The Art of Not Breathing(52)

Ailsa swings for my face but misses and grabs my towel instead. She could let go, and we could all go home, but in a split second everything changes. She yanks the towel out of my hand. It falls to the floor and she kicks it away. I am naked, exposed, and livid. I go for her. I push her against the lockers and she slips to the floor, taking me with her.

“Lara, grab the towel,” she yells as I reach for it.

Lara, like a little lap dog, hops over me and snatches the towel, then runs to a dressing room with it. She stands in the doorway, chewing her hair, watching.

“Do you need a towel?” Ailsa teases. “You should cover up. You look like someone’s roast dinner. All lumpy and fatty.” She gets to her knees and looks me up and down. I try to cover myself with my hands.

I will someone to come in and help me, but the changing room is quiet. I look toward the door. I could make a run for it. I’d be naked and everyone would see me, but at least I’d be safe.

Ailsa sees me planning my exit, and then she pounces. She pins my arms above my head and straddles me. Her long blond hair hangs in my face and tickles my nose. I grab it with my teeth and tug, but she pulls away. I spit the stray hairs from my mouth.

“Lara, help me!” Ailsa cries. “She’s such a lump, it’ll take two of us.”

Lara doesn’t move.

“Lara, what’s wrong with you? Grab her arms. Now.”

“Let’s just go,” Lara whispers.

“If you don’t help me, I’ll tell everyone about your laxative habit.”

Lara moves then. I see her stick legs running across the wet floor, and then she sits on my arms. Ailsa grabs my breasts. She pinches them really hard, both of them at the same time. Lara gasps, and Ailsa laughs with glee as I cry out.

“Get off me,” I cry. “Help!”

I manage to lift my head up enough to bite Ailsa’s arm.

“You little bitch.” She gobs into my hair and then shoves her knee between my legs so hard, it sends shooting pains right up to my neck.

“What have I ever done to you?” I gasp.

“You were born. You’ve been in my way ever since I met you, making my life difficult.”

“You made life difficult for yourself,” I say.

Finally, Lara shifts her weight and I break free. My head connects with Ailsa’s nose, and she flies back and slides over a drain. The metal catches her gold bikini and I hear it snag. When I stand up, I look down to see blood streaming from her face. While Lara fusses over her, I pull my trousers and T-shirt on over my damp skin and thrust my underwear into my bag.

“You little slut,” Ailsa calls. “I’ll get you suspended for this.”

“See if I care.”

I look at Lara one last time and give her a chance to explain. She looks torn, her eyes dancing back and forth between the blood and my wet T-shirt. Eventually, she moves closer to Ailsa.

“Funny how there’s always a fight when you’re about,” I say. “And isn’t it annoying how you’re always the one left mopping up the blood.”

“Elsie, wait,” Lara calls. “It wasn’t me who told everyone about Dillon. Everyone’s been saying how sick he is. He needs help.”

“I thought we were friends,” I say to her, even though I knew the truth all along. She was using me to try to get Dillon back.

“We are,” Lara says to the floor.

“Were friends,” Ailsa says. “Tell her, Lar. You don’t want anything to do with her, do you?”

Lara glances down at Ailsa and bites her lip.

“You’ll just have to make do with your weird bully boyfriend,” Lara finally says. But when I look into her eyes, I see that she is crying.

Ailsa heaves herself off the floor, still holding her bleeding nose.

“As if that ugly bitch could ever have a boyfriend,” she mutters.

“At least I can get a boyfriend without following someone around.”

But that’s not really true. I went to look for Tay in the boathouse night after night, and he still left me. And even though he left me, I still went off with him after he punched Dillon. The memory of me leaving Dillon in the road bleeding makes me feel sick. But the thought of Tay leaving me again makes me feel worse.

Without my underwear on I feel exposed. My breasts are stinging, but I don’t dare touch them. I don’t look in the mirror again. I don’t need to see how ugly I’ve become when I can feel it seeping out of me every day.





Later, Lara calls the house phone. I sit on the step by the back door so the reception on the phone goes fuzzy. She wants to know how Dillon is. She says she’s sorry.

“Ailsa made me say those things.”

She still wants to be friends, but only in private. She says she loves Dillon and she wants to help him.

“Sorry, the line’s gone a bit bad.” I yell, as though I’m trying hard to make out her words. “I’ll have to call you back.”

I listen to the fuzz for a while, and then I make out the odd squeak of a cross-wire conversation. I end the call and pluck up the courage to dial another number. My father answers his mobile immediately, but I stay silent. “Dillon, is that you?” he whispers down the line. “Is it Elsie? What’s she been up to? Hello? Look, now’s not a good time, pal. I’ll call you back tomorrow, eh?”