Summer Sky (25 page)

The party spans several rooms, guests draped across sumptuous black leather sofas in this room, and through the open door I see others spilling out to another terraced garden. I veer around them with Dylan's arm tightly around my waist; my anchor in this sea of brightly coloured fakery. Music blasts from the speakers in the next room we pass through, where bodies move and connect beneath the strobes.

"I didn’t expect there to be so many people," I whisper to Dylan, as we step into a quieter room.

I meet the shocked expression of a skinny girl with shining brown hair tumbling across her face, her skin stretched across high cheekbones in her pale mask of a face.

"We need a good audience, so Kim invited half of London's 'it' crowd. Now go with this." He moves his arm to my shoulders, pulling me close as we cross the room towards a small group.

Aware of the scrutiny, I keep my eyes to the marble floor. When I look up, amusement shares confusion in people's expressions, and despite my nerves, I’m glad they don’t think I fit.

A guy as tall as Dylan stands against the grey wall, legs crossed at the ankles as he watches us approach. He's chosen the usual Blue Phoenix mix of T-shirt and jeans, and unusually dark red hair pours across his shoulders. After a glance at me, the guy gives a thumbs up to Dylan. Dylan’s grip on my shoulders tightens and I wriggle away, nervously brushing the front of my dress.

"Hey, sweetheart," says the guy. "Nice to meet you. Honey told me you were at the house."

Honey. Oh, great. I scan the room but there’re a few Honey clones so I have no chance of spotting her.

"This is Liam," says Dylan. “He’s the bassist and an all-round nice guy.”

Liam pushes Dylan in the shoulder. “Ruining my image, man.”

“Hey, one of us has to be the nice guy.”

Dylan attempts to take my hand and I cross my arms, tucking my hands away. Liam watches. "I think you have to show everyone here that you’re together before you show the world you’re not." He winks at Dylan.

"Where’re the other guys?" asks Dylan.

"Jem's choosing a victim. No fucking clue where Bryn went." I shiver at the word and Liam smiles. "I don’t mean real victim. Girls usually don’t see things that way." He pulls himself from the wall. "I’d better find Honey - she’s high. Nice to meet you, summer Sky."

As he walks away, I shake my head, hoping to shake some reality back in. "High?"

"Yeah. Want a drink?"

Dylan's nonchalance shocks me, building back up the protective layers he stripped away. If Dylan’s drinking again, is he doing anything else?

I study his pupils and he holds my gaze. "I’m not high, Sky. I don’t do that shit anymore."

"Just drink?"

He snorts. "Says the girl who downed more than a bottle of wine the night we met."

The pink creeping up my neck is partly the truth of his words, and partly the reminder of the night we met. The evening that changed the course of my life for the second time in the same week.

"Well, I need a drink now," I tell him. "Another one. A big one."

"Sure thing."

I widen my eyes in alarm as Dylan’s mouth brushes mine, unprepared for the power of his lips on mine after time apart. The reaction is predictable, a desire to respond engulfing my common sense. Thankfully, Dylan steps away.

"Sorry, just keeping up the pretence." He runs a finger across my lips, smirking.

I touch my lips as if I've just been electrified, as Dylan strides across the room. A girl with black pixie cut hair watches, and then turns empty eyes toward me. She’s far enough away I don’t need to acknowledge her, and the way she studies me with a disdainful curve to her mouth should embarrass me. Instead, I lift my chin and stare right back.

No one here is any better than I am.

A young waiter, smartly dressed with spiked brown hair passes with a silver tray carrying glasses of champagne, wide-eyed as he takes in the crowds around. Wondering why Dylan left to find a drink when so many are available, I take a glass, and gulp the wine. By the time another waiter dressed in the same uniform but older passes, my glass is empty so I swap it for a new one.

Four glasses later and Dylan hasn’t returned. At least my discomfort lessens as my blood alcohol level increases. I giggle because I'm against the wall at a celebrity party trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a fake plant. What a weird night.

