand rising to her face. He tried not to think about how she might react, he knew that was a trap leading only to inaction. He couldn’t avoid this truth, and if he didn’t tell her tonight while he had the resolve, when would he? They’re just scars, he thought. What difference would it make?
Alluringly unimportant, a familiar voice drifted within earshot, and footsteps followed.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Iggy jolted, his heart kicking into gear. His instincts told him they were far too vulnerable for an encounter with the owner of that voice, a second before he’d figured out who “that” was.
‘Did you take a whole one?’
He was talking to someone –
‘Yeah, mate. Have you tried his shit before? How long have we got?’
‘Enough time to go grab Soph and Annie. I tried his shit at Wake’s one time, it’s fuckin’ sweet.’
No, Iggy thought desperately – Xeeva was unwittingly pinning him down, and he was still too sluggish to lift her without the risk of accidentally manhandling her. Xeeva could hear the voices now, she was looking in their direction, but without any hint of recognition.
Tyler Rittings and Mike Muscat reached the mouth of the corridor. Xeeva let out a low hiss, backed nimbly off Iggy, grabbed her shoes, and sat down next to him as though nothing were amiss.
As Iggy fought with his zip, he saw Mike’s eyes move in the low light to meet his own, but Mike looked through him, uncomprehending. Tyler was the last present to notice he had company.
‘Ah,’ he said, stopping across from them, a surprised grin breaking out across his face. Mike stopped, too, squinting. ‘What’re you doing here, puppy?’ Tyler’s face lit up, revelling in his find.
Iggy watched them, calculating. He knew what they’d been discussing; they were on pills, he could see it in their eyes and read it in the way they breathed. Whether that would make them more or less of a threat, he couldn’t yet tell. Mike was thick-set, as pretty and as dangerous as a rugby forward could be, but he was slow. Tyler was lean, sharp in features and wit, and a good deal faster than he looked.
‘We’re not doing anything,’ Xeeva said, bored.
Mike took proper note of Xeeva, and Iggy saw the animal way he processed her. He bristled, afraid, but beginning to steel himself against it. Tyler, on the other hand, looked on Xeeva with goodwill.
‘LeAmi,’ he said witheringly. ‘It’s cold out, chérie, you’ll freeze your tits off. Head on back to the hall.’
Fuck, Iggy thought, despairing, he wants to fight.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ Xeeva replied coldly. ‘You guys go on ahead. You’ll miss the speeches.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tyler acquiesced. ‘Are you coming, puppy?’
Iggy stared at him, focused on making his expression appear as dull as possible, while his fingers itched at his sides.
‘Don’t call him that, Tyler, fuck off,’ Xeeva said, cold and dismissive, waving them away.
‘But he is a puppy,’ Tyler put back, quick and cool. ‘Although I’ve never known for sure if the tail rumours are true. I guess I’ll die wondering, tonight would be last chance to find out.’
Mike emitted a sparring chuckle.
‘Do you really tuck it down your pants?’ Tyler took half a step closer. ‘I guess things’d be pretty roomy in there, because by law you should be fixed, hey?’ Another half a step. ‘Dogs don’t get to keep their spuds.’
Iggy felt momentum pulse through Xeeva – she stood up straight, his coat slipping from her shoulders. He wanted to stand with her so they could turn their backs on Tyler and Mike and simply walk away, but he stayed put.
‘Fuck off, Tyler,’ Xeeva repeated.
Mike let out a mocking, sing-song sound, the kind Iggy knew would turn Xeeva’s resolute fury to blistering rage. He could feel it coming off her in waves, but if Mike felt it, too, it didn’t faze him.
‘Just tell me,’ Tyler leered down at Iggy. ‘I gotta know, man... what are you packing in there?’
Iggy felt his ears lowering against his will. He had grit his teeth so hard it hurt, and the muscles in his thighs were screaming at him to rise, to push back. But Harry’s voice was in his head, telling him sadly to stay calm. You can’t hit back, you can’t, I’m sorry.
All at once, Tyler leaned away from them. ‘Ah, fine, guard your secret. I don’t wanna know half as much as Coullard. That guy wants your spotted dick so bad, man. Is he here tonight?’
Iggy listened to Xeeva’s breathing, hearing it hitch just slightly as it cleared her throat. He was distantly worried about how long it was going to take her to calm down once Tyler and Mike were gone.
‘Did you clear up that thing with him?’ Tyler sniffed, rubbing his nose, seemingly distracted. ‘Which exam was he sitting in on, I don’t even fucking remember.’
‘Bio, mate,’ Mike said.
‘No, chem,’ Tyler laughed. ‘He sat in on his own subject, how the fuck did I forget that? Chemistry,’ he breathed the word, pondering.
Iggy chanced a look at Xeeva – a chill went through him. Her eyes were black in the darkness, her face still and expressionless, as angry as he’d ever seen her. She wasn’t listening, something within her had ticked over. Her jaw began working in her temples, her ears gradually flattening against her hair.
