Little Storm

July 17th — 2010

Archie:

I know the moment she walks into the party because the boys start their usual shit instantly. The music’s already too loud, the hallway packed shoulder to shoulder, but it’s like the air changes when she appears, heads turning, all nudging each other to look her way. It gets my back up straight away. My grip tightens around the bottle in my hand as I watch it happen and watch her enter. I want to go over there and tell all the guys hitting on her to fuck off.

But I can’t.

Because, unfortunately, Evie O’Doyle hates me. And her reason why is entirely my fault.

“Oi, oi!” Sam Clarke calls to her as she walks past, half hanging off a chair. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business,” she calls over her shoulder, weaving through bodies towards her best friend.

It’s a shitty house party, but this is what we do on a Friday in the summer holidays. I’m usually up front and centre, chatting to everyone, but tonight I really don’t feel like it. I definitely don’t feel it now she’s here.

“What?” Sam continues to leer at her as she gives him the cold shoulder. I’ve never liked the prick; he was the football captain at our school and an arrogant sod to boot. “You too stuck up or something?”

She gives him a perfectly polished middle finger. “How is that for stuck up?”

“What’s a matter, princess? You think you’re better than us?”

“I’m better than you are, Sam. Now fuck off.”

They go back and forth like that until she reaches Ivy, her best friend. Two girls who are joined at the hip and have been that way since toddlerhood. Ivy’s grinning at her, leaning in to hear whatever Evie murmurs in her ear, and they laugh before Ivy pulls Evie into a quick hug. A drink is shoved into Evie’s hand, which she and Ivy cheers with. Neither of them look back at the boys who are still fucking leering

Good.

She better stay away from them.

The thought surprises me because I am not a possessive dick, nor should I particularly care who Evie takes a liking to.

Behind them, Sam scoffs, forcing a laugh that doesn’t sound quite real. His face is red, and he’s clearly a bit embarrassed by her rejection. I feel a small bit of glee at that.

Fuck.

Maybe I am more of a dick than I like to think.

Chris says something I don’t catch over the music, nudging Sam again, and I swear on fucking Christ, I have to lock in my whole body to stop myself from going over there and smashing their heads off their table.

I know it’s not right and I know it’s not normal, but none of my reactions to this girl has ever made sense. Nothing about how I feel about her is logical, and nearly a year on since I met her, I still feel some kind of way. I can’t help myself, it would seem. And I can’t stop looking either,

When she continues not to pay them any mind, the boys slowly drift back to themselves, taking stock of the other girls in the room. It’s only when they take their eyes off her that I feel the tension ease out of my body.

Dicky, my best friend, nudges my shoulder, following where I’m looking back at Evie. “Still fancy her then?”

“No,” I push out too quickly, loosening my fingers on the neck of my bottle as I avert my gaze across the packed-out house. “Not at all.”

“Yeah,” Dicky scoffs. “And my mum’s gonna be the next pope.”

I shrug, taking a swig of my beer. “I can’t stand her, truth be told.” Lie, lie, big fat lie.

“Well,” Dicky’s blue eyes give me an assessing look. “You’d better start getting on with her,” he nods towards Ivy, “because I’m marrying that best friend of hers. You’ll be the best man. She’ll be maid of honour.”

“Shut up, Dicky.” I roll my eyes. He’s the most dramatic little twat I know. “We’re too young to be thinking about marrying anyone.”

“On the contrary,” he shakes his head, draining his drink with a smirk. “I’m marrying that hot little ginger one day, and nothing and no one will tell me otherwise.”

I laugh. “Does Ivy know about your grand plans?”

Dicky grins. “She knows I’m in love with her.”

“Yeah, well.” I take another pull from my beer, looking back at Evie. “She doesn’t exactly keep the best company, does she? You sure that’s the kind of people you want to throw your lot in with?” The fuck am I saying? There’s nothing wrong with Evie.

Dicky studies me for a second, frown creasing his brow. “What the fuck happened with you and Evie?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Evie is a great girl. We both know it. So why are you acting like she’s not?”

“I’m not.”

“Arch,” Dicky tuts. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Dicky,” I chide right back. “Fuck off. Nothing happened.”

“Yes, it did. You might as well tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

And it’s the truth. There isn’t much to tell. She hates me, and I don’t hate her. That’s all there is to it.

