Seduced by Lies (5 page)

             
He sped up as he pulled out of the College grounds, winding down the window and letting the summer breeze ruffle his hair playfully, