Freestyle (Academy of Stardom Book 1)

By the time I’ve got a very inebriated Clancy into bed, it’s past three in the morning. My feet are killing me, so I decide to take a bath. Knocking back a glass of water and some painkillers both for my feet and the inevitable hangover I’m going to have when I wake up, I strip and lower myself into the water. Letting out a deep sigh, I close my eyes, refusing to think about what Jeb has in store for me next week or the inevitable conversation with my brother. Sometimes burying your head in the sand is the only way to get through life, but for now I’m going to allow the water to soothe my aching feet and my worries.

Half an hour passes as I decompress. By the time I haul myself out of the bath, my fingers and toes are wrinkled enough to rival an eighty-year-old’s skin. Drying myself off, I pull on my vest and shorts then grab my phone from the vanity. It vibrates in my hand, and when I look down at the screen I can see it’s Lena.

“Lena, is everything alright?” I ask, snatching up the phone and already thinking the worst.

“Hey, Pen! How’s school?”

“Lena, it’s three in the morning, why aren’t you asleep?” I hear giggling in the background and Lena shushing someone.

“Mum let me have a sleepover. Laura and Simone are here.”

“Jesus, Lena, has no one told you that calling someone at this time in the morning is usually saved for emergencies only. I about had a heart attack,” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Sorry, but I just had to call you. We’ve just watched 28 Days Later. That film is fucked up!” she exclaims, a nervous laugh lifting in the air. I recognise that laugh, it’s the one she reserves for when she’s really scared but is trying to pretend she isn’t.

“Lena, was that wise? The last time you watched a horror movie you spent the week sleeping in bed with me,” I remind her, flicking the call to loudspeaker and resting my phone on the vanity whilst I comb out my tangled hair.

“I was twelve then,” she responds, the bravado back in her voice. “I’m old enough now not to be a cry baby. Anyway, have you seen the movie? Those fuckers can run.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the movie,” I smile, remembering the night Xeno made me sit down and watch it after York forced him to watch Swing Time, another black and white movie featuring his favourite dancer Fred Astaire. “Try watching it in a dark and dingy basement.”

“A dingy basement, why would I… Anyway,” she continues, not bothering to finish her sentence. “I swear, Pen, you won’t see me for dust if this shit were to go down.”

“You wouldn’t see anyone, we’d all be dead within the hour,” I say, darkly. I mean, come on, London and zombie apocalypse? No one would survive that shit.

“Oh, shut up, Pen. You’d just need to call your Breakers and they’d get us out of trouble no problem. They’d sling us on the back of their motorbikes and save the day.”

I scoff, brushing out the last of my tangles and plaiting my hair. “I don’t think so. That ship has long since sailed, or should I say those motorbikes burnt rubber a long time ago.”

“Oh, I dunno…” More giggles ensue, and I roll my eyes. “I reckon they’d do anything for you.”

Sighing, I shake my head even though she can’t see me. Lena always loved the boys and on the rare occasion we’d bump into them outside of the basement, she would go all silly and shy. I kept my relationship with them on the downlow, but sometimes we’d cross paths when I was walking Lena to school and she would harass them with loads of questions. She especially liked their motorbikes, the ones they suddenly started riding around on about a few months before things went to hell.

“Is there a particular reason you called?” I ask her, trying to change the subject.

“I miss you, that’s all. How’s it all going anyway?”

“It’s going… great,” I eventually say, not wanting to bring up the subject of the Breakers. I’ll never hear the end of it. “I’ve met some nice people. There’s a girl called Clancy, she’s an amazing tap dancer…”

“Ah, that’s good, I’m glad you have a friend… Are you eating enough?” she asks me, her motherly vibes coming out. I grimace, I should be the one worrying about her, not the other way around.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.

“Pen…” she warns, knowing me well enough to recognise the change in pitch indicating I’m not telling her everything. I sigh heavily.

“It’s fine. I’ve got enough to get me by, and I’ll get my wages in a couple weeks. Stop stressing.”

“I could grab some shit from the cupboards and bring it to you. Mum won’t notice. I do most of the cooking anyway.”

“No, Lena. Seriously, it’s cool. We’ve got a canteen here and I get lunch free anyway.” Another lie, but this time she doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

“Well, that’s alright then…”

“Everything alright at home with mum?” I ask, feeling anxious at the thought.

“Yeah. It’s cool actually. She’s chilled out so much since…”

“Since I left?”

“I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m glad it’s better at home now.”

“Sooooo, any hotties there you want to tell me about? I mean all those sexy dancers and all,” she asks, changing the subject. I hear her friends giggling in the background. Teenagers. You’ve got to love them.

“No! And even if there were, I wouldn’t be discussing them with you.” I can practically see the roll of her eyes as she huffs down the phone.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not talking about my love life with my little sister. It’s not happening.”

“What love life, Pen? You’ve not been on a date with anyone since the Breakers left.”

“That’s not true…”

“Urgh, you’re such a bad liar. You’re still so hung up on them. You should move on, it’s not healthy.”

“I have moved on, just like the Breakers did. So, you know, it is what it is.”

“Tell me you at least slept with one of them…”

I hear more giggling and roll my eyes. “Goodnight, Lena. Say hello to Laura and Simone for me and make sure you go to bed soon, okay? Bye!”

“Pen…!”

I end the call, not willing to continue a conversation with my baby sister about my love life or lack thereof at three am in the sodding morning. Neither am I willing to go there regarding the Breakers, or the fact that I lost my virginity to a wannabe, arsehole gangster who was about as good in bed as he was at dancing. Shit, basically. It was six months after the Breakers left and I was low. I thought sex would help. It didn’t. It didn’t help the poor guy either. Jeb saw to it that he didn’t fuck another girl again for quite some time. Ten broken bones tend to curb a person’s ability to fuck and I’ve lived with the guilt ever since.

Puffing out my cheeks, I flick off the bathroom light and pad towards my bed, more than ready to collapse and sleep for twenty-four hours. It’s pitch black thanks to my blackout curtains, so I have to hold my hands out in front of me and try not to walk into anything. When I feel the rug beneath my feet, I know my bed’s just to my left. Scooting around the edge I sit down, feeling beyond exhausted. It’s been a long arse day. A long week, in fact. Yawning, I curl up on my side and close my eyes, only for them to snap open half a second later.

“What the fuck?!” I screech, launching upwards and blindly reaching for the wall.

My hand eventually slams on the light switch, flooding the room in stark white light. Blinking through the dark spots, I turn on my intruder, my body shaking with adrenaline. Lying on my bed topless and barefoot, wearing just a pair of sweatpants, is York.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Get the hell out of my room!” I scream, my eyes snapping up from the tattoo of an old oak tree climbing up his pale chiselled abs and pecs, its roots reaching below the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Hey, Pen,” he responds with a raised eyebrow. His icy-blue eyes glinting with challenge.

“GET OUT!”

He smirks, rising slowly into a sitting position against the wall, his legs stretched out across my fucking bed. “Sounds like little Lena’s grown-up into someone just as feisty as you.”

“Keep her the fuck out of this and get the hell out of my room!” I repeat, not giving a shit that I’m screaming loud enough to wake up the whole damn floor. In fact, I want everyone to wake up. Maybe someone will come save me from this new level of hell.

“I wouldn’t bother, Pen. They’re either all out cold from booze, or otherwise engaged… just like Zayn and Tiffany.”

“They’re sleeping together?” I screech, forgetting that I don’t care. Forgetting that I have no right to feel angry or betrayed or hurt anymore. Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow though.

York cocks his head to the side, his white-blonde hair falling over his face. He swipes it away and I can’t help but notice the prominent veins in his hand and forearms and the tree branches winding down his upper arms. I swallow hard, forcing myself to look away and concentrate my attention on the middle of his forehead instead. A nice, safe, area to stare at.

“Would it bother you if they were fucking?” he asks.

I want to scream, yes, yes it would, but of course I don’t because, frankly, I don’t want to acknowledge those feelings, especially not in front of him. “I don’t give a shit. You need to leave. Now.”

