Eleven (Danny); Not what you think.
I fucking hate parties! If we had just gone to the damn gig and stayed there it wouldn't have been so bad, but then again the vapid autograph hunters were getting fucking annoying. So here I am, cooped up in this torturous social mess.
Amy hasn't spoken to me properly since we've been here. We had some non-descript exchanged of words at dinner, a little bit of thinking along the same lines, but that was about it. God knows why I need to speak to her so desperately -I don't even know what to speak to her about!- but I need to. Badly. Part of me wants to ask her why the fuck she went back to England, and demand to know why she couldn't stay here. With me. God, am I that much of a mess that she won't stay with me? Surely I haven't sunk quite that low.
Have I?
I don't know. I heave a sigh and check my watch. Long gone midnight. Just gone half past. Hmm. I look over to Tim and Heather, to where Amy is. It appears Heather has awoken, and Johnny, Lisa and Helena are leaving. I tune in to what I can hear of their conversations over the strains of Tim's Tom Jones CD which I can see Heather is itching to turn off. God knows how these two survive in the same fucking house!
"...late..." Lisa's saying.
"Yeaha." Heather yawns. "You okay to drive?" she asks Johnny. "I won't have you killing 'em."
"I'm fine," Johnny nods, smiling. "I haven't had any of your alcoholic stuff."
"Sayin' it's bad?"
"Not at all, but I'm driving."
"Good answer." Heather laughs. "Behave yourselves!"
"Looks like the party's over." I look sideways at Tim Roth, who is giving me what I'm beginning to feel as his 'customary' wry grin.
"Looks like it." I nod. He grins slightly more.
"I'll be polite and bid my farewells. See you later Danny."
"Later." I echo, nodding at him absently, my gaze returning to Amy. She's sat on the floor near Heather's feet. She looks so different to how I remember her. For a start her hair's longer. For a second thing it's blue. Well, black-blue, but whatever, it suits her. In a kind of 'that shouldn't look right' way. She turns, catching me staring at her. I narrow my eyes, trying to make it look like I'm annoyed with her as opposed to lusting after her -which I'm not!- but she just gives me a half smile that makes my insides do something vaguely unpleasant and turns around again.
"I think you have the order of the sofa, Danny."
"What?" I snap, looking around at Heather. She points at the glass in my hand, obviously too tired to be offended by my tone of voice. God, it's her birthday, I should at least try and curb my temper! I look at the glass. I was drinking?
"Methinks you've had too much in the way of alcohol Danny." She smiles and takes the glass out of my hand. Perhaps I have had too much alcohol, because I don't yell at her for doing so. "You don't mind sleeping on the sofa, do you?" she asks, a little worriedly.
"He's short enough."
"Thank you Tim." I half growl. Heather folds her arms.
"Hey! Tim! He's taller than me!" Not by much.
"Heather, everyone's taller than you." Amy teases, walking over to us. "You're exhausted, go to bed before you pass out again."
"But Amy-"
"Go to bed."
"Fine..." Heather pouts.
"And sleep!" Amy adds as Heather gets to the door. "No using those handcuffs tonight!" she smirks as Heather goes the deepest shade of red I've seen on her face to date, and scarpers upstairs.
"I'll leave you to sort out Danny's bedding okay Amy? You know where it is." Tim says, walking off before either Amy or I can answer. He turned the music off before he left, and the silence in here is becoming so unbearable. I look at Amy. She's looking at the floor.
"Can't see the appeal myself." I drawl, taking a step closer to her. She looks up at me and blinks.
"Uh-" it's the first time since our initial meeting that I've seen and heard Amy lost for words.
"In English?" I say, my tone just above a tease, taking another step forward. She steps back.
"I-" she starts, stepping backwards every time I take a step forward. I don't stop prowling after her until she steps backwards one too many times and falls over the sofa. She just sits, looking up at me with this strange wide-eyed expression, so many things running through them at once, like she wants me, but she doesn't. God she's so fucking confusing.
"Just how drunk are you?" I ask, sitting next to her. She swivvles around to look at me properly, and appears to be considering an answer. But it isn't an answer I'm looking for, and I kiss her instead.
Chapter 10 ; Contents ; Chapter 12
