Young Writers Society

Author's Note: This is the first draft of my submission for the September story starters contest. All criticism is welcome, but I particularly want to know if any parts are too vague or too obvious, if the pacing is appropriate and if the structure works. The story contains a lot of swearing and touches on dark themes (tw rape), so please read at your own discretion.    

n o w

When he saw her again, the Queen was far from pleased.

Her voice hit him first, rising above the clangour of shouting children and chinking cutlery – tuna sandwich! Did anyone order a tuna sandwich? - and he could hear the stretched cords beneath it, the bubbling temptation to swear. Then she bustled past his table, chin jutting, her hair piled on her head like a messy crown. The space between her eyebrows was creased.

His coffee turned to ash in his mouth.

He put the cup down. Had he paid? He hadn’t paid. His fingers scrabbled in his jacket. Left pocket, right pocket, left pocket again. A crumpled note. A fistful of coins, clinking against the saucer. Too many.

“Anyone for a tuna sandwich? Anybody at all?”

He got to his feet, ducking his head, but his eyes wandered back to her. Kelsey McQueen. The years hadn’t changed anything – not the lines of her cheekbones, not the wiriness of her arms. She still walked in the same way. Regally, all long-necked and slow. That was where the Queen nickname had come from, or where he liked to say it had come from.

“Tuna sandwich? Come on!”

He had to get to the door. If she saw him-

“Last chance! If nobody takes it-”

Her eyes caught on him like a hook, the ghost of the next word curling her lips. His stomach hollowed.

“Adrian?” she said. Her smile was jagged, uncertain, showing the gap in her teeth. “Damn, Adrian, I didn’t know you were-”

She weaved through the tables towards him, the sandwich plate still tucked in the crook of her arm. The smell of tuna mingled with her citrus body spray, heavy and clagging.

Don’t hug me, he thought.

She didn’t, but the hollowness stayed.

“Since when were you back, man?” she said, her face flushed. “I thought you were- what’s it, some posh job down south, right? Oxford?”

He nodded, fiddling with his cuff. “I’m just back for a few days. My grandad isn’t- he’s not been doing too well, so…”

“Oh, damn, man. That sucks,” she said, jiggling the plate. Nervous. She never was good at emotional stuff. “Listen, if you wanna wait, I get off my shift in like twenty minutes. You can come back to mine. I’ll make you a horrible coffee.”

Her eyes were bright, her gaze unsteady. The weight of everything she wasn’t saying lay heavily between them, pressing at his throat.

Say no.

“I’ve got Kit-Kats,” she said. “Mint ones.”

Phantom fingers prodded the back of his head. He nodded.

t h e n

“Put that fuckin’ joint down and help me with this zip.”

Adrian rolled off the bed and propped the cigarette in the ashtray. “Just because it zips doesn’t mean it fits, Queen.”

“You cheeky fuck,” Kelsey said, lobbing the hairbrush at him. He ducked – it hit the wardrobe with a bang, rattling the coat hangers inside.

“Ooh, and I thought you were a pacifist,” he said, scooting up behind her. “Right, a zip. A zippy zip. Come here.”

He slapped her hands away and aligned himself. She was wearing a waxy leather skirt, taut and shiny in the lamplight, a ladder of split stitching running up one of the seams. He yanked the zip hard, jolting her forward.

“Jesus,” Kelsey said, laughing. “It’s not the fucking Heimlich.”

“You need to pull it higher. Can’t zip it over your gargantuan bum.”

“You didn’t even try,” she said, but she shimmied the skirt further up. “That’s way too short now.”

Adrian shrugged. “Don’t need class when you’ve got a good ass.”

Kelsey pointed at him. “I like how you think.”

Adrian picked the joint back up and took another drag, trying and failing to blow smoke rings into the air. Kelsey twisted her hair up into a topknot, doused herself in a cloud of citrus body mist and shuffled into her heels. She span round with a flourish.

“How am I looking?” she said.

“Like a tart,” Adrian said. “Myself?”

“Like a twink.”

Adrian splayed his hand against his chest, as if touched. “The ideal.”