If Dylan’s decided to abandon me, shouldn’t we have a fight first? Then I can go back to my room, pack and wait for freedom? I pull myself from my safe spot and weave through the bodies, thankful that as the party has grown, the interest in me is lost in the crowds. Heading in the direction Dylan went, I fight through a jungle of silicone, suffocated by a deadly poison cloud of perfumes.

Several fruitless minutes of searching later, the dizzying atmosphere heightens my light-headedness and I move towards an open door. Stepping through the doorway into the summer night air cools my face, and I breathe deeply in an attempt to clear my head of the party. An old set of stone steps run down towards the dark; two figures stand at the edge of the lit area and I freeze. Dylan and a girl. My stomach knots tight – her arm is on his, and he strokes her cheek. I can’t hear what they’re talking about but they appear intimate. She's small and slender with straight, dark hair. Dylan’s relaxed with this girl, more so than he was with me earlier. I chastise myself – why be jealous? I told him I didn’t want him.

Yet I am. Unbelievably, fluorescent green, Godzilla-size monster jealous. I thought he wanted me, and I’d begun to rationalise wanting him. Is he about to humiliate me at the party by parading another girl in front of everyone?

I stare as the couple talk in low voices. They touch each other’s faces and hair as they speak, and then the girl holds Dylan's hand in both of hers. When Dylan kisses the top of the girl’s head and turns, so does my stomach.

I stumble backwards, hoping he can’t see me illuminated by the light from the room behind. I back inside just in time.

"Hey, little lady, where you going?" A hand catches my elbow and the voice carves fear along my spine. Jem.

"Nowhere much. Drink, I’m looking for a drink."

Jem fixes me with an intrigued expression, and runs his tongue along his teeth, as he looks me up and down. "Nice dress, Sky. You certainly stand out in it." His low voice sends a shiver through.

"Because I own clothing bigger than a handkerchief?"

He smiles. "Funny. Let's get you a drink."

Jem's American drawl is more pronounced than Dylan's, although Dylan's is also stronger since he came back here. Someone bumps me, and a girl stalks past, heels clicking across the tiled floor.

Before I can react, Jem takes my hand and leads me towards a quieter room. A wooden bar spans one side of the room, several metres across, with a drinks selection worthy of a pub. Identical looking platinum blonde girls serve drinks, their large breasts barely covered in the cut off white T-shirts, shorts half way up their backsides. This is Dylan's house; did he choose the staff?

I hang back near the opposite wall as Jem gets a drink. The girls go straight to him, and I compare Jem to those around. He's wearing a grey suit similar to Dylan's and a few eyes in the room are trained on him. He knows this, and holds himself tall, looking aloofly at the matching girls in front. His presence is similar to Dylan's, but not as all encompassing. His star doesn't shine as brightly.

Jem returns to me, holding a glass of champagne. When passing the glass to me, he deliberately rubs a thumb along my hand. I gulp the champagne, shifting my look from him; the guy Liam said was looking for a victim. He takes a long drink of the brown liquor in his glass then licks his lips whilst staring at mine.

My discomfort level grows by the second; is he flirting or threatening? What is it about this man that locks up the snarky, sure-of-herself Sky and throws away the key?

Jem places a hand on the wall and leans forward, breath on my face. As tall and muscular as Dylan, Jem has the strength to match. I've experience of how strong Dylan is when he's touched and held me before, but this never worried me. Jem's scent is different, a similar spice but heavier. Add to this the unfocused eyes and low voice and I'm scared.

"What's the deal?"

"Pardon?"

"You and Dylan, what's the game?"

"No game."

He sneers. "Kind of a big coincidence?"

"What the hell?"

“You staying at the house with him. Planned it, did you? What happened? Is he not the guy you wanted him to be?" His tone hardens.

"That's not what happened..."

He touches my nose with the tip of his finger. "Did you want to try another one of us?"

