Saving from Monkeys (30 page)

Yes I knew him and my mum were fond of each other, but not
that
much money fond of each other, surely?

In the next second
, the true horrifying reality set in and
why
Elliot had deposited a massive amount of money into my mum's account became moot. He had, and it was obvious what it had been used for.

My heart started to beat so fast my gaze shook as I tried to push past my nausea and focus on the story the account activity told.
My mum
had
been managing to save, I could see that. There were little deposits over time and she'd managed to get a modest sum together. This amount, however, hadn't been nearly as much as Elliot's deposit, and had been withdrawn in dribs and drabs soon after Elliot's money had appeared.

What the hell?
I'd barely spoken to Elliot since starting uni, we moved in such different circles we hardly ever saw each other and I'd liked it that way. He was a reminder of a not-so-stellar past me and the new me wanted nothing to do with him.

Except…It was something I could barely bring myself to think, but there was no denying it. It looked like the new me had been bought and paid for by Elliot Sinclair.

With this blunt assessment a sense of cold purpose slid down my spine. With the cold came a sort of numbness and, as I reached down to pull Abi's little printer out from under her bed, my movements were jerky and mechanical. Maybe it was stupid, the proof was irrefutable no matter what format it was in, but I seemed to need something tangible to properly make it real. I needed to
feel
the betrayal, to hold it in my hand and not have it just disappear when the computer was shut down.

To that end, I printed off the offending page from mum's account and then closed everything down and returned Abi's stuff to where it had been before.

Looking around, it was like nothing had changed; the room sat there innocently, knowing nothing about how bitterly I now felt towards it. I couldn't stay there anymore, which was fine because I had somewhere to be anyway.

Stopping only to shove my feet into my old sandshoes, I snatched up the print-out and stormed out of my room.
It was late-evening as I set off, and my lack of clothing should really have given me a moment's pause as I left the building. I was protected by a fury that pulsed around me like a shield, however, and didn't feel the chill.

I knew where Elliot lived as my mum had not-very-subtly suggested to me on a number of occasions that I should pop by and see him. It'd been bad enough when this had just been her trying to keep tabs on the both of us and, I'm sure she
thought, throw me into the path of the sort of people I should be mixing with. With what was revealed on the piece of paper I had clutched in my hand, it was even worse. What if I
had
seen him and he'd spent the entire time knowing the truth whilst I was in the dark? The humiliation I felt now was bad enough, but to think of being with Elliot and him knowing that he'd paid for my accommodation when I didn't…I couldn't even begin to comprehend how degrading that would have been.

The ice that had seen me out of my room and on the path to Elliot's abruptly flared into a red-hot fire and I found that walking to his place was not good enough. I wasn't the fittest person in the world, but I broke into a jog regardless, a jog that turned into a run until I was full on
pelting
my way across campus. I wasn't wearing a bra so, yeah, I was
that
angry.

And so it was that I banged on Elliot's door,
red-faced and sweaty, my hair wild about my face, half-bent clutching a stitch and out of breath, but fundamentally not giving a monkey's.

At first there was no reply.
I thumped my fist against the wood harder and waited a couple of seconds before banging again. My mind refused to comprehend that he wouldn't be in. This needed to be sorted
now
, him not being home wasn't an option.

Maybe it was an extreme case of mind over matter and I managed to
will
him into existence, because, eventually, I heard a noise inside and then the door was opening.

There he was.

It was weird seeing Elliot up close, I'd been so used to him being at a distance recently, but then again, having seen him practically every day for ten years meant that the weirdness was fairly easily overruled by hateful familiarity.

It felt like the rage towering inside me should have added at least a metre to my height, but reality was a little different. I was still hunched from my stitch, so I had to look up at him somewhat Quasimodo-ish.

"Rox?" Elliot stared down at me, a glass of amber liquid paused midway up to his mouth. His eyes swept me up and down. "The hell happened to you?"

He sounded a bit fuzzy, although whether that was due to the drinking
he'd
been doing, or the drinking
I'd
been doing, I wasn't sure. It didn't matter, though because his expression sharpened in the next instant as he added, "You alright?"

Oh, of course!
How could I forget? This was how Elliot got away with being such an entitled monkey's arse. He could swan around oozing condescension all he liked, and then all he had to do was cock his pretty head slightly and say something moderately caring and the world would forgive him. Well, not today, buddy boy.

"What the hell is this?" I brandished the account summary at him and his eyes followed the movement before he shrugged disinterestedly.

"Piece of paper?"

I shoved it at him, slapping it against his chest, and then stormed past him into his flat.

"By all means, come on in," he murmured sarcastically, but when I whirled to face him again, I saw that his focus was on the paper in his hands and there was nothing disinterested about him now.

"
Damn," he said flatly after a few seconds. Then, his eyes narrowing, "Did your mum give you this?"

"No," I replied shortly, refusing to feel bad about how I'd come by it,
especially
not in front of Elliot bloody Sinclair.

"So she doesn't know you know?" His voice was suddenly fierce and I looked up at him, startled.

I'd spent pretty much a decade in Elliot's company, but I don't think I'd ever seen his eyes so dark, or so intense as they were in that moment. The mudslides in my belly gave a little roil, but I did everything in my power to hide how uncomfortable his gaze made me.