Kelsey’s phone hummed on the dressing table and she scooped it up. “Jay’s here. Let’s a-go.”

n o w

The climb to the flat chased a deep ache down Adrian’s legs and made him wheeze, but at least he could use it as an excuse not to talk. Kelsey chatted in fits and bursts, swinging her handbag round on her wrist, prodding one topic and darting onto the next when Adrian’s replies grew slack.

As she circled her hand, her engagement ring winked in the summer light. Adrian couldn’t stop looking at it.

Her flat was on the fourth floor. She shoved the door open with her shoulder, revealing a cluttered hallway full of bags and pumps and trainers, where the smell of coffee and cheap air freshener masked the slight sweetness of rot. A mound of coats hung from a single hook on the wall. The top coat was heavy black leather.

Adrian stopped, a hand on the frame.

“Yeah, it’s no palace.” Kelsey kicked her shoes of in different directions. “Can’t afford much on waitressing. Jay’s skating close to a promotion, though.”

Adrian stooped and focused on unlacing his shoes. Now was the moment to ask about the wedding. Politeness warred with reluctance. Reluctance won.

“It’s a nice place,” Adrian said. “Really nice.”

“Liar,” Kelsey said, and her laugh was too loud. “Now, shitty coffee. Milk, no sugar, right?”

While she rattled around in the kitchen, Adrian moved into the tiny living room. There was only one sofa, dented and smoothed on one side and plastered in magazines. The carpet needed hoovering. They’d never been ones for tidying, either of them.

Adrian wrapped his arms around his chest, moving towards the window. Dust motes turned to sparks in the sunlight. Photos lined the window sill. One showed a junior-school Kelsey giving Adrian a piggyback, his spindly, sunburnt legs dangling either side of her. In another, she teetered on her heels in the queue for a floodlit club, clinging to Jay’s arm. They laughed behind the glass, their teeth white and bared.

t h e n

“Delete it!” Kelsey screeched, snatching at Adrian’s phone. “I wasn’t ready!”

“I think not,” Adrian said, holding the screen to his chest. “It’s candid photography.”

“I look like a fucking troll,” she said.

“Like I said,” Adrian said, smirking. “Candidphotography.”

“Don’t listen to him, babe,” Jay said. He snaked an arm around her, pulling her close so that they bumped hips, resting his lips close to her ear. “You actually look like one of them Orcs.”

“You’re both assholes,” Kelsey said, swatting at him. The music thudded out from the doors, humming up through the floor, and she swayed to the beat. “God, I need a drink.”

“Yeah, well, guess who came prepared,” Jay said, reaching into his jacket. As he moved, light spilled over the glossy leather, shadows pooling in the creases. He pulled a hipflask from his inside pocket, holding it as if it was an antique at auction. “I’m better than that Bear Grylls bloke, me.”

“Give it,” Kelsey said, clapping like a child. She took a furtive swig and passed it to Adrian. When he held up, a harsh woodiness bit at his nostrils. Whiskey. He recoiled.

“Oh, no way,” Adrian said, covering his mouth. “Smells like the time I almost died.”

“Face your fears, dude,” Jay said. “Down in one.”

“Yeah,” Kelsey cheered. “Chug, chug, chug-”

Adrian mock-crossed himself, mouthed I hate you, and put the flask to his lips. When he choked the last of it down, Kelsey clapped and hooted, and Jay squeezed his shoulder and gave it a congratulatory shake. His hand lingered for a second before it dripped away.

n o w

It was hard to swallow the coffee, though it didn’t taste as awful as she’d warned. Adrian seamed his lips whenever he put the chipped mug to his mouth, picking at the crannies in the sofa fabric with his free hand. He was on Jay’s side of the sofa, the dented side. He kept shuffling.

“You got a wasp’s nest down there?” Kelsey said. “Fidgeting like mad.”

“Sorry, it’s…I’m just distracted. My grandad, you know.”

He hadn’t thought of him once since he’d seen Kelsey. Kelsey knew that, but she didn’t say anything. She slapped him on the knee.

“What you been up to, then?” she said. “Two damn years, has it been? Gimme the lowdown.”

The smell of her body mist was too strong. Adrian put the coffee to his mouth, inhaling the burnt, bitter steam. Two years.

