Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(66)

‘If you put some vodka in it,’ I said agreeably. I felt fuzzy and happy, like I was seeing myself from the outside for the first time. Look how much better I was with the fuel of alcohol and drugs! No wonder people got drunk and stoned. I was like Caddy 2.0. Beta Caddy. I nudged her. ‘Hey, Suze?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Am I doing OK?’

She stopped, right in the middle of the living room. ‘What?’

‘Am I doing OK?’ I repeated. ‘Like, am I cool? Do you think they like me?’

For a second I thought she was going to burst into tears, which confused me so much I almost tripped over my own stationary feet. She turned on the spot and then hugged me suddenly, so tightly I let out an involuntary hnuh, then let go. ‘You’re super, Cads.’

‘Super Cads,’ I echoed happily. I sat down on the nearest sofa, curling my back against the cushions. ‘God, this is the most comfortable sofa in the entire world.’

‘Right . . .’ Her voice sounded far away. ‘I’ll go get you some water.’

I had lost track of time, lost track of myself, lost track of my senses. I had no idea where Suzanne was. The sofa, so comfortable, had me safe and cocooned, like a hug. I was burrowed into it, the armrest against the back of my head, and Joe Something lying on top of me, one leg in between mine, his hand up my top. Everything was beautiful. And hot.

Maybe I’d been confused earlier about why exactly I was here. Here being Reading, this random city I hadn’t ever even given much thought to, and now the scene of my imminent devirginization. But now – now – it was clear. This was number two on that list I’d made all those months ago on a bus. This was the bonus of having a friend like Suzanne. She introduced me to boys. Boys who thought nothing of taking the virginity of girls they’d just met and would probably never see again.

There were three things I was thinking. One was, So this is why people do this (because, OK, it all felt pretty good). The second was, Hnnnarrrgghhhh (because I was pretty much the most drunk I’d ever been in my life). The third was, Sometimes you just want to get it over with, in a voice that sounded a lot like Rosie’s. I did want to get it over with. And wasn’t Joe Something the perfect get-it-over-with guy?

‘You’re so hot,’ he whispered into my ear, and my brain said, Caddy, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not hot. Maybe you can pull off cute on a good day. Hot is a sex word. Hot is not you.

A shot of panic pinged from my head right down to my feet. How was it possible to want something and not want it at the same time? Joe’s hand moved to the zipper of my jeans, I thought, Yes, OK, and then the room flooded with light.

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Suzanne’s voice.

‘Turn the fucking light off,’ Joe’s voice, loud against my ear. Hand still on my jeans.

‘Are you kidding me?’ She was angry, I registered with some surprise. ‘Joe, get off my friend.’

For a few seconds nothing changed. Joe’s weight was heavy and solid and exciting against me. For my part, I was still kissing him. And then he was suddenly wrenched away from me, and everything went south very fast.

Joe, regaining his footing after being pulled backwards by someone – Suzanne? – whirled around, furious. ‘What’s your problem?’ he shouted. Suddenly loud, suddenly angry.

I sat up on the sofa, trying to take in the scene through the fuzz of my confusion. Toby had come through the door and was standing there, looking like he too was trying to make sense of what was going on.

‘Go home,’ Suzanne said, steady and controlled, but clearly simmering.

Joe stepped forward, shoved her shoulders with both of his hands. ‘Don’t be such a bitch.’

‘Hey.’ Toby was there instantly, stepping in front of her, pushing Joe away. ‘Back off, OK?’

‘Can’t you keep her occupied?’ Joe gestured at Suzanne, who was standing rigid behind Toby, one hand clenching her shoulder as if it had been burned by his touch. ‘I heard it doesn’t take much.’

I’d never seen boys fight. I’d seen girls fight, plenty of times. Hair pulling and slapping and nails clawing at skin. But when Toby went for Joe it was all fists and testosterone. It wouldn’t exactly have been an equal fight; Toby probably outweighed Joe by at least a stone, but that didn’t matter. It ended almost as soon as it had begun, and all it took was Suzanne, frantic, saying, ‘Toby.’ Just once.

Toby, who’d only thrown one punch but was breathing as if he’d boxed three rounds, stepped back. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘OK.’ He reached out a hand to Joe, who’d stumbled to the floor on the first contact. Joe pushed his hand away, pulling himself to his feet.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’m gone.’ He threw a hand up as he left the room, as a brush off or a wave, I couldn’t tell. I heard the front door open and then slam. He hadn’t even looked at me.

‘Wanker,’ Toby said. He took a step towards Suzanne. ‘You OK?’

She flinched away from him. Even from across the room, I could see her eyes were ablaze. ‘What the hell was that, Toby?’

He blinked. ‘That was . . . He was . . . I just—’

‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,’ she said. She was still holding her shoulder, her arm crooked against her chest like a shield.