Page 9 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

The boat over is nauseating. I’ve not eaten this morning, not sure I could keep anything down.

Place is busier than I thought. Even the cavern sees a few people.

Up on the ledge, Northbound Wolves practise some set.

They don’t often play here, should be a good night.

They’re in their masks and full makeup, the fake blood they smear over every inch of visible skin.

Anonymity is their game, no one knows who they are. I admire them for it.

I continue to the cages. Blakely’s there, smacking her fist into the palm of her hand despite there being no opponents around. Always ready for a fight, that one. She’s sparring alone in the corner gym. I consider her from afar. Be fucking suicidal but…isn’t that the point?

I saunter over, waiting until she notices me.

‘Need my essay notes?’ she says with a grin.

I shake my head. She knows I’m not here for that.

‘Wanna practise?’

She gestures around her. ‘Am, aren’t I?’

‘I mean with someone.’

Blakely squints. ‘You got a short-term memory or something?’

‘Opposite. I know what I’m asking for.’

Blakely pauses, sucking her teeth as she considers. ‘Won’t go easy on you. I don’t coddle.’

‘I’m not looking for easy.’

‘What are you looking for then?’’

‘Does it matter?’

She purses her lips. ‘Suppose not.’ She punches her fist into her hand again, grinning wildly now. ‘Cage, then.’

I step into the first one, her most favoured.

Once we’re in, that orange-haired girl materialises to lock it.

No backing out now. That’s rule number one.

Blakely is someone else when she fights. Or maybe she’s someone else when she’s not fighting. In class, she’s sensible. Serious. Always intelligent in her discussions. She loves words as much as I do. In here though, she’s something different entirely.

Despite how fucking cold it is, she’s in tight shorts and a sports bra to match, tattoos snaking all over her deeply tanned skin. Her knuckles are already wrapped. Gonna have to do mine too, and whatever else she decides to break.

‘You not been home?’ She nods to my Anarchy shirt. It’s still damp but that’s the least of my pain.

‘You always such a talker?’

She purses her lips, shrugs, then throws her fist into my face.

It’s blinding. Makes the cuts on my knuckles feel like tickles. I stagger into the bars, bent in half.

She lets me breathe, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She is going easy on me after all. I don’t want fucking easy.

I take a breath against the pounding in my nose, tasting blood on my lips. Then I fist my hand and swing it in an arc. It catches the top of her arm. She’s just meat there. Doubt she even felt it.

She looks down and nods. ‘Might bruise,’ she allows.

Gritting my teeth, I swing for her again. She blocks it this time, pushing me back into the bars like I’m a fly she’s swatting.

I use the momentum to fall back into her. I’m pissed off now, adrenaline of a different kind taking hold.

I push her into the centre of the cage, taking swings with both fists. She blocks almost all of them, and when she doesn’t, she’s wearing a smirk that tells me she allowed them.

She soon grows tired of that, pushing me into the bars again. The force is jarring, making me choke on blood. Leaning over, I cough red onto the floor. Blakely gets a leg behind mine. They buckle, knees thudding on the concrete.

A meaty arm comes around my throat. She arches my neck, tightening the headlock.

‘Come on,’ she croons. ‘Who’s going to be my reading buddy if you’re six feet under?’ Pressing her lips close to my ear, she says, ‘Whoever she is, she ain’t fucking worth it.’

I buck against her hold, damning her for reminding me. For a few blissful, painful moments, I’d forgotten.

‘Tap out,’ she commands, thrusting black hair away from her face. It’s stringy from the sweat of her workout, limp on her shoulders. She smells of herbs, probably from some balm.

‘Not done,’ I grind out, slamming an elbow into her. She might as well be made of rock for all the good it does.

‘I think you are, bud.’

She rolls onto her side, pulling me with her. She gets both legs around me, as well as her arms. I wince. It’s like being in a vice.

‘Tap the fuck out, Nic.’

I won’t. I can’t. Because the moment I do, it’ll all come crashing back. It’s already leaking through the cracks, her face filling my quickly dimming vision.

‘Tap out before I knock you out.’

I fight against the panic, her tightening hold, letting the darkness come.

It’s wiggly like the raindrops on the window this morning.

Like iron filings. They’re helpless, even with a million of them to one magnet.

They can’t resist; they’ll move. It’s in the nature of things. An inevitability you can’t outrun.

But if I die here, I can.

I close my eyes, unable to keep them open if I tried. I feel Blakely all around me, her chest moving up and down against my back. Dying in an embrace. Wouldn’t be the person I’d choose but she’ll do in a pinch.

Then it all releases. The arms around me, Blakely’s sigh of annoyance. The light floods back in; my limbs tingle.

