Under My Skin (13 page)

That night, Sally had never felt so useless in her life. In the end, after much Googling of helplines and scouring blog posts about domestic violence, she curled up into a ball on her bed and cried. Just wept. She was powerless to help. What was she going to do? Call the police? That was exactly what she should do, but what was she meant to tell them?
I haven't witnessed anything and she'll probably deny it but I
think
my best friend's boyfriend is hurting her
. What's more, she'd promised Jennie she wouldn't tell anyone. She should have never agreed to that; she'd backed herself into a corner.

She sobbed anew. The thought of that . . . that . . .
arsehole
hurting Jennie. Jennie – one of life's little unicorns. Worse still, apparently Jennie considered having a boyfriend to be more important that her own well-being. How had she and Stan let that happen? Sally felt responsible, like she'd failed in her most basic of best friend duties. Quite simply, she didn't know what to do with herself.

So she cried.

‘Let it all out, girl.' Molly Sue told her. The tattoo rested on the back of her shoulder blade, and Sally swore she could actually feel Molly Sue patting her back maternally. There was an
almost
comforting warmth under the skin.

What am I meant to do? Whatever I do it'll make things worse . . . what if he takes it out on Jennie? What if he
really
hurts her?
She knew what Angela would do in
Satanville
: she'd pull on a pair of skin-tight leather trousers, some thigh boots and roundhouse kick the smirk off his slimy face. But she wasn't a bad-ass demon hunter, she was just . . . nothing.

‘He's a coward, darlin'. What kinda man picks on an itty bitty thing like her? She wouldn't throw rice at a wedding. No sorta man at all, if y'ask me.'

What if he does it again?

‘I don't doubt he will. Men like that get off on feelin' big an' powerful.'

I have to do
something
. I can't ignore it. I can't.

‘Damn straight. Ya gotta talk to him, sugar. Let him know you're watchin' him. Threaten him a little.'

Sally knew with absolute certainty that wouldn't work. He'd wriggle out of it like a weasel somehow –
she walked into the door
or something just as lame. And Sally was scared of him. ‘I can't,' she said.
You know I can't.

‘I can,' said Molly Sue. ‘I ain't afraid o' that skinny son of a bitch. He'd have to stand up twice to cast a shadow.'

Sally rolled off the bed and went to her dresser so she could see her friend in the mirror. Molly Sue strutted over her shoulder and onto her chest. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Just like when I got ya hair did. Let me do it.'

‘What? No. No, you can't.'

‘Sure I can!'

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘And just what are you going to do? With my body?'

‘Calm down. I'm just gonna talk to him.'

‘No way,' Sally shook her head no. ‘Kyle thinks I'm an idiot. He won't listen to me.'

‘He'll listen to me,' Molly Sue said with iron-clad certainty. ‘I'm not gonna give him much of a say in the matter.'

Sally plucked a tissue out of the box on her dresser and dried her eyes. ‘What would you tell him?'

Molly Sue let out a whistle through her teeth. ‘Well, I'll just let him know that if he hurts sweet lil Jennie again, I'll make sure he gets it back ten times over. He musta seen you talkin' to Todd . . . we'll threaten him with the football team or somethin'.'

‘This isn't going to work. And what if he takes it out on Jennie?'

‘Girl! That's exactly what bullies like him want y'all to think! It's how they keep a hold on ya – buy your silence! Ya can't play along with men like that, you gotta show 'em who's got the real balls!'

Sally still wasn't convinced.

‘Look, where's he gonna be this weekend? Just gimme five minutes with him and he won't be botherin' any more girls for a long time.'

Sally racked her brain, trying to remember what Jennie said they were doing. ‘I think tomorrow night his band are playing at The Old Boat Shed up by the lake.'

‘Can under eighteens get in?'

‘Yeah.'

Molly Sue's violet eyes darkened. ‘Then let's do it.'

The next night, Sally didn't select a pair of leather trousers because she didn't own any, but she did choose her most Angela-like outfit – skinny jeans, the army boots and the leather jacket. It was a rock gig after all, so she'd even gone overboard on the black eyeliner. It felt like war paint.

Not wanting her parents to see her so dolled up, Sally slipped out of the back door, calling into the lounge as she went. ‘I'm going to Jennie's! I might be late . . .'

‘What?' her mother called from the living room.

‘There's a film on we both want to watch! Bye!' She slammed the door before her mum could stop her. She'd deal with any fallout in the morning. There was no way they'd let her go to a gig alone; the lie was necessary.

