Cat Clarke Entangled (epub)

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.I need some space.Or at least a treadmill.Ethan has washed the bed sheets, and he’s replaced my surgical gown with some new clothes – I now have two pairs of bright white pyjamas to choose from.Might be progress.He’s hardly said a word to me for four days.Pretty much every time he’s come in I’ve been lying in bed.He often glances over to the table hopefully, and he seems disappointed (deflated?) that I’m not there, scribbling away.If he comes in and sees me now, it’ll probably make his day.Don’t want that happening.Sometimes I glare at him, just daring him to say something.And sometimes he looks as if he’s about to speak, but then thinks better of it.What is his deal?!The longer this goes on without anything happening, the more confused I get.I don’t exactly feel scared any more.Maybe there’s only so long you can maintain that level of fear, before it gets too exhausting.I’ve been here ten days now.I wonder how Mum is doing.Frantic, probably.Maybe engaging in a spot of retail therapy to distract from her trauma.Or sitting on the sofa next to a policewoman, like a character in a TV drama.Acting like a good mother – one who cares.I wonder if the police are still looking for me.Maybe they’ll have given up by now.Maybe there’s only so long you can maintain that level of hope too.I keep thinking about Sal.Does she feel bad? Does she feel anything? Are her insides writhing and twisting in guilt and shame?Sal.I don’t even know where to start.The beginning seems like as good a place as any.She moved here from Edinburgh with her parentals and annoying little brother just over a year ago.Before Sal arrived, I was sort of good friends with Those Girls at school – the ones who think they’re better than everyone else.I was always on the fringe though, never too close to anyone.I never thought I was missing anything by not having a real proper best friend.The first time I saw her, I knew we’d end up being mates.I just knew it.She was sitting in the corner of the common room, frantically scrawling in a notebook.None of that self-conscious new-girl air about her.She had awesome hair and good clothes.Not that I’m superficial, but these things help when you’re trying to decide whether or not to make an effort with someone.OK, so maybe I am superficial, but so is everyone else.I slumped down on the seat next to her, asked her what she was writing.It was a story.Something we had in common – we both liked to write.So that was how we got talking.I’d never really talked to anyone about my writing before.English teachers don’t count.From then on Sal and I gradually started hanging out together at lunchtimes, break times, free periods.It seemed like every day we spent a bit more time with each other, until I barely bothered talking to anyone else.I stopped hanging around with my usual crowd and they barely even noticed.After we’d known each other about a month, I felt ready to take the Next Step.It’s a big deal when you make the leap from seeing someone at school to hanging out with them in your own time.But I was ready.I invited Sal round to my house one Friday when Mum was in London visiting a friend.We ordered pizza and vegged out on the sofa.I found out some more about her: pepperoni was her favourite; we both thought social-networking sites were for losers; she wanted to be a lawyer or a writer or a marine biologist or star in a West End musical; she was totally in love with Chris, a boy from her old school, but she’d never done anything about it and he didn’t have a clue and now it was too late cos he lived 200 miles away.Which was sort of lame when I thought about it, but I let her off.Just cos.All in all, I was more than a little bit excited (secretly, of course) to have a New Best Friend.Not that there was an old one for her to replace.Sal was good for me.She was always so happy, and not in an annoying way.Just the right level of shiny.She was so damn optimistic about everything.Always sure that tomorrow would be better than today.So sure that we’d both get exactly what we wanted.Should have known that wasn’t possible.Sal and I became pretty much inseparable.I practically lived at her house at weekends.Mum didn’t seem bothered.I think it suited us both: she got to pretend she was childless and carefree and I got to pretend I had a mum who actually liked me.And a dad too, just for good measure.One night just before Christmas, I was staying at Sal’s house (Chinese takeaway, wine, Skins on DVD).We were getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth in front of the bathroom mirror.I reached across Sal to grab a hand towel.She caught me by the wrist and said, ‘What’s this?’My stomach did that horrible flip-flop motion, like a washing machine at the start of its cycle.I made a big deal of spitting out a mouthful of toothpastey foam while I thought hard.I don’t know why I was surprised; it’s not like I thought the scars were invisible or anything.I tried to play it down – it’s nothing, just some scratches I got when I was a kid … from my grandma’s cat?It was hard to look at her.And even harder to look at myself [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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