‘Never pegged you for a fool, Nic.’

I roll onto my back, the cage’s bars blurring above me. ‘Love to disappoint.’

‘Vi,’ Blakely calls, summoning the orange-haired girl to unlock the door.

They both grab an arm, hauling me none too gently onto the unforgiving cave floor. I come onto my side when blood chokes me again. I wipe it from my nose gingerly, wondering if it’s broken.

‘Get your shit together, Nic.’ Blakely slams the cage door shut. ‘And don’t do that again. Ain’t third time lucky with me. Vi, sort her, will you.’

The girl comes to her knees, assessing my injuries. Bobbed, silky hair falls into her face, the orange shade too saturated to be natural.

She must do this a lot. There’s not much surprise on her face, despite all the blood. Not a lot of anything, to be honest. Cool as a cucumber, this one.

‘Vi, is it?’

‘Violet,’ she confirms, helping me into a seated position.

‘Are you Blakely’s girl?’

Violet glances at her, sat in the corner watching us, drinking from a water bottle. ‘Think a girl like her can be kept? She’s the beast in the woods girls run away from.’

‘Poetic.’

I close my eyes, letting her mop up the blood. Adds something to my Anarchy t-shirt, I suppose. It’s all throbbing now and I feel sick, sicker than I did waking up this morning.

Wonder where she is now. Back at the lodge confiding in the others? Haz’ll have my head for keeping this from her.

Well, she can have it. Stinging to fuck at the moment.

I give myself over to the pain, trying to keep the tears from my eyes. Why does pain make me cry when nothing else does?

Violet’s touches are gentle, perfunctory. Must have done this for Blakely a billion times. I’m going to look like Frankenstein’s monster for our lecture tomorrow.

Violet’s hands pause for a moment, then fall away entirely when a pissed off little voice says, ‘Yeah, I’ve got this. Move.’

I crack open my eyes. Black skinny jeans fill my vision, their wearer not much taller than me even when slouched.

They’re in a standoff, Skylar and Violet. Kinda looks like jealousy if I didn’t know better. Don’t think Skylar’s got it in her, but I let myself pretend. A little treat against this God-awful pain.

Violet regards me for a moment then slowly stands, dropping the bloodied rag to the floor. Her expression hasn’t changed but the air’s crackling, even with this fuzzy head I’ve got.

Skylar takes her place. No concern with her either. Her jumper rides up as she kneels, the skin there blacker with ink than not. Wonder if she ever tats herself. Will have to ask her sometime.

‘She an ex or something?’

Skylar scoffs, a scowl falling over her features. ‘Wouldn’t fuck a Savage. Fucking pyros.’

I lift my head, finding Violet who now perches on Blakely’s thigh. They might not be together, but those two are one hundred percent fucking.

‘She’s a Savage, huh?’

Skylar hums, clearly hating the fact. Savages and Sables, the Witches and the Crows. Rival families since the dawn of time.

Can’t relate myself. Got my own family to fall out with, can’t be fucked with anyone else’s. But then these old, maybe-Mafia-maybe-not families are a different kettle of fish.

‘Kinda dumb, Nic.’ Skylar waggles the sodden cloth.

‘Telling me.’

She sits back and sighs. ‘Not much to be done about the nose. Just have to wait until it stops. And hope you don’t bleed out before then. Could be a fucking brain haemorrhage with how that bitch hits.’

I lift one shoulder. ‘Deserved.’

With her sat like that, I catch sight of the blood on her for the first time. It’s smeared on her waist and neck, some of it looking suspiciously like handprints.

‘What mauled you?’

She looks in the direction of the cavern, where Northbound Wolves’ bassy notes still echo.

I huff through my nose, making blood bubble. ‘Even know who’s under those masks?’

Skylar smirks, swinging the bloody rag with a finger. ‘That’s half the fun.’

I shake my head. ‘Kinky bitch.’

She helps me up, guiding me to the bar and grabbing me a glass of water. I take stock of myself as I sway there, wiping at the blood on my t-shirt. ‘Were you out last night?’

‘No.’

‘How come?’

‘Wasn’t feeling it. Thirty pounds for a fucking t-shirt is daylight robbery.’

Doubt that’s the full story, now knowing her deal with Fina’s lot, but I don’t care enough to press.

‘Well, you didn’t miss much.’

Skylar catches my eyes. ‘Dunno. Something got you in this state. Girl trouble?’

I shrug, not willing to get into it. Came here to forget all that.

‘Love our girl chats,’ she mocks. When I’m done with my water, she says, ‘Help you back to your tent? I’m kinda done here.’

I ignore her subtle smirk, clueing me into just what kind of done she means.