‘Did he ask you for a blowjob or something? Man, you should’ve just given him one. Better than missing an exam, that’s brutal. For you, anyway, given your options. Actually finishing school is about as good as it gets for you lot, isn’t it?’
Iggy was vaguely aware that Tyler sounded oddly contemplative, but his capacity to focus on Tyler disappeared entirely when something unexpected moved in his periphery. The back of Xeeva’s dress was rising slowly.
Iggy realised what was going to happen two seconds too late.
Tyler didn’t have time to flinch before Xeeva’s knuckles connected with his mouth. He crashed backwards into the wall, emitting a yelp. Xeeva snapped away as quickly as she’d lunged, her eyes now on Mike, her fist still clenched.
Tyler buckled against the wall, a hand clapped over his jaw, blood sailing down his wrist.
‘Fuck...’ Mike said, but he had nothing to follow it with. He looked between Tyler and Xeeva, astounded.
Iggy stood automatically. It was over, he knew, they needed to leave – but Xeeva chest was heaving, and he realised she was rooted to the spot.
Tyler gave a groan, leaning over and spitting blood onto the ground. He looked up at them, his pupils thick with confusion and pain. His eyes widened until he was staring at Xeeva with a comically shocked expression, his split lip now coating his throat with blood unchecked.
He let out a breathless laugh, lifting a dripping finger.
‘Mike, look at the back of her dress,’ he spat again, shaking his head in wonder.
Iggy watched pain cloud Xeeva’s eyes – she couldn’t lower her tail, he knew, it was locked like the rest of her, poised to fight or run.
‘What...’ Mike didn’t understand what he was seeing.
‘Your feet too, LeAmi,’ Tyler’s grin was stained red.
‘Yes,’ Xeeva said, her voice broken and shrill.
Iggy touched her arm, and she started, looking up at him. There were tears welling in her eyes, but the spell had broken, her shoulders relaxed.
‘Come on,’ she said to him, and she started down the hall. He snatched his coat from the bench and followed, throwing a final glance in Tyler’s direction. Mike was crouching to help him up, and Tyler was muttering something so thickly Iggy couldn’t decipher it, but that unnerving, bloodied grin was still stretched across his face.
Xeeva rounded a corner, Iggy jogging after her – she tried the door to a nearby classroom, but it was locked. Further along was a bathroom down a short flight of stairs. Iggy’s eyes flicked to the girls’ sign on the door, but he followed Xeeva inside, heedless.
Only when she turned the light on did he realise there was blood all down her dress, shockingly red against the white.
‘Xee,’ he gasped, but she headed for the sinks like she hadn’t heard him, and slipped her shaking, bleeding hand under the tap. ‘You got his teeth,’ Iggy moaned, coming to stand at her shoulder.
‘That was really dumb,’ she mumbled, gingerly rubbing her thumb over her knuckles, finding the cut beneath the blood to be sizeable.
‘Nah,’ Iggy said, inwardly agreeing. ‘But you should’ve punched him in the stomach.’
Xeeva growled under her breath, her lip curling. She gave her hand a shake, scattering pink drops across the sink. ‘I bet I need fucking stitches,’ she seethed.
‘I’m not sure you can stitch knuckles,’ Iggy said reluctantly.
Xeeva malevolently tore paper towel from the dispenser, clamping it down on her hand.
‘Maybe just butterfly stitches?’ she suggested, a hint of desperation entering her voice.
‘Yeah, that’d probably be fine, they’ll have some inside, we’ll have to find a teach—’
‘No,’ Xeeva snapped. ‘I can’t go back in there like this,’ she bumped out a hip, making her skirts sway, indicating what a grisly sight they were. ‘I don’t want to fuck up the night for Harry.’
‘Well... I could go and ask for some, and you could stay here,’ he tucked his hands into his jeans’ pockets without realising. The smell of blood was growing stronger – the heavy, metallic sting of it congealed in his nose and mouth, keeping him on edge.
Xeeva was biting her lip, thinking hard.
‘We could just go home,’ she said hoarsely.
‘But... if we leave, Harry would have to catch the tram home alone,’ Iggy reminded her.
‘No, I meant to Sylvie’s. She’ll have butterfly stitches,’ she gazed at him, impatient and in pain. Despite her iron defences, Xeeva had never taken well to injury. ‘If we leave now we could be back in forty minutes.’
‘Xee, you know Tyler’s gonna tell everyone what happened,’ Iggy couldn’t stop his eyes falling to her dress – it was so lurid, the way the blood had fingered through the lace, and spread thin and wide through the cotton beneath.
‘He won’t,’ Xeeva fired back, but her venom was a thin shroud for her uncertainty. ‘Come on, let’s just go, it won’t take long,’ she started for the door, pausing to throw him a stony look that brooked no argument.
He didn’t know what to think, only that the smell of blood was choking him now, but in spite of that he didn’t want to move.
She didn’t wait for him to follow, knowing that he would.