Wild (6 page)

He slung his arm round her shoulder, hugging her hard against him. “You fancy some meth?”

His touch sent a shudder of revulsion through her that caught her off guard. She studied him from the corner of her eye, waiting for some kinder emotion to spring up in her chest, but it didn’t come. She didn’t see her boyfriend when she looked at him, didn’t see the boy she’d given up her degree and her family for. All she saw was a place to stay and a steady supply of drugs. Huh. She’d suspected for sometime she didn’t love Harris anymore, but she hadn’t realised she actually hated him.

So this was the end of her first love. How sad.

“Come on, babe, let’s get high.” Harris opened the front door with a flourish, sweeping her in with a too-wide grin. “Unless you’re going to freak out and run off again?”

For one red-hot second she wanted to slug him, wipe that stupid smile off his face. But the lure of the meth overrode the impulse and she threw herself onto the ugly green couch and watched Harris lay it out in slim, beautiful lines.

****

For a few beautiful days after that night, the world was a blur of drugs. Vic had been surprisingly generous with his supplies, and after the meth was gone they started on the acid. Never her first choice – it gave her awful nightmares. Wolves hunting her through the streets, howling for her blood and ripping her to shreds while Harris looked on and laughed. But she kept taking it because there was nothing else to do, and at least the acid kept away reality during daylight.

On what she thought was the fourth day, she stirred enough from her daze to realise she was painfully hungry. She emerged from the dim, patchouli-scented mess of the bedroom, calling for Harris.

The house was empty, the living room littered with empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. Clad only in Harris’s Liverpool FC shirt, she picked her away across the carpet, grimacing as she trod in a patch of tomato sauce. She should clean up really. God knows Harris wouldn’t.

The kitchen was no better. It reeked of cigarette smoke and she could swear a few blue wisps still curled in the air. The sink was piled high with unwashed plates and the bin overflowed with take-away boxes and beer cans. She inhaled and coughed sharply as the ashy smell of cigarettes and the eye-watering tang of curry spices hit the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” she muttered, running her fingers through her greasy hair. She didn’t remember eating any of this shit. She didn’t remember much about the past few days though, so that was probably okay. That had been the point after all.

She contemplated cleaning up, but a sharp growl from her stomach changed her priorities. Maybe she hadn’t eaten any of this shit – she felt like she hadn’t eaten in years. She squatted down to peer in the fridge, pushing aside beer bottles in an attempt to find something to satisfy her hunger.

“Milk, eggs, onions,” she muttered, rubbing her stomach in a vain attempt to quell her hunger pangs. When had they last gone shopping? There was nothing here she could eat. She needed meat. Yes, meat. Chicken. No, not chicken. Too flavourless, like eating paper. Beef, maybe. Maybe a burger. Oh yeah, a huge burger, dripping with grease and smothered in gherkins and cheese.

No, no cheese. No gherkins either. And no bread. Just the burger would be fine.

Almost bent double with hunger, she opened the freezer, digging around for burgers. They had to have some. Just one would do. She rummaged desperately, tossing aside a bag of frozen peas and a tub of ice cream. No fucking burgers? No, no, no! She needed one! She needed red meat. She craved it as desperately as she’d ever craved any drug. She needed the raw taste of it in her mouth, the smell of seared flesh in her nostrils.

Weeping with frustration, she slammed the freezer shut and kicked over the bin. Plastic wrappings and scraps of Chinese food spilled onto the kitchen floor and Lizzie dropped to her knees in the middle of the mess, fingers scrabbling through the remains of half-eaten meals, searching frantically for something that would satisfy her craving. There had to be something. Anything…

The front door slammed. “Lizzie?” Harris called. “You awake, babe?”

She froze, heart going into overdrive as shame surged through her system. What the hell was she doing? She pulled away from the bin, blinking as reality hit her. She was on her knees picking through her rubbish. She raised her hands, staring at the mess of sweet and sour sauce coating her fingers, the strands of red cabbage lodged under her broken nails. A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escaped her.