I think about it. Will it even be standing after last night’s storm? Shouldn’t be too waterlogged given the elevation, but…

‘Think I just want my bed.’ And enough painkillers to kill an elephant.

I fall over it, groaning as everything resettles and shifts. My stomach roils, mouth filling with saliva as I try not to puke. At least the bleeding’s slowed. Felt like Hansel and Gretel dropping my blood crumbs all the way through the forest. Was waiting for a wolf to jump out at me any moment.

Maybe that was a bit dumb. I concede. Maybe I should have taken Skylar to one of the glass rooms instead. Although, given her involvement with the resident band, that might be off the cards.

I try to sniff, the tears coming easier now I’m alone and vulnerable as fuck. Not only am I still thinking about Tilda, I’m thinking about her in more pain than I’ve ever been in.

I grit my teeth until they subside. Nothing to cry about here. If I can do hours-long tattoos sessions, I can endure a beating from Blakely.

Could have been worse anyway. Skylar managed to squirrel me away to my room without alerting the others.

I’m sure they heard though. They’re clearly busy.

Only closed room was Tilda’s, telling me exactly where everyone is.

I wonder again if she’s told them. Maybe they’re too pissed off to seek me out.

I lie there miserably, dying to sleep after the fitful hour or so of kip I got this morning, but this throbbing has other ideas. How many heartbeats can one body have?

The sun pierces me through the gap in the curtains. After the storm comes a calm. Doubt that’s true for me. My storm’s just ratcheting up. Not sure it’s going to be worth the cleanup either. No point if there’s no survivors.

I shake my head weakly. I feel like I’m on a comedown, one of my worst. I add a couple of 5-HTP tablets to the pain killers swishing around in my belly. Hopefully drown out this pity party.

My fucking fault. Should have nipped this in the bud months ago. Put my foot down, stopped her moving in. Not let it all build up like this.

Quien planta vientos, recoge tempestades. Whoever sows winds, reaps tempests.

Blakely taught me that one. It’s fitting. I’m sure she’ll teach me more tomorrow, most denoting to what a fucking idiot I am. Who in their right mind takes on the Beast of Hazelhurst? No one, that’s who.

At least I feel calmer. Dead, almost. I should be out making the most of this sun. Probably be blizzarding again tomorrow. I should be doing something about my tent. But there’s no motivation for any of that. Just wanna rot up here forever.

I might be able to do that, but certainly not alone. It’s not long before a hear a knock at the door. When I don’t answer, it pushes open and I know immediately who it is. Only one person would enter so hesitantly.

Tilda. My tempest.

‘Oh my god,’ she says, her breath catching in a little gasp.

I keep my eyes closed. Blakely got a good hit on one of them. Hurts to open.

‘What happened?’

I breathe slowly, once in, once out.

‘Nothing I didn’t ask for.’

Tilda shuffles closer until she’s next to the bed. I feel her eyes raking my body. I’m sure bruises are popping up all over the shop.

‘Did someone hurt you?’

I try not to snort so hard. Don’t want the bleeding to start up again. Yeah, someone fucking hurt me. And it wasn’t the girl in the cage.

‘Have you told someone?’ she goes on. ‘Student services?’

‘Told you, nothing I didn’t ask for.’

Only silence follows, but I still feel her there. It’s oppressive. Like she’s holding a pillow to my face.

I tense when she perches on the bed.

‘Your face is really bad, Nic.’

‘Thanks,’ I whisper.

‘Does it hurt?’

I don’t dignify that with an answer. Only hurts so fucking much that my nails are biting into my palms from where my fists are clenched.

‘Nic…’

I hold my breath. Here it fucking comes.

‘Can we talk?’

‘Not now.’

‘But soon, yeah?’

I release a sigh. If I don’t give her what she wants, she’ll never fucking leave.

‘Maybe.’

She still doesn’t go. Not only that, she somehow thinks it appropriate to snake a hand onto my arm and stroke there.

I swallow. It’s hard not to wonder what she’s thinking about. It’s all I’m trying not to do. It’s probably a deluge, all flooding back to her at once. I’ve had months to remember, to sieve through it. For her, it’s a hit and run.

I start a few moments later when that stroking turns to a closed fist whacking my leg. My eyes fly open, body jerking.

‘Fucker for not telling me this whole time. What the hell, Nic? Do you know how much—?’ She lets out a harsh sigh, eyes all on fire. ‘You owe me the biggest explanation.’

Resisting a groan, I roll away from her. ‘I don’t owe you shit.’

‘You do and you will.’ The mattress shifts as she finally gets up. She moves to the door, saying in a gentler voice, ‘I’m gonna make you an ice pack. Idiot.’