Page 164 of Vying Girls

‘Hmm, something tells me Nic isn’t the bed sharing type.’

‘Tough. If we’re sharing the girl, we’re sharing the bed.’

‘We need a bed roster. Like with chores.’

She snorts, disentangling from me. ‘I’ll leave that to you. When the time comes. In the meantime, do you fancy putting a film on downstairs or something? Just to chill out for a bit.’

‘How about up here?’ Rising onto my tiptoes, I peck her lips. ‘In your bed.’

Elly grins. ‘Deal.’

Elly

It’s hard to keep my mind on the film with Tilda fidgeting beside me, her restlessness manifesting as sighs and shifts andthe odd frustrated huff. She’s on her phone constantly, a little furrow in her brow, fingers flying a hundred miles an hour. Even when I made a joke about how quick her fingers are, they never slowed for a second, only a tiny smile showing she heard me.

I just carry on what I’m doing—offering her a body to cuddle into, with forehead kisses when she wants them.

Since dinner’s postponed, we’ve got a few light snacks fanned around us. I shove in a handful of crisps just as Tilda lets out a disgruntled snort.

‘I just found Skylar and asked her why she told Haz. She said‘Fucker was ignoring my messages’. Like, what the hell? She’s such a shit friend.’

‘Don’t think Nic keeps her around for friendship.’

Tilda shakes her head in disgust. ‘And you’ve slept with her.’

‘Hey, that was one time. And without sounding like a massive pig, she makes a better lay than friend.’

‘Clearly,’ Tilda snaps.

I don’t take her snappishness personally. Her anger isn’t aimed at me. Truthfully, I’m a little angry with Skylar too. According to Tilda, it was her stuff Nic was on. And it was probably her stuff Nic was on the last time.

‘Haz is on her way home,’ Tilda says glumly. ‘She didn’t find her.’

‘Well, shit. Now what?’

‘Now nothing, I guess.’ She tosses her phone away. ‘Just have to wait for her to calm down and come back on her own.’

‘Like a sick cat,’ I supply. Probably really unhelpfully.

I glance at Tilda. She’s staring at the laptop screen, but her eyes are totally unfocussed. She looks knackered. End of her rope. It sucks to see.

‘Hey.’ I give her a nudge. ‘Shall I make us some hot choccies?’

A smile comes to her face, her eyes lighting up for the first time all evening. ‘Do we have marshmallows?’

‘Bet we do.’ I slide off the bed. ‘Back of the cupboard somewhere, probably years out of date.’

‘Perfect. My favourite type.’

I flick on the light in the kitchen, the evening darkening quickly. Bloody miserable weather for this time of year, but at least the rain seems to have stopped.

It’s only with the white noise of the kettle boiling, down here away from anyone, that I’m able to think over this whole thing with Nic and Tilda.

I meant what I said, that fucking is way more preferable than fighting. I’m seeing the toll it’s taken on Tilda, pretty much since day one of moving in here. She’s the type to get upset when she knows she’s upsetting someone else, even if she’s not done anything wrong to cause it.

What’s worse is that she’s also the type to believe she’s the problem. It’s like she hunts for the blame, using it to make her feel bad about herself. Dunno, maybe it’s a fucked-up form of mental self-harm for her.

And knowing what I do now, it’s hard not to be even more pissed at Nic. I’m not as bad as Haz, I can’t dig deep enough for that kind of anger, but it wears on me too. I hate picking sides, and maybe I’m just biased because Tilda’s my world, but this whole time, I’m pretty sure Nic’s been the one in the wrong.