“Lizzie? Are you tripping?” Harris stuck his head round the door, eyes widening at the sight of her. “What the fuck?”

“I knocked over the bin,” she said, shovelling the rubbish back into the metal bin. “I was cleaning up –”

“Yeah, really badly.”

“Fuck you, Harris. This place is a pigsty!” She wiped her hands on her shirt and gestured around the room. “The whole house stinks. Where did all this crap come from?” She indicated the collection of empty cans and bottles by the sink.

“You tell me, babe, you sent me out for it all,” he countered, a frown drawing his brows together. “All this crap –” he nudged a pizza box with his foot, “you ordered it in. You’ve been eating like a pig the past three days.”

“I…” Lizzie faltered, trying to recall anything about the past three days. All that came to mind was a jumble of colourful dreams and half-remembered nightmares. “I don’t remember.”

“I’m not surprised, given the amount of acid you’ve gone through. It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

“Don’t fucking lecture me, Harris!” She gripped the edge of the sideboard and hauled herself to her feet. A wave of hunger hit her, so intense she felt nauseous in its wake. “I’m starving,” she muttered.

“Shit, you’re not pregnant, are you?” Harris asked, genuine alarm filling his face.

She glared at him, swamped with the temptation to hit him. She clamped down the urge. “Don’t be a twat,” she muttered, pushing past him to go back to the living room. The room felt too hot, too small, and claustrophobia clashed with the hunger swirling in her stomach. “I need some fresh air.” She rushed to the window, flinging it open and leaning out. It was raining outside and the water felt like a balm on her skin, reminding her she probably hadn’t showered for a few days.

Harris followed her, shedding his battered leather jacket and kicking off his boots. He slumped onto the couch and dug a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “You’re acting mad at the moment, babe. Mad for a druggie, I mean. You wanna smoke?”

“I’m quitting, remember?” She didn’t bother to face him. The condescending tone of his voice was bad enough without looking at him too.

“You’re seriously fucked up, you know that? Yesterday you went through two packs in an hour and today you’re quitting? Make up your mind, Lizzie.”

She did turn at that, surprise and disquiet running through her, leaving her tense. “I don’t remember that.” She inhaled into her hand and sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of cigarettes.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been smashed.” He shrugged and took a deep drag on his cigarette. “So much for quitting. I knew it was all talk. That’s the problem with you, Elizabeth, you know? No commitment.”

A red veil fell over her eyes, turning the world bloody and sharp. When it lifted, she saw Harris clearly. Not just
saw
him but saw
into
him, right down to the core of him. And his core was decayed, rotted away by years of drug abuse. And she couldn’t escape the horrible feeling that if she looked in a mirror, she’d see the same thing.

“I’ve got to get away,” she said softly, barely audible.

If he heard, he ignored her. “So now you’re back in the real world, you got any money? I owe Vic, like, six hundred quid.”

“I have to get out of here,” she said, louder this time, “or I’m going to die.”

Harris shot her a sympathetic look. “Babe, chill out,yeah? Don’t talk shit like that. You’re still coming down. Just sit and relax with me.” He patted the sofa invitingly.

The thought of sitting next to him, with his withered soul and filthy spirit, disgusted her. She rubbed her temples and shook her head. “I need something to eat. I’m going to the shop.”

“Dressed like that? You look like a hooker.” He ran his eyes over her body, a touch of disdain glittering in their sky-blue depths. “A
dirty
hooker.” He grinned, but it did nothing to take away the sting of the words.

“I guess that makes you a dirty pimp,” she said wearily, heading for the bedroom. She pulled on clean underwear and found a pair of relatively clean jeans. Tucking her purse in her back pocket, she left the house without saying another word to Harris.

“Y’all come back now, y’hear!” Harris shouted after her.