York smirks, then raises his thumb to his mouth, running the pad over his bottom lip. “You forget, Pen, I can read you like a fucking book. So, do you want to tell me why you looked like you’d seen a ghost after your little chat with Jeb tonight? I thought you were tight?”

“We’re fine,” I mumble, not willing to meet his eyes.

“Didn’t seem that way to me. Odd, no, given your relationship.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re fine,” I fumble, taking a couple of steps backwards, needing the support of the wall before my knees fucking give way.

“I was at the club, Pen. I saw everything.” He was at the club?

“Your Jeb’s bitch, why don’t you ask him?” I spit back. The best form of defence is offence, right? Besides, it’s not as if he doesn’t know the whole sorry story, well at least part of it. He was there that night too.

York stands, striding over to me. “I’m no one’s bitch,” he snaps, looking more the bloodthirsty vampire now than he ever did when we were young. He’s so pale, his skin’s almost luminescent, tiny blue veins run beneath the surface entwining with the oak tree’s branches and roots. Close up, I can see the intricate detail of the bark, it’s branches are thick and heavy with leaves, some are leaden with rain drops that drip to the ground.

“I belong to no one, Pen.” Unlike you. He doesn’t say those words, but I know that’s what he’s implying.

I flinch, as though he’s slapped me.

I want him to call me Titch. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Goddamn him. Goddamn all of them.

Swallowing hard, I drag my gaze away from his tattoo and look up into the eyes of the boy who could, once upon a time, look right into my soul and know exactly how I was feeling. He steps close, his forearms pressing against the wall as he cages me in.

“I don’t belong to anyone…” he repeats, and I have the sudden urge to capture his cheek in my palm, to feel the dark blonde stubble that grows there scratch against my skin.

“Except the Breakers. You belong to them,” I whisper back, the crack in my voice giving me away. I grit my jaw, refusing to look away from the ice in his gaze. It’s sharp, jagged, cold… and yet, I can feel the heat from his body like he has a fire raging just beneath his skin, waiting to break through the last layers of the ice in his eyes.

He leans in close, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. “You did once too,” he mutters, his forehead pressing against mine. My chest heaves. I’m so fucking close to lifting my chin, to pressing my lips against his. It would be so easy to fall back into his arms. To let him really see the truths that lie beneath this thin mask I wear.

“That was a long time ago,” I say instead, pushing down the cold dread I always feel when I’m reminded why our friendship was so spectacularly destroyed and why it needs to remain that way.

“What are you hiding, Pen?” he mutters, almost to himself.

“Please, just leave.” I duck out of his arms, sliding away from him and backing up to the opposite side of the room. He turns slowly, his eyes glinting. He watches me for what seems like an eternity and I feel naked, bare beneath his penetrating gaze. Every ounce of strength I have is used to stiffen my spine, to shut down.

“Why didn’t you trust us, huh? Why, Pen?” He asks, but I can tell by the look on his face that was an internal thought he wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

“Trust?” I bark out a laugh, hating the brittle sound. “You became one of them. How could I?”

“And yet you…” he shakes his head, laughing just as coldly. He opens and closes his mouth, as though warring with himself. I see a flicker of the old York, the one who wouldn’t hesitate to take me in his arms and hold me close in comfort. “You know what, Pen, this was a fucking mistake,” he sneers, his eyes frosting over once more.

I watch him leave, every step away from me chipping away at my heart. When he gets to my front door, he turns and any kind of emotion he may have let filter through is gone.

“Did you like the drink by the way?” he asks, his hand curled around the door knob so tightly I can see the white of his knuckles.

“That was you?”

“Can’t an old friend buy you a drink?”

“We’re not friends anymore, York,” I whisper.

His fist pounds against the door frame. Once, twice, three times, my heart slamming in time with the sound. “I fucking know that, Pen.”

Then without another word, he yanks open the door and storms out of my flat leaving me breathless and heartbroken all over again. It isn’t until much later, as the rising sun filters through the cracks in the curtains, that I realise the significance of his tattoo.

It looks exactly like the tree I stood beneath that night we first met.