I look back at her across the dance floor, and fuck me, does she look fit. There’s no way around it. The dress, her legs, the way she’s dancing with Ivy, as if she knows exactly how sexy she is. Her brown hair is loose, swinging when she moves, and when she turns her head, I catch the green of her eyes, framed by thick lashes. Her body is in great shape, and I bet she’s self-conscious about it; most girls with great bodies are worried about it.

Evie’s little ginger partner-in-crime is grinding against her, also wearing a black dress. They’re the best-looking girls at the party, hands fucking down.

It pisses me off how easily it still gets to me. She’s shut me down twice. Told me to fuck off at least a dozen times and seems to absolutely fucking hate me... yet I can’t get her out of my head.

And believe me, I’ve really fucking tried.

Honestly, I can’t even blame her for disliking me. Our first meeting was me launching a live firework at her. On purpose. Then asking her out when it didn’t hit her square in the face.

In hindsight, not my strongest opening move. But that was a whole year ago, and she still hasn’t gotten over it.

Which, fine. Fair enough.

Whatever.

I don’t care.

Dancing to Dirrty by Christina Aguilera, she’s legitimately trying to give me a heart attack. The two of them are thrusting and gyrating on each other. Ivy’s a good foot taller than her, and they’re the kind of pair that draws every bloke out on the pull like moths to a flame.

Dicky and I watch as a few blokes start edging closer, circling, all confidence and bad ideas, wanting our girls. But the thing with those two is they can handle themselves, and they don’t appreciate us jumping in like a pair of Jack Russells hopped up on speed. We learnt that the hard way.

In fairness to Evie, she seems to have a general disdain for all men. But by far her least favourite on this planet is me. The only reason we ever interact is forced proximity. I’m just her bestie’s boyfriend’s best friend.

And she never lets me forget it.

Another lad makes a half-arsed attempt to dance his way over. Ivy notices him first and steps in front of Evie without breaking rhythm. They laugh him off together, perfectly in sync. They’ve got that thing, those two. A special thing. The unspoken kind. They can just read and understand each other better than anyone else on the planet.

They’re part of one half or something. I’ve never seen a friendship like it.

I take another pull from my beer and tell myself, once again, to stop watching her. It lasts maybe three seconds. There’s something about her that drags my attention back every time, like my eyes don’t get a say in it.

Ever since that first day, she’s been like that to me—the thing I notice without wanting to. That’s when Hannah Nunns sidles up beside me.

Look, I’m not delusional. I know I’m not ugly. I’m tall enough that girls notice me before they know anything else, and I’ve got my mum’s dark curls and that permanently tanned skin people always comment on. Girls like me, and I like girls. I can get laid fairly easily, and I’m not shy or anything. It just so happens I don’t really want any of them.

Except that one.

And that one couldn’t care less about my existence.

Hannah looks me over, all sultry and obvious, then smiles. “You look bored.”

I tear my eyes away from Evie. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She trails a finger down my chest. “Want to go somewhere else?”

“Like where?”

She shrugs, rolling her hips. “I dunno. A bedroom?”

Hannah’s a good-looking girl. She was one of the best-looking girls in our year. Blonde. Full lips. We’ve slept together a couple of times, but I had to shut it down a few months ago when she started telling people I was her boyfriend. I’m not. I’ve never had a girlfriend.

I don’t let it get that far. I’m not a prick about it or anything, I just know myself well enough to know I’m a bit fucked up, and I don’t think any girl would willingly sign up for the full version of me. Before I can respond, she hooks her thumb into the waistband of my jeans, tugging me towards her. I don’t move her hand, but I don’t lean into it either.

“Come on, Arch.” She leans up on her toes, so her lips are a breath away from mine. “We used to have fun together.”

“Hannah.” Evie’s voice is suddenly right there, causing me to shiver. “Don’t you and your weird little gaggle of friends have anything better to do than hop between boys?”

Hannah stiffens and then rocks onto her heels before turning to glare at Evie. “Did you just basically say I’m a slut?”

“I don’t believe there’s such a thing,” Evie gives her a hard look, green eyes shining.

My heart is hammering now she’s close, and I try to clamp down on the full-body reaction I always have when she’s near but it’s no use. I’m powerless to stop the shaky feeling in my knees and hammering in my ears. It’s as if my entire body is tuned into her very existence, and I don’t have the slightest clue how to get it to stop.

Evie waves a hand. “Sleep with as many men as you like. It makes no odds to me.” She steps closer, and the smell of her perfume hits me. Daisy by Marc Jacobs. I asked her once, and like the pathetic twat I am, I haven’t forgotten. I think I could pick that smell out even on my deathbed. Her eyes flick to me for half a second before settling back on Hannah. “But you should know better than to go near Archie.”