It was already dark by the time she reached the lake. She had no idea how this was going to work. Scanning the queue, Sally looked for Jennie – if she was here, how was she ever going to get Kyle on her own? She guessed that was Molly Sue's problem.

There was already a dirty bassline shaking the walls of the shed, which sat on the very edge of the lake. At this time of the evening, the lake was a black mirror – the trees and islands charcoal drawings reflected upside-down in the water. There was a steady stream of people from SVHS filing into The Old Boat Shed and even more laughing and drinking outside at the water's edge.

‘'K, ya ready?' Molly Sue asked as they joined the queue.

Ready as I'll ever be. Just don't do anything to make me look stupid.

‘Darlin', have a little faith! When have I ever let ya down?'

OK, do it, then.
Once more she imagined the tattoo sliding up into her head and there was a sharp, sudden chill in her skull. It was like the tipping-point plunge into sleep . . .

Sally woke with a start, face down in a pillow.
I
can't breathe.
Surprised and scared, she swatted it away, sitting bolt upright. Her eyes were sleep fuzzy and unfocused.
Where am I?
She blinked hard and took in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her owl hooted not far away. It felt late . . . or early even.

I was just at the club . . .

How long had Molly Sue taken over for? Why didn't she remember anything? She tried to force herself to remember getting home, or getting into bed, but there was only a black space, like the night had been coloured in with thick black Sharpies.

Sally pushed her hair off her face and saw that she was still partially dressed. The boots had been kicked off and the jacket had been slung over the back of her chair but she was still in her jeans and top. Both were covered in thick brown mud – it caked her bedsheets. ‘What the . . . ?'

Climbing off the bed, Sally stumbled to her en-suite, tripping over a discarded boot. She flicked the bathroom light on and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.

Her cream T-shirt was red with blood.

‘Molly Sue!' Sally hissed, the colour seeping from her face, leaving her skin sickly chalk white. ‘What did you do?'

The tattoo didn't answer. Sally yanked the T-shirt up and saw Molly Sue was in her original position, statue still. ‘Molly Sue!' She was wary of waking her parents, but a frustrated tear found its way out. ‘Tell me what you did! Molly Sue!'

Still no reply.

Her hands were covered in tacky brown-red that she could only assume was blood. Nothing on her hurt; the blood wasn't hers. The ground lurched like a funhouse floor and she gripped the edge of the sink to steady herself. A wave of nausea, a feeling like carsickness, rose in her chest.

Sally closed her eyes. She
had
to remember. It
had
to be in there somewhere. There was nothing – only a thick, oily blackness where her evening ought to be. Another tear ran down her face, forging a channel in the dirt. She felt . . . wrong . . . violated. Molly Sue had stolen her body and done God only knew what.

Molly Sue! Tell me what you did! TELL ME!

The pin-up girl just looked coyly over her shoulder –
I've-got-a-secret-and-I'm-not-telling
all over her face. Sally sank to the bathroom floor, pressing herself into the narrow gap between the sink and the toilet. She pulled her knees to her chin and cried.

What have I done?

Sally awoke on the bath mat when her mother banged on her bedroom door. ‘Sally! Are you awake?'

‘Yes!' Sally shouted at once, not wanting her mum to see her like this. She sprang to her feet and looked in the mirror. It hadn't been a dream.

In the light of day everything was different. There's an old Russian saying she'd learned from an episode of
Satanville
:
the morning is wiser than the night.
It was so true. She'd done all her crying last night. This morning, if Molly Sue wasn't going to tell her, she needed to find out what had happened during the blackout.

But first things first. She peeled off the jeans and threw them into the shower with the T-shirt. She got in with them and turned the shower on. The filthy water ran black and maroon down the plughole, and she washed her clothes as best she could. The T-shirt would have to be burned, but the jeans could go in a regular wash without attracting too much suspicion. She'd put her bedding in too and just hope her mum didn't notice. As luck would have it, in the Feather household, Monday was laundry day and always had been.

After she was dry she found her phone in her leather jacket pocket. Without hesitation she called Kyle. It went straight to voicemail. ‘No,' she mumbled. It felt like a brick dropping into her stomach.
Surely she didn't . . .
but maybe Molly Sue had. She
had
threatened it.

