Page 4 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

There’s a moment where I don’t think she will.

Then she pushes off the door, bringing our faces this close together.

She holds it open, making me squeeze past her.

She shoulders into me. I hold in a gasp as my arm bounces off the lock.

She finally fucks off as I wash my hands, pulling at the skin of my arm to see if it’s broken.

I feel dazed, needing the wall to aid my exit.

Just as I’ve taken a step outside, all the lights shut off.

I pause to make sure I haven’t gone blind. But no, the music’s stopped too, some weird cacophony of whispers starting up instead. Damn, it’s creepy. I’m assuming it’s midnight then.

People are arcing their phone torches around, but I can’t get a handle on what’s going on. Can’t see the others either. I inch further along the wall, finally coming to a stop behind a plant pot.

I’m fumbling for my phone when a body thumps into mine, my lips taken in a fiery kiss. For a panicky moment, I think it’s Nic, ready to push her off, when I recognise the drag of those lips, the large hands landing on my chest, creeping up to my neck.

‘Witching hour, baby,’ Haz croons.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Dunno.’ She noses my neck, tonguing there, her body pressing more insistently. ‘Don’t really care.’

I close my eyes. Can’t say I do either. The dark is made for Haz.

It’s when she comes alive. My favourite thing in the world is waking in her bed, in the dead of night, to the gleam of her eyes as she watches me.

It’s like spotting a wolf in the woods. I can’t tell if I’m prey or something she’s protecting.

She never smiles like Elly would, chagrined at having been caught out.

Haz wants to be caught. She wants to be feared. She is.

We’re alone now, everyone joining the foray on the dance floor for whatever challenge Anarchy have set.

‘They’ve barred the doors. We’ve got five minutes to crack a code before the place goes up.’

‘Um. That’s terrifying.’

‘Relax. There’s a fire exit right there. I’ll get us out.’

She bites my cheek. My breath catches. She’s never done that before.

‘How about in?’ Taking one of her hands, I place it on my boob. ‘Five minutes, yeah?’

She chuckles. ‘Yeah. Doubt you can come that quick, though.’

‘Bet I can.’ I know I can. Any logical thought’s long since fled in the wake of her unexpected kiss. I’m running on instinct now. Only my body’s in charge and it knows exactly what it wants. ‘Touch me. Quick. Before the lights come back on.’

She runs a thumb over my nipple, making me gasp. My pussy’s throbbing, the time constraint only goading me on. I push my hips into her, but she still doesn’t make a move. It dampens me—and not in a good way.

We’re still doing this then. A wave of despair falls over me.

She kisses me gently, resting her weight against me. I slip my thigh between hers, pushing with it. When I don’t feel anything, I cup my hand down there.

‘You’re not even wearing it. You always wear it.’

She removes my hand, pressing it into the wall.

‘Haz…’ I shake my head, though she can’t see in the dark. ‘You used to want to fuck me anywhere. Back when I kept saying no. Is it like—you can have me now, so now you don’t want me?’

There’s a moment of pause, then I feel the shift as something dark descends over her. Grasping my ponytail, she knocks our foreheads together. Even if I can’t see them, I know her eyes are boring into mine. ‘It’s not anything like that.’

‘Then what?’

Instead of answering, she kisses me. Just one, firm press, before straightening up. Putting distance between us.

‘You’re drunk, princess.’

‘Still want you.’

‘And I want you.’ She twines our hands, so hard it hurts. ‘Fucking trust me on that. Alright?’

I nod, too drunk to push her. I’m about to throw up anyway. Probably isn’t the best time to fuck.

‘Come on. Let’s get back to the others.’

I scoff weakly. ‘Rather not. Nic’s doing my nut in! Why did she even come out if she’s just going to fuck up the night?’

‘Yeah, she’s pissing me off too.’ Haz squeezes my hand. ‘But go easy. It’s a weird night for her.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the anniversary of her dad’s death. Always messes her up.’

That jolts me, even through this alcohol fog. I recall finding her on the cliff edge. Yeah, she had seemed sad. Drinking that shit for lunch. Didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary though. She’s always a bit moody.

‘That’s sad,’ I concede. ‘But doesn’t excuse her for the rest of the time.’

‘No. It doesn’t. Free pass today, though. We can rag on her tomorrow.’

‘It is tomorrow.’

‘Tilda,’ Haz groans, though I hear her smile. ‘You’re as bad as each other.’

‘Excuse me?’ I breathe. ‘Take that back.’

‘Nope. You’re a little fighter too. Like Nic. Hurting when you’re hurting.’

It’s dumb, but her words make me tear up. I don’t hurt people, do I? Fuck, that makes me want to hurt me. And I’ve not done that in a while.