“There isn’t much to say,” he said. “It’s kind of a boring job. But it’s okay. The people are okay. I bought a cat, and he’s…he’s ginger. Called Newton. I’ve, er, got a picture somewhere.”

He scrabbled in his jacket for his phone, fingers clumsy as he swiped through his camera reel. His jaw seemed to be made of wood; an invisible puppet master was levying his mouth open and shut for him, calling the words out from some place behind his shoulder. Kelsey’s eyes were unsteady again, her own smile held in place by string.

“You should get Facebook again,” she said. “I want fat cat pictures in real time.”

Adrian heard the real question behind her words. Why did you delete your Facebook?

“Yeah, I might do,” he said.

“Need your new number, too,” she said. “Can’t believe you’ve got a fucking iPhone now.”

Second question: why did you stop texting?

“Yes, well, seems we all succumb to Apple eventually.”

A brief silence. Kelsey readjusted her legs and looked down at her coffee, bottom lip tucked slightly under her teeth.

“Yeah, I tried- well, it was Jay, actually, he tried emailing you about a month back. About the wedding. You got a new email address too?”

“Yes, I…” he didn’t. The email had come in, but the title had blurred under his eyes and he’d shut the lid. “God, wow. Congratulations. When is the wedding?”

“Next month. Twenty-fifth. Hottest event of the century,” she said, striking a slight pose. “Be there or be square.”

Beneath the flippant smile, her dark eyes were ablaze with hope, lit by the flaming tongues of a hundred questions that she’d never found the answers to. His stomach twisted. He shouldn’t have come. He should never have come.

“I’m-” Adrian’s voice caught. He put the cup down, got to his feet. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

t h e n

The music was garbled words and hammer-blows to the stomach, the lights smearing his vision. The shot glass clinked against his teeth as he swallowed, the vodka searing his throat and burning his chest. He pushed back from the bar and swayed towards the dance floor, staggering a little, his shoulders bumping into writhing bodies. His fingers found purchase on a warm arm, nails digging in. Jay’s arm. He leaned into him, putting his mouth to his ear.

“You’re a really good…really good dancer,” he slurred.

“You’re fucked,” Jay probably said, shoulders rolling to the music.

“I’m n…not,” Adrian said. “Not me. No-one fucks me. Not a fuck.”

The room lurched, and Adrian scrabbled for hold on Jay’s damp shirt. Jay steadied him, then took his jaw in his huge hand, tilting his head so he could look at his eyes. Adrian’s gaze wavered, blurring on Jay’s nose, then the shifting bodies behind him, then the darting strobe lights.

“Are you…?” His pulse thudded against Jay’s warm fingertips. “Shouldn’t choke me. I’m nuh…not into that.”

Jay laughed, moving his hand away. “Fucking little alkie, you are.”

The bobbing coils of Kelsey’s topknot slid into view, lights glancing on her sweat-glazed face. She took Adrian by the arm, peering at his unfocused eyes, then rounded on Jay.

“How much has he had?”

Jay shrugged. “He knows how to party.”

“He’s fucking legless. Get him outside.”

“Come on, he’s just having a-”

“Get him outside, Jay!”

Adrian slumped as two formless shadows hauled him off the dance floor. When they passed the speakers, the music pressed deep into his stomach, prodding a coil of nausea and making him heave. His legs were too heavy – he tripped once on the stairs, bashing his knee, but the pain was dull and muted. Doors screeched and the music fell away, replaced by shivery air and the fug of cigarette smoke.

They lowered him to the kerb, where he hunched over and shivered. The cold pavement bit through his jeans.

“Can’t even stand up,” Kelsey said. “I told you to fucking pace yourself. Why’ve I always got to look after you?”

Adrian groaned, putting his head between his knees. “Tired.”

“Don’t start,” Kelsey snarled. She pulled her phone out of her clutch. “It’s midnight. I didn’t come out to leave at fucking midnight.”

“Lay off him, Kel,” Jay said. “I’ll take him back.”

“And leave me to my party of one? Great.”

“I’ll only take him to yours. In’t far. Be back in an hour.”

Kelsey set her jaw, stuffing her phone back in her bag. “Whatever.”

