Back to square one

Present

"Can you believe it was him—Oliver, of all people?" Dora asks for the fourth time as she paces around the room.

I try to take a long deep breath, hoping the nausea will pass, but I feel like I'm going to throw up at any second. My heart is still pounding, pumping way too much blood to my head. In a matter of seconds, the past is crushing me, and Christian's body is lying next to me. Everything is falling apart.

"No, I can't," I reply with an uneasy tone. "What the hell is he even doing here? He's supposed to be in Edinburgh."

She stares at me, tossing her brown hair behind her. Dora's a beautiful girl with brown eyes and long thick eyelashes. She's short, only five foot four, a petite woman with a sharp tongue. She doesn't let anyone walk all over her or treat her like a doormat.

"That's what we heard, but he obviously didn't go to Scotland," she mutters. "He looks so hot. And did you see how muscular he is now? I never knew he worked out."

The panic passes through my body. That wasn't the Oliver I used to know. The one from the past was an unpopular, nerdy teenager who everyone used to make fun of. He always stood in the shadow of his brother. Today I met a whole new Oliver—strong, gorgeous, and confident. And Oliver remembers—he never forgot how I used to bully him.

"I guess he looks better," I mumble, trying to take my mind off the man outside our building. Only a few minutes ago we got the keys to our apartment, but Dora doesn't seem to care. She wants to know everything about the new, gorgeous Oliver and the transformation he's gone through.

She flops on the sofa, staring at me with her mouth wide open. "Are you blind, India? Can you not see how much he's changed? He's so much handsomer than Christian. Besides, our group in high school gave him a hard time. I always wondered—why did you hate him so much?"

"It was never about hating him. He just annoyed me." I wave my hand, although we both know what I'm saying is a lie. She's right. I hated him because he wasn't there for me when I needed him the most.

"Bullshit, India. It all started after Christian—" She goes silent, not finishing her sentence, the one that always makes me mad. She knows I don't react well when she mentions Oliver's brother.

"After the accident." My voice is quiet then. The uncomfortable silence flows between us. I've forbidden her from talking about him. When people remind me of him, I become a different person: cruel and defensive. No one knows what happened, even Dora. She thinks I changed because I lost him.

"Yeah, after that." She scratches her head. "I don't like this new you. The old India was more fun."

I don't respond, pretending to look around our new apartment. I have no intention of talking about my past for the rest of the day. Oliver's in Braxton, and I need to try to deal with it the best I can. Dora needs to understand that the old India is gone, and she's never coming back.

Dora starts talking about something else, and I'm glad that she ditches that uncomfortable subject. An hour later, she vanishes into her bedroom to start unpacking.

Dora's mum and dad divorced when she was around ten, and since then, she's been floating between both parents. I don't think she ever got over the fact that her parents split up. Her father couldn't see her often, so he made sure he gave her money to make up for the lost time. Back in high school, Dora had the best clothes and the latest technological gadgets that everyone else could only dream of. She never had to chase after guys. She was popular and never had a problem getting dates. We were close, but only two years ago, I found out she was suffering from depression and anxiety. She was occasionally seeing a psychologist. Apparently, it had something to do with the fact her dad wasn't around.

We've been friends for years, but I've never seen her in any sort of distress. Maybe it's because she ditched school quite a bit. When she was absent, she never returned any of her phone calls and her mother never let me in, saying Dora didn't wish to see anyone.

Today I leave her alone. Then after a few hours, I gently knock on her door and enter. She's sorting her clothes, muttering something about the shoes and the size of the wardrobe. She has to have everything sorted exactly the way she wants, which means she can't stand a mess. Even her underwear drawer is folded alphabetically.

We kind of bonded in primary school when my father died. After that, it was only me, Mum, and my little sister, Josephine. My father had a heart attack, and his death nearly cost Mum her job. She didn't leave her room for days. Then she started drinking. She never used to drink, but a few weeks after the funeral, she had to have several glasses of wine every evening. It wasn't a good time in our lives, but we managed to get through it. After her boss told her she would lose her job, Mum finally stopped drowning her grief in alcohol. That day she changed, and we got her back.

When Dora finally emerges from her room, it's early evening. I know all her clothes have been folded in the wardrobe by then. She's sort of weird like that, sitting on her own for hours. Deep down, I know she's going through some sort of emotional whiplash. I don't disturb her. I let her take her time.

"What are you wearing?" She narrows her eyes and points at my outfit.

I look down at my old jeans and ugly T—shirt that's more grey than yellow. Yes, I look like a tramp, but who cares? It's only Dora and me.

"Comfortable clothes. Why?"

"Because we're going out for food." She wrinkles her nose at me and then stares at her reflection in the mirror.

I automatically cringe and consider staying in the apartment on my own. I'm not comfortable going out, knowing he's out there.

"I don't want to go out," I protest. "It's our first night here."

"That's the point. We didn't come here to sit around. We're here to party, so get that sexy arse of yours to the bathroom." She smirks, pushing me towards my room.

I pull my caramel hair into a messy knot with one hand, tapping my fingers on the edge of the table with the other. Recently I've been doing this more often; this small ritual

or tick

kind of calms me down—until the memories of the party come flashing back to my consciousness.

I'm not bad looking; people have always told me I'm pretty. I have long wavy hair, that I straighten often, and green eyes. I've got very fair skin with a ton of freckles along the bridge of my nose and on my cheeks, which tend to be embarrassing when people point it out. My self—esteem used to be high, but now it's like mushy peas. All because of Oliver's brother, Christian.

I pull skinny jeans over my long legs and shrug on a low—cut top. I stopped using makeup two years ago, but tonight Dora wants me to be the old India, the one from high school. Ruthless and flirtatious, the kind of girl she expects me to be. I went through a transformation after Oliver left to go to University. He's nearly two years older than me, and as soon as he graduated high school, he took an offer of a scholarship in Scotland and vanished from Gargle. I'd lost him, so I stopped being cruel, wild, and obnoxious towards others. He wasn't around anymore, so I couldn't pour out my frustration on anyone else anymore.

During that year, I quieted down and understood that I pushed him away, hurt him, and ruined his life. It was time for me to share my secret with him, but then it was too late, because he was already gone, and no one knew if he was going to come back.

Dora still likes to be the centre of attention, as she never received enough from her father. Her mum was always pleasant. She kept inviting me over so I could use their pool in the summer. They live in the better part of Gargle in a large house. Her mother works as a solicitor. Dora never had to worry about money. If she wanted something, she just got it.

I live on the outskirts of Gargle in a more modest location. After my father died, Mum had to handle the responsibility of looking after us alone. She never let us think we were poor, but she had to count every penny. I remember when my sister wanted to do gymnastics like her friends, but Mum couldn't afford it. But my mum always made sure we were reasonably happy.

I think of all these silly memories, wondering if I'm ever going to be happy in Braxton. Oliver changed. He isn't weak anymore, and I'm certain he still remembers how I treated him.

Dora smirks at me when I leave the bathroom; she obviously approves of the clothes I chose. Tonight she's revealing her cleavage, wearing a mini skirt with her high—heeled boots. She knows how to use her assets. I made a promise to myself before I left. I don't want to get involved with anyone. After Christian died, I went out with a few guys, slept with one of them, hoping to forget. That didn't happen, and I went back to square one.