I pull my head back and scrutinise his face. He's not sober at all; his eyes are those of someone elsewhere.

"Fuck you," I hiss.

His brown eyes widen, and then a grin sneaks across his face. "If you want..."

Nice one, Sky
. I side step but he places the other hand against the wall, caging me in. "He won't give you money."

"I don't want his money!"

From the corner of my eye, I'm aware of heads turning to us. A girl in a silver glove of a dress nearby points and looks are thrown my way. Do they think I've started on a new band member?

Dylan appears behind Jem, face hard as he claps him on the shoulder. "What the fuck, dude?"

Jem steps back and holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Just chatting."

The anger on Dylan's face is directed at his friend, not me. "You okay, Sky?"

I nod.

"I'm trying to suss out what her deal is, man. This is all fucking dodgy. Look at her... seriously? You can do better than that."

I grit my teeth and step away, unsure whether to respond. The scene we're causing has more than a few interested onlookers.

"This has fuck all to do with you, Jem. Piss off."

"Yeah? You fuck off without telling anyone then come back ten times fucking worse than when you left." He scrutinises me. "And for her?"

"I didn't go down there for her. I fucking told you. I met her there!"

"Whatever. You're still a mess thanks to this manipulative bitch."

"You arrogant wanker!" I say, too loudly.

"You want to be in his life or not, summer Sky?"

"Don't call me that."

"I got a story to tell you..."

"I'm sure you have a whole bunch of stories," I reply.

"A story about me and Dylan and a girl a bit like you."

"That's nice," I want to get away from this guy; he has nothing to say I want to hear. "Dylan, can we go?"

"Should we tell her our story, Dylan?" presses Jem.

Dylan's face is expressionless, but a muscle twitches in his cheek. Jem raises an eyebrow at Dylan; but whatever he hopes to achieve, Dylan doesn't bite.

"Do what you like," Dylan says.

A grin spreads across his face. "Nah. Maybe Sky can do her own research. Check out Lily Parker."

"I'm sure she can, if she wants," says Dylan in a tone dropping the room temperature.

Despite telling Jem I'm not interested, I make a mental note of the name.

"Yeah, whatever," he says to Dylan, eyes trained on my face. "Little Miss Summer Sky, I got the measure of you." He looks to Dylan. "She'll bring you to your knees, fuck you over and leave. Haven't you learnt anything?"

Dylan shoves Jem. "Stop talking. Now. Not everyone gets involved in the same fucking messes you do."

Jem and Dylan face off, like tomcats ready to tear each other’s fur out. I inhale, wishing the hell I'd stayed in my bedroom. Jem makes a final scornful noise, looks at me as if I'm something from the bottom of his shoe, and backs away.

"She's playing a clever game with you, man!" he calls, draining his glass.

Satisfied he's stirred the pot enough, Jem tips his fingers away from his head in a mock salute, and then steps away from us.

Trembling from anger, I shrug off the hand Dylan places on my arm. Jem bumps into a small Asian girl, turns and wraps an arm around her shoulder. She smiles, and looks up at him. He whispers something in her ear then slides a hand to her backside, squeezing. My stomach turns. I guess he found his victim then.

I thrust the glass of champagne at Dylan. "I'm leaving."

"Sorry about him. He has issues..."

"Really? Thanks for pointing that out."

I walk away, back to the throng in the next room. Weaving my way through the suffocating throng of people, I head for the door to the kitchen, the short cut to my end of the house and the edge of the party. Dylan pursues me, trying to grab my arm a couple of time, but I shake him off.

Bursting into the cool of the darkened kitchen, I halt with my back to Dylan. "Now can you see why I don't want to be involved? And that's just the tip of the iceberg."

We're alone in the kitchen, the silence a contrast to the hubbub of the party. The sound fades further as the door behind me shuts.

"Sky." Dylan touches my arm again, carefully turning me around.