"Not yet," I lifted my chin stubbornly, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

His fierce expression faded slightly. "Well, that's something." He left the door pointedly open and thrust the paper back at me. "Nice seeing you, Rox."

I automatically took the
account summary and he calmly walked over to refresh his glass from an opened bottle on the coffee table. That done, he went over to gaze out the small window along the back wall, as if I was no longer there.

"That's it?" I demanded incredulously, feeling decidedly wrong-footed from his swift changes in demeanour. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yep," I saw him take another pull at his drink, but he didn't turn around as he replied, "that's it. See you later."

"No!" My hands started to shake so hard the paper I was holding rattled. "That's not good enough!" I marched over and planted myself in front of him. There hadn't been much room between him and the window and, now I'd insinuated
myself into that gap, well…there wasn't much room between Elliot and me.

I could feel the warmth of his body and smell his faint cologne, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
OK, I'd misjudged this. Still, even with scant centimetres separating us, he was not to be drawn and he continued to look over my head and out the window.

I was not the type to take being ignored very well, even at the best of times, and being overlooked (literally)
at that moment made the impulsive anger that had sent me over here in the first place blaze up.

Quick as a flash, I reached forward and snatched the glass from his hands. Lifting it in a defiant sort of toast, I downed the remaining liquid in one go, the alcohol searing along my tongue and down my throat.

I was an unashamed 'girly' drinker so the rawness of the spirit took me by surprise and I choked slightly. The fire as I swallowed it down was right on par, however, and my actions seemed to have at least got Elliot's attention as he stared down at me with something like astonishment written across his face.

"Yeah!"
I tried not to splutter as I lifted the empty glass up to his eye-line so he could have a closer look. "That's right, I just drank your drink."

He had more than enough evidence to that fact, so I'm not sure why I'd felt the need to announce it. Elliot seemed to agree if the '
OK, crazy' look he was giving me was anything to go by.

"So what the hell happened?" I
thunked the now empty glass down onto the windowsill and tried to get us back on track. "You somehow found out my mum was saving up for me and decided to put your 'saviour of the poor' hat on and stick your stupid nose in as per usual?"

'Your stupid nose' wasn't my finest slur, but rage and alcohol was leaving very little room for thought processes now.

Elliot seemed to consider his options for a moment, and then he shrugged, turning away from me to snatch up a clean glass out of a nearby cabinet.

Cold air rushed into the gap between us and I found that it was a little easier to breathe now we weren't so pressed up against each other. Maybe Elliot felt the same way; he definitely looked more comfortable with the distance and another glass in his hand.

"Yeah, sure," he said offhandedly over his shoulder, making me purse my lips.

"Yeah, sure what?"

He squatted down in front of what was clearly his liquor cabinet, selected a new bottle then straightened and waved it at me casually. "The hat and the nose thing." He poured himself a healthily slug and then leant back against the cabinet, taking a mouthful and closing his eyes in contentment as he swallowed.

As for me?
Well, it wasn't contentment I was feeling.

Over the years I had thought I hated Elliot. I thought the
teasing, the careless comments about our differences in fortune, and the friends he'd invited over who had treated me with disdain had amounted to hatred. I was wrong. I knew this because I'd never felt anything like the loathing that consumed me in that moment.

He didn't care! I might as well have not existed for all the give a damn he was offering me.

"
Really
?" I choked. "I find out that my life’s just some joke you've cooked up to feel superior and
that's
all you can say?"

He brushed his flop of hair out of his face in the most affected move ever. "I guess so."

"What is
wrong
with you?" To my horror I felt tears prick at my eyes and I grabbed up the bottle he'd just set aside, chugging down another burning mouthful to brace myself. Drinking from the bottle made me feel reckless and tough and gave me the courage to add, "Don't you get what you've done? You've ruined
everything
. I'd just started to think I was worth something-" I stopped abruptly, realising too late that the alcohol hadn't just made my legs and arms start to feel rubbery, it'd loosened my tongue as well.

Elliot didn't say anything for a moment; he just took long measured swallows of his drink before finally looking up at me and saying solidly,
"That's crap."

I sucked in a low shocked breath, but he hadn't finished.
"As long as I've known you, you've thought you're something special, Rox, definitely better than me. So you don't get to march in here and accuse me of taking away your self-worth when you and I both know that's total bull."

"So, what?"
I asked shrilly, taken aback by his attack. "This," I waved the paper in my hand at him, "is punishment for being the
one
person who doesn't worship the ground you walk on?"

"Yes, Rox," he said sarcastically. "I paid for your uni accommodation without asking for anything in return just to teach you a lesson. My evil knows no bounds."

"You-" I gasped, lubricating the passage of the next words with another swig from the bottle I clenched tightly in my fist. "Even for you, that's just..."

"
Even for me
?" I'd touched a nerve and he jumped up, a muscle ticking away in his jaw.
"Seriously, what is your problem? That money stuff," he gestured angrily at the paper, "that's not anything to do with you. It's not your business."

"Not my business? Are you out of your mind?" The liquid in my bottle slopped in time with my agitation. "I know money's like cushions to you, Sinclair, just a bunch of stuff that you've got lying around that makes life comfier, but it means something to people like
me and my mum. We can't even afford the couch to
put
cushions on so don't you dare say that this isn't my business." I threw the paper down onto the coffee table between us where it lay, crumpled, staring up at us accusingly.