Panic bled in around the edges and Sally had to sit on her bed for a moment to stop shivering.
Did she kill him? Did I kill him?
She was no Kyle fan, but she didn't want him dead. Or did she? She reminded herself what he'd done to Jennie – those finger marks on her arm.
No, it wasn't you
, she told herself,
it was
her
. I was a fool to trust her.

Sally thought about calling Jennie to ask if she'd heard anything from Kyle, but knew it'd look suspicious. She had to trust that Molly Sue hadn't left evidence – the police hadn't arrived on her doorstep yet. For now, Sally knew she mustn't draw attention to herself. She probably just punched him in the face or something.
So why is his phone dead?

She couldn't manage any breakfast and walked to the corner almost in a trance. Stan and Jennie were waiting for her. ‘Oh, she's on time for once!' Jennie called down the street. ‘Oh, sweetie, what's up? You look awful!'

‘Gee, thanks!' Sally attempted a carefree smile.

‘Are you hungover?' Jennie grinned. ‘I heard you got pretty wild at The Old Boat Shed last night.'

‘What?' Stan's head whipped around as he walked a step ahead of them. ‘What were you doing there?'

Sally processed the information. Did that mean Jennie hadn't been there? ‘Yeah, I went and met some of the
Little Shop
cast,' she lied and Stan could barely hide his annoyance. ‘How come you didn't go?' she said to Jennie.

‘Duh!' Jennie sighed. ‘Grandma was over for a family dinner. Major suckfest. I hate missing Kyle play. Was he good?'

‘Yeah, great.'

‘Where was my invite?' Stan said huffily.

‘Don't start,' Sally snapped. She didn't have time for his wounded ego this morning. ‘It was a cast thing. You are not in the cast. OK?'

Stan backed down. ‘Sorry, Stresspants.
Are
you hungover?'

‘No!' Sally said, although suspected this was
precisely
what a hangover felt like.

‘Oh, really?' Jennie smiled slyly. ‘When Kyle texted he said you were drinking shots.'

‘Well, I wasn't,' she lied. She could kill Molly Sue. That would explain her dry mouth and churning stomach. ‘Hey, are we meeting Kyle on the way in?'

‘Don't think so. He hasn't texted to say to wait for him.'

Of course he hadn't – his phone was lost.

His phone's lost? How do I know that?
It came back to her. A single image: a mobile dropping into the black lake with a clear plop. Nothing else – just that one image.
The lake? What was I doing on the lake?

‘Sally? Sure you're OK?' Stan asked, genuinely concerned.

‘Yeah. Fine.'

‘OK, let me know if you're gonna hurl. I'll hold your hair back.'

‘You're such a gent.' Sally smiled, trying to hide her fear. It was another Monday morning where she couldn't wait to get to school.

Sally told Mrs Flynn that she had to talk to Mr Roberts about rehearsal so she ducked straight out of registration and went to the Newton Building where Kyle had form room with Dr Farmer. She loitered long after the bell for first period, waiting for everyone to file out, but Kyle was not amongst the masses. Her palms grew sweaty and she realised, almost too late, that she was going to vomit. She got to the girls' toilet with seconds to spare.
What did Molly Sue drink last night? What did she do?

She felt better for being sick, like she'd expelled something toxic from her system.
I have to think clearly
. Sally was alone in the toilets so took her time, washing her face and rinsing her mouth out at the sink. She checked her jacket pocket for a tissue. She couldn't feel one, but her fingers found something square and hard in her inside pocket. Confused, Sally pulled it out. It was a Zippo lighter, the metal cold with a chipped American flag painted on one side. Sally flicked it open to see if it worked and found that it did. And remembered that Kyle had one just like it . . .

I should call the police
. But if he was dead, it would be
her
DNA all over the body. Molly Sue didn't have little cartoon fingerprints. She could hardly tell the police that the tattoo on her back did it – she'd be put in a straitjacket and carted away.

Don't panic. Find out what happened first. Molly Sue? Are you there?
There was still no answer. Fuming, she shoved the lighter back in her pocket. Again, if anyone saw it, they'd ask questions.

When the ground had stopped spinning quite so fast, she went to maths as normal, still wary of drawing too much attention to herself. Mr Pollock was already droning on when she tried to slip into the classroom like a shadow. ‘Sally . . . glad you could join us. Hurry up and take your seat, please.'