Haz pulls me back to the dance floor. ‘Think you’ve got another couple of hours left in you?’

It’s so weird, the club being this quiet. People are shouting, attempting answers, but it feels like a shell without the thump of music. Elly and Nic aren’t paying much mind, huddled on a bench in the corner, their phones on the table lighting their faces.

Nic’s removed her mask now, an elbow resting on her raised knee. She looks relaxed as she watches our approach, her hair still slicked back even though it’s dried.

I look closer. Maybe relaxed isn’t the right word—more resigned.

I feel bad for her now. Maybe I’m just tired.

‘Yeah, I’m good,’ I say, sniffing back my tears before anyone notices.

Nic

There’s a drifting horde at the fourth place. Hard to tell what’s going on amongst an ocean of rowdy, t-shirted students. Elly and I lost the other two; Tilda wandered off when Blakely came over to say hello. Still salty after her kidnapping. Even now, the memory makes my lips twitch.

If it wasn’t for Blakely, we’d still be stuck at the last club.

They’d gotten the answer correct, finally, but not before the timer ran out.

I’m not sure the veiled figures who’ve been stalking us all night knew what to do.

They’re probably final years students, or perhaps graduates.

They’d wanted to keep the fun going by keeping the doors barred but people got antsy. It’s not the night to try and tame us.

So along came Blakely, aiming one hard kick at the doors to set us free.

‘Looks like a riot,’ Elly comments.

She’s not wrong. There’s laughter, shrieking, people on the backs of others, illegal drinks held in hands. Some are chanting the old Hazelhurst rhymes, the ones we crack out for the long walk to the clubs from the ferry. We’re blacklisted to a lot of taxi services.

It’s a heady atmosphere, especially with the storm still raging. There’s lightning in the distance, right over where Hazelhurst Island is. Judging by the direction of the racing, light-polluted clouds, we’re its next target. Already thunder is cracking.

‘They’ve battened down the hatches,’ Haz says, appearing out of nowhere. ‘Pussies.’

She’s got Tilda by the hand, the thing veritably swaying. If she was my girl, I would have taken her home by now. A sense of urgency claws at me. Any longer and she won’t be conscious for what I have to say. But I need her alone, away from Haz and Elly. No small feat.

I look up at the club, some small rock venue. Haz is right, they’ve locked up. Doors shut tight, no bouncers, no music. Looking around, I can’t really blame them. Someone must have tipped them off.

‘So, now what?’ Elly says.

‘Tilda, get your phone out,’ Haz orders.

Tilda does, but not before dropping it on the ground first. I shake my head. She’s fucking wasted.

She thumbs open the app, wiping away insistent raindrops. A group of boys boo loudly at the closed club, one throwing a plastic cup of beer at the barred windows.

Then the whole scene’s suddenly awash in blue flashing lights.

‘Oh, and here come the po-po,’ Haz says, loving every minute of this. She’s like a duck. Doesn’t feel the rain, never feels cold. I shiver in my hooded smock, growing more miserable by the second.

We’re moved on, walking aimlessly through dark streets in the vague direction of the ferry terminal.

Nobody’s ready to call it a night, taunting the coppers with pig grunts and snide shouts.

They’re itching to do something. I can see it in their faces.

Apart from drinking in public, they can’t nick us for shit.

Be out by morning even if they did. Fina’s here. She’s good for stuff like that.

‘Here!’ Tilda exclaims, waving her phone at us. ‘The Hidden Library. Sweet, I love that place.’

I nod. It’s not bad, some underground venue, a defunct library replete with bookshelves and old banker’s lamps nailed down on tables.

The chants grow louder as we regroup, revitalised by the knowledge that the night’s not over.

We funnel in through the double doors, past the drenched bouncer who doesn’t seem fussed on IDs.

It’s a long, dark way down to the bar. Tilda’s dead in front of me, risking her life by refusing to hold the handrail.

She slips more than once; each time my treacherous hand reaches out to righten her.

She shakes me off, making me want to push her instead.

But that wouldn’t serve me. Not in the long run.

There are a couple of hours until the last ferry and everyone’s determined to make the most of it. They cram the bar, pits open on the dance floor, and there’s still the anticipation of the final Anarchy trick or treat.

I watch Tilda dance, makeup smeared, hair black with rainwater and foam.

Will I be a trick or treat for her? We’ve gotten used to this.

Months of mutual animosity. Keeping each other at arm’s length.

There’s a comfort in it for both of us. Do I really want to demolish those barriers?

It’s not so much a want than a need. A need for culpability. Shared pain. A reckoning of sorts.