“Why?” Hannah huffs, stepping away from me and putting her hands on her hips. “Because he’s yours?”

Evie snorts in disdain, which I find offensive. “Archie is no one’s.”

That gets under my skin, and I level her with a glare, ignoring how utterly beautiful I find her. Fuck, listen to me. I sound like such a sad sack of shit and I have to force myself not to soften as her I take her big, doe-eyed green eyes. “How the fuck would you know?”

Evie turns her gaze on me and starts counting on her fingers. “Hannah. Sarah. Olivia. Emma. Amelia. Elle. Sophia. Mia—”

My eyebrows shoot up and surprise slams through me. “Have you memorised every girl I’ve ever slept with?”

She stares at me. “Yes.”

Bullshit. I haven’t slept with half of those girls. In fact, Hannah is the only one in that list I’ve even touched. I stare right back. “And is there a reason for that?”

She cocks her head. “There is.”

“Care to share?”

“When we first met, and you nearly killed me—”

“I didn’t nearly—”

She flicks a hand up again, holding her palm out. “Yes, you did. I’m not having this argument again about what would have happened if that firework had actually fucking hit me.”

“It wouldn’t have hit you because I aimed it at the tree next to you.” A lie. I hit the tree. I was aiming for her. I was a stupid kid, but I’m not telling her that. She’d have a bloody field day.

“No one believes that bullshit,” she hisses, green eyes blazing, and shit—I love it when she’s mean. “Own your shit, Arch. You threw it at me. Multiple people saw it. And that isn’t even the point.” She steps closer, chin tipped up, causing my heart to violently pound against my ribs. “You asked me out, and do you remember what I said to you?”

Grinding my teeth, I glare down at her. “You said no.”

“I said on one condition.”

I step closer to her, making our chests nearly brush and experiencing the same electricity I always do with her. “What the fuck? No, you didn’t.”

“She did,” Ivy cuts in, and honestly, I’d forgotten we had an audience. Everything in my head is too focused on Evie to account for anyone else. For Dicky, Ivy and Hannah, watching our little sparring match.

Ivy continues, “she said if you managed to go six months celibate, she’d maybe consider it.”

I bark out an incredulous laugh. “Why would I go celibate for a maybe when I’m a single man?” Not to mention I haven’t had sex with another since Hannah two months ago...

Evie gestures at me. “Exactly why I said no. Sex is a joke to you.”

“No.” I snap. “Sex isn’t a joke to me. What you were asking is a joke. Six months?”

Dicky throws me a look that says, seriously? He doesn’t get why I don’t sleep around as much as every other guy we know. None of the lads in our team get it, in fact, they all have made up that I’m some kind of freak who sleeps with too many women to name. The only person who knows I truly am a bit of a recluse is Dicky, and I can see he’s now wondering why I won’t just be honest.

I just can’t with Evie. I don’t want her to think anything of me other than what she does, and I can’t explain why that is.

“You couldn’t even do six weeks,” she furiously hisses, green eyes never leaving my blue ones, for a wild second, I think disappointment flashes across her face, but that can’t be true. “And you know it. You’re not trustworthy, Arch.”

“That’s bullshit.” I shake my head, jaw tight. “I don’t cheat. I don’t fuck people over, literally ever. Why would that make me untrustworthy?”

Evie’s mouth twitches, like she’s heard that argument before. Maybe from every boy she’s ever met. But she’s never met a boy like me. “You think trust is about not lying,” she says. “It’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

She hesitates as we drink each other in. Her eyes trail all over me, causing my body to spark all over. I know she’s attracted to me. That she can feel whatever this fucking pull is. It’s like a living, breathing thing between us, and no matter how much we try to avoid it, the thing won’t die.

She angrily tucks her brown hair behind her ear. “I won’t be just another girl to you. Or anyone. Something for you to tick off your list and pat yourself on the back for. You don’t do girlfriends. Or loyalty. And that’s absolutely fine. Let’s not pretend you do.”

Hannah’s hand closes around mine and I jolt. I thought she’d already gone. “She’s right, Arch.” She purrs. “So let’s go upstairs—”

I pull my hand away without looking at her, eyes locked on the little brunette who takes up far too much space in my head. “How long?”

“What?” Evie falters, caught off guard as shock flickers across her face.

“How long would we have to date,” I press, “and me stay celibate, for you to trust me?”