She tossed her keys at him and strode back towards the doors, flashing the stamp on her hand at the bouncers. Jay pulled Adrian’s limp arm over his shoulder and hauled him up.

“Come on, alkie,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

n o w

Adrian turned for the doorway but a hand grabbed his wrist, anchoring him.

“The hell are you sorry about?” Kelsey said. “What’s going on, Adrian?”

“I just…” her hand was dark against his pale wrist. The grip was loose, hardly a cuff, but it felt like one. “My head’s just…it’s not here. Not right now.”

“You’re damn right it’s not,” Kelsey said. There was no bite to her voice – just a rawness, a thickness. “Why won’t you tell me? It’s been two fucking years and you won’t tell me.”

“There isn’t- there’s nothing to tell.”

Her laugh was humourless. “So you stopped talking to me for the fun of it, then? Cleared off for shits and giggles?”

A lump stuck in his throat. “Please, just-”

She shook his wrist. “I just want to know. If I did- if I did something wrong, or if you did something – just tell me. Two years, Adrian! I’m sick of it just going round in my head.”

His eyes stung. Her final Facebook message bubbled up through the cracks in his memory – two years ago, 21st of July, delivered at 2:17am, written with perfect grammar so he knew she was being serious. Please tell me what’s wrong, A.

His tired fingers had hovered over the keys, precariously close. Then his eyes had hooked on the disc of her smiling profile picture, on her curly head tilted against Jay’s cheek.

He’d clicked the phone off.

Seen at 2:17am.

t h e n

Door, stairs, hallways. Jay’s hands planted on his ribs, holding him up – the only thing left in this whirling, spinning world. Kelsey’s bedroom door creaked as Jay nudged it open, and the springs groaned as he lowered Adrian onto her bed. Adrian sprawled on the covers, eyes on the sliding, star-spangled ceiling, and pressed his head back against the pillows.

“Heavier than you look,” Jay muttered. “Where d’you be without me, eh?”

Adrian mumbled something. Jay left the room. His boots thumped as he crossed the landing, then again when he came back. He put a washing-up bowl down next to Adrian’s head, turning him onto his side. Adrian caught Jay’s wrist before he moved away, his grip clumsy, limbs leaden.

“Good to me,” he slurred. “You’re good to me.”

Jay hovered. The mattress dipped as he sank onto it. He took his hand away and pressed it between Adrian’s shoulder blades, rubbing it in slow circles.

“Yeah, I’m good to you,” Jay said quietly, sliding his palm round and round. Adrian sagged against the motion, sighing raggedly, his throat hoarse from singing. His lashes scratched the pillow as he shut his eyes.

The palm circled, again and again. It moved to the small of his back, smoothing over the delicate ridges of his spine, the tender bruises from when Jay had lost his grip and dropped him. Then it teased the edge of his hip, the flat of his stomach. Carefully, delicately, it pushed beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“What…?” Adrian mumbled. “What are y…?”

The hand moved lower, pressing down. A second hand traced over Adrian’s neck, trailing upwards, curling in his hair. Teeth skimmed his ear.

No, he said, or didn’t say. He couldn’t tell. Everything was warm, dizzy, heavy. Nausea pressed at his stomach.

He might have tried to jerk away.

When Jay pressed his face to the pillow, he smelt citrus.

n o w

The words were all there, but when he opened his mouth, Adrian could only taste her orange body mist. She was mouthing something at him. More of the same. Tell me what I did. Tell me. Tell me. Her cheeks glinted.

He looked at her hand on his wrist, his ears full of nothing. Don’t tell her, Jay had said. We were drunk. We made a mistake. Always ‘we’. He’d always used ‘we’. Adrian didn’t know if he’d been right to.

Once again, he tried to remember if he’d said no.

But there was only the smell of citrus, the press of pillow fabric against his teeth, the juddering springs. Adrian glanced at the photo on the window sill, where the Queen clung to her prince’s arm, teeth flashing white. In the sunlight filtering through the dust motes, her ring winked at him.

“I don’t have anything to tell you,” he heard himself say.

Her hand fell away. A moment later, he was closing the door behind him.