Lizzie slammed the front door, cutting off his snickers. He thought he was so bloody big. He thought she was so dependant on him. Well he was wrong and she would show him.

seven

T
HERE WAS A
pub at the far end of Smithdown Road, near Allerton, that served the biggest burgers Lizzie had ever seen. Thirty minutes after slamming the door on Harris, she was sat in a window booth in The King’s Head waiting for her bacon double cheeseburger. She tapped her nails on a bottle of beer, not sure whether she really wanted to drink it or not. It smelt sour, kind of like Harris.

Across the bar, under the wide screen TV playing the football scores on mute, lads cheered or jeered, depending on their allegiances. Across from Lizzie’s table, a pool game was in full swing, a pink-haired girl crowing with delight as she pocketed the final yellow ball on the table. Her male companions groaned and mocked her with good humour.

Her burger came, thick and juicy and swimming with grease. Her stomach growling, she stripped off the gherkins and cheese before shovelling the meat down. When the burger was gone, she went to the bar to order another, and almost walked into Nick Doyle as he emerged from the men’s room.

“Lizzie! Fuck, how are you?” He caught her by the shoulders, looking her over with a too-sharp gaze. “Are you okay?”

Caught off guard by his sudden appearance, she pulled free of his grip, nerves jangling for reasons she couldn’t name. Well, all right, maybe she could. Looking at Nick, she saw Hannah convulsing in the Krazy House toilets, saw a big black wolf emerging from the shadows. She couldn’t help herself; he was just tangled up with the two most horrible things that ever happened to her.

“Lizzie?” Nick nudged her. “Are you okay?”

She gave herself a mental shake. He’d also helped her, she reminded herself, taking her to hospital before she could bleed to death in the street. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I’m good. How are you?”

He nodded. “Great. Just here with some mates.” He indicated the pool table, where the pink-haired girl had apparently won. “Can I get you a drink? How are you feeling? I’m holding – do you need anything?”

She accepted another beer, two pills – well, it would be rude to say no - and ordered herself another burger. They went and sat back down at her table, Lizzie downing the capsules with one swig of her new pint. Nick raised his eyebrow at her first empty plate. “Hungry?”

“I haven’t been eating lately.” She shrugged and swigged her beer, feeling awkward and uneasy but the MDMA would take care of that soon enough. Nick was watching her too closely, as if examining her for something. Oh. Was he waiting for a thank you? “Thanks for the other night,” she said, staring at the stains on the table top. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

He shrugged, flicking his black hair from his eyes. “It was the least I could do, after … everything. Your friend, I mean.”

She felt a prick of grief and forced herself to shake it off. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but it was my fault.” His expression turned earnest and he reached across the table, grabbing her hands. “I wanted to do something … I don’t know, atone for it.”

Lizzie pulled away, shaking her head. You can’t, she wanted to say, but forced herself to rephrase it. “You don’t have to. It’s –”

She cut herself off when her second burger arrived, and a pang of hunger hit her hard. Forgetting Nick for a second, she tucked in, relishing the peppery taste of the burger and the salty tang of the bacon. Perfect.

Nick watched her eat, she realised with a flush of embarrassment. Watching as she wolfed down the burger, relish staining her chin. She swallowed a mouthful of cheese and set the burger down to wipe her chin. “Shouldn’t you get back to your mates?” she asked. She felt better now. The burger was just what she needed.

He shook his head. “They won’t miss me. Are you okay, Lizzie? You been okay since that night? Not felt sick, or anything?”

Why did he keep asking that? She was out here, wasn’t she? Fully functional and walking around. Irritation spiked through her. Yeah, she was grateful to him, but she didn’t need a fucking babysitter. “What do you want, Nick?”

“I just want to talk,” he said, smiling tentatively, the curving of his lips softening his sharp features.

Something about the smile relaxed her, triggered again a strange feeling of familiarity. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t justify it, but he suddenly felt safe and she wanted to cling to that. She relented a little. “Talk about what?”