‘Sorry,' Sally muttered, head down. She tripped over someone's bag and managed to knock a pencil case off a desk with her satchel before finally arriving at her own desk. So much for not causing a scene. She was rummaging in her own bag for her textbook when she saw a scrap of white paper enter her periphery vision. It was Todd trying to subtly slide a note into her hand. She took it and sat up. Sure Mr Pollock wasn't looking, she unfolded the piece of paper.

Last night was AWESOME! Where'd you go? Xxx

Her eyes widened.
Oh God, what did I do?
All Sally could do was turn around and smile dumbly. Todd looked right back at her, the blue eyes peering out from under his heavy brow. It was like he was seeing past her and right at Molly Sue . . . who had done God knew what with him. His full lips curled up at the edges – a knowing half-smile. There was no way . . . surely she'd remember
that
. Sally turned away to hide the extent of her fuchsia blushing.

She needed to know what happened in those missing hours and she needed to know
now
.

By break it all became real.

‘Have you seen Kyle?' Jennie was now visibly concerned. ‘His phone has been off all morning.' She stood outside the library, hands on hips, looking hot and sticky from marching around the school on her search.

‘Maybe's he's off sick,' Stan said through a mouthful of ham and crisp sandwich. ‘If I was off sick, I'd still be asleep.'

Jennie humphed. ‘I bet he got wasted after the gig and stayed in bed. Sal, did you see him after the gig?'

‘Not really,' she replied, non-committal.
Maybe I should just turn myself in now.

‘God, it drives me mad! What's the point in having a phone if you're not going to use it!' Once more, Sally saw the phone vanish into the water. Jennie stomped off in search of Kyle. Sally knew she wasn't going to find him.

‘Maybe he finally dropped dead?' Stan said.

At that Sally whirled to face him. ‘What?' Had he seen something? Now that she thought about it, Molly Sue must have gone past his house on her way home.

Stan grinned, just kidding. ‘You think? I wished pretty hard . . .'

‘Well . . . don't!' Sally hoped her hammering heart wasn't audible. The rising panic was dizzying, and the thought of vomiting in front of half her class only made her more panicked.

‘Steady on! Good lord, Sally Feather, you are not good after a late night.'

‘Sorry . . . sorry. That's just a terrible thing to say.' Sally fought to keep her trembling hands steady.

‘C'mon, Grumpy, let's get you a coffee!' Stan took her hand and dragged her towards the cafeteria. Sally could see Todd watching her every step of the way as they climbed the stairs. Just in case, Sally pulled her hand out of Stan's palm. She didn't want Todd to get the wrong idea.

Finally, in second period, it all got too much. She drummed hyperactive fingers against the table and she couldn't even feign interest in the fanfic Stan was writing in her notepad. The classroom felt airless, stifling.

Sally could think of five options available to her. Option one: do nothing and hope the whole thing blew over. Not likely. Option two: go to the police and tell the truth and accept the consequences. That didn't seem fair when she hadn't done anything – hell she didn't even know what she'd be confessing to! A bubble of anger kept popping in her chest; Molly Sue had taken advantage of her. Was this a plan – to slowly take permanent control of her? To possess her body? No, that didn't feel right. If that were the case then she wouldn't have relinquished control so soon. Another thought occurred to her: maybe Molly Sue
couldn't
remain at the wheel for long – perhaps that was why she was so quiet now – she was spent after whatever she'd done last night.

Options three and four were to go to Kyle's house or the hospital. The final option was to go to the lake, to see if there was anything there that might jog her memory. The phone being swallowed into the water was the only pixel of the night she had.

‘Stan, I have to get out of here,' she said suddenly.

‘What? Are you OK?'

‘I . . . I really don't feel well.' Not a lie.

‘Want me to come with you?'

‘No, no, it's fine.' She started to sweep her things into her satchel.

‘Mademoiselle Feather,' said Madame Renoir, ‘are you going somewhere?'

‘Miss, I feel really ill . . .'

She mustn't have looked too brilliant either because the teacher nodded. ‘
D'accord. Vite!
'

Sally careered into the corridor, feeling like she was suffocating. She saw the fire escape at the end of the hall and lurched towards the open air. She started to run, her Converse slapping against the polished floor. Pushing against the bar, she tumbled into the yard and gulped in fresh air. The pigeons and crows gorging on leftover break-time snacks scattered, cawing their disapproval. Sally gathered her wits and hurried towards the main gates so fast she didn't see the figure coming around the corner of the science block until she ploughed into him.

It was Kyle, and he looked
angry.