She laughs once. “I will never trust you.”

“You could,” I go on, my voice is stupidly certain even though I’m shaking a little. “You could trust me.”

“No,” she arches a brow. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Evie tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly as if something has just clicked into place. She lifts a hand and points at my face. “How’d you get the black eye, Arch?”

Fuck.

It’s mostly faded now, faintly yellow and easy enough to explain away if you say the right thing quickly. I’ve had years of practice at that.

“Boxing,” I grit out, because that’s what I always say.

It’s why I took it up in the first place. The same with rugby. They’re a really good excuse for people to accept without digging. Except Evie knows I haven’t boxed or played rugby in weeks, not since I came home from uni. Ivy knows, because Dicky knows, which means Evie knows. And standing here under her gaze, the lie feels paper fucking thin.

I got it stepping in front of my little sister when she failed her mock exams recently. Dad doesn’t handle disappointment well and I learned a long time ago how quickly his anger finds a target. I could hit him back. I could lay the fucker clean out. Boxing made sure of that. But I also learned early what happens when I do; the women in the house end up paying for it when I’m not there to protect them.

So I don’t fight back anymore. I just take it.

Because there was a day he had his hands around Molly’s throat, squeezing hard enough that her eyes looked like they might pop out of her head, and when it was over he told me it was my fault.

She was thirteen.

If Molly wasn’t still living under that roof, I’d have left permanently the moment I turned eighteen. I’d have walked and never looked back. But she is. So I always come back. Because who else would fucking protect her? Not our mother, that’s for sure. She’s so wrapped up in the wealthy lifestyle Dad provides for her, she simply doesn’t care how else he conducts himself.

It knocks me sick.

Aloïs Dubois never wanted children. Doesn’t care for them. He needs us to maintain his image. The world thinks we’re the perfect, doting family. But I know the truth. Molly knows the truth. He only had me to be his successor. I’ve been primed and prepped for nothing short of perfection.

How fucking disappointed they must be.

“Archie?” Evie’s voice pulls me back to her. The others are looking at me too—Dicky amused, Ivy confused, Hannah furious.

“Hm?” There’s this invisible string between us that tightens whenever she says my name, dragging my attention back whether I want it or not. “What?”

She frowns. “I said you haven’t boxed in weeks. Or played Rugby.”

“You keeping tabs on me or something?” My heart is kicking up even more now. Standing this close makes everything louder.

What is it about this girl?

Evie snorts. “You fucking wish.”

I scoff right back and waggle a finger between us, knocking her elbow lightly by accident. “You’re the one reeling off the girls I’ve slept with and harping on about how I haven’t been boxing. What’s any of that got to do with you?”

She frowns, her eyes growing in intensity. She’s got the oddest shade of green I’ve ever seen, like moss with flecks of gold. “Will you just answer the question? What happened to your eye?”

“Nothing.” My jaw aches from clenching it. “Boxing.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business.” I shift my weight, bottle slick in my grip, knuckles white around the neck of it.

I can tell she sees straight through the bullshit. “But you want me to trust you?”

“Yes.”

She exhales through her nose. “Well, looks like we’re both shit out of luck then, doesn’t it?”

Evie steps away from me.

The space she puts between us shouldn’t upset me, but it does. Being around Evie feels like standing in front of a mirror and seeing things you don’t want to look at but can’t ignore. She sees things I don’t say. Things I don’t even realise I’m giving away.

Nothing about us makes sense. We grew up in the same area of London but not the same life. I live on the nicer end of it. She’s from the council estate down the road. London has always confused me like that, how on the same road you can have someone who has extreme wealth followed by a council estate just next to it.

She was sent to boarding school, whilst I went to one of London’s best private schools. Mine was paid for by my dad. Hers was some kind of scholarship that she got for being a child genius or whatever. There were rumours she got into Oxford to study law and turned it down. I don’t know how true that is. I am studying Business Management and Finance at Oxford. We would have been in the same year, and I know for a fact she doesn’t attend. I looked into it.

Dicky never has any of the fucking answers for the questions I throw out about her, either. Despite being with her best friend. Honestly, there are so many rumours about her that it’s hard to make sense of them.

All I know is that when she’s near me, my body reacts before my head does. My pulse won’t settle. My hands feel restless. I get these stupid, very real butterflies that I always thought people exaggerated. And the fog that usually clogs my head lifts. Everything goes too quiet or too loud.

The girl just makes me feel.

From the moment I met her, she became something to me.

I just don’t know what that is yet.