Page 5 of Pretty Mess

“He’s my brother,” I say fiercely, glaring at him. “And he’llalwaysbe my brother.”

Then I march down the stairs and out into a world that’s suddenly completely strange—a world that’s topsy-turvy and makes me feel dizzy with the speed at which everything has changed.

A woman walks by pushing a pushchair with a happily babbling toddler inside. Nearby, workmen shout at each other, the music from their radio rising loudly over traffic sounds. How can such normal things be happening when my whole world is collapsing?

Shouldering my bag and nodding at Mr Grey, I begin to walk down the street, worry and fear making my steps quick. I turn the corner, but I don’t look back. Leaving the memories behind me, I keep walking. I walk and walk, the wheels of my suitcase squeaking, my back hurting under the weight of my bag, sweat breaking out over my body.

My feet get tired, and my breathing is coming in heavy pants, but I can’t seem to stop. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do, so I just keep going. My eyes sting, and the spring sunshine makes them water. I reach for my sunglasses but remember that they’re back at home.

Home.

The word cuts the strings to my legs, and I wobble, feeling dizzy. Looking around, I find myself on a quiet street of semi-detached houses and a neat row of shops. A nearby shop is closed and shuttered, and I drop my bags and half fall onto itssteps. My vision dips and whirls, and I push my head between my legs, taking deep breaths until the dizziness fades. Even then, I stay still, unable to look up and face reality. Maybe if I stay like this, I’ll wake up and find it was all a dream.

“Wes? It is Wes, isn’t it?” The voice is posh, the tone cool, and the words take a while to travel from my ears to my brain.

Lifting my head, I see the boy standing in front of me and groan. “You.”

He cocks his head, and his blond hair falls artlessly over his forehead, highlighting the perfect symmetry of his face. He’s wearing simple clothes—jeans, a light jumper, and sunglasses, but they all look like designer items, and his posture is as perfect as usual—straight and tall. The customary sense of being less than him makes my teeth hurt.

Julian. He’s a beautiful boy, but as cold as ice. He’s also my classmate and my rival for the top spot in our year. Between the two of us, we’ve managed to dominate the leaderboard, and we’re locked in a silent rivalry that I’ve never been entirely sure isn’t all on my side. Something about him winds me up—maybe it’s his effortless perfection, his air of wealth, and the sense that he has no problems. But he’s always been perfectly nice to me. Standoffish, but still coolly nice.

“What are you doing here, Julian?”

“Buying some new vinyl. There’s a brilliant record shop on this street.”

I follow his gaze, interest flaring. “I didn’t know that. I’ll have to take a look.” Then realisation sears me. I have more important things to do than shop for records; even if I didn’t, I currently lack a place to store them. “Great,” I say dully.

He looks me over, focusing on the suitcase and bags strewn at my feet. He lowers his sunglasses, showing bright blue eyes clouded in confusion. “Are you going somewhere? Are you moving house?”

“You could say that.”

His eyes are busy, and then they narrow with reluctant concern. “You look upset. Are you okay, Wes?”

I roll my head on my neck, suddenly tired of polite chit-chat. “Are you actually really bothered?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Because I’d just jog on if I were you,” I say. “We’re not mates, so you don’t need to know my problems.”

He arches one eyebrow. “Well, that is true. You’re messy and far too chaotic for my taste.”

For some reason that makes me smile, but it fades quickly. “I’ll see you at uni.”

Relief flares in his eyes. “See you then.” He nods and walks away, and for some ridiculous reason, I want to call him back. His leaving makes me feel more alone than before, which is absurd. I rub my eyelids, feeling the hot dampness there. I have to pull myself together and get moving. I don’t know where yet, but sitting here isn’t doing me any favours. It’s already afternoon, and panic stirs at how time is marching on. I need somewhere to sleep tonight.

Footsteps sound briskly, and I look up, blinking as Julian marches back to me. “I did try to go,” he snaps. “And believe me, I have no room for people’s problems and weaknesses.”

“No?”

“Absolutelynot. I would like nothing more than to walk away and leave you here sad and pathetic amongst a bundle of what looks like rubbish for a bonfire.” He steps closer, his nostrils flaring. “And smelling of sweat and desperation, too.”

“You should try for a job at the Samaritans. You’d be a shoo-in.”

He ignores me. “But for some incredibly ridiculous reason that I will no doubt regret for the rest of my life, I can’t leave you when you’re obviously going through something.” He grimaces.“I don’t even want to think about the type of problemsyoumight have.”

I scratch my chin. “You really don’t.” I stare at him as he steps back and gestures at me. “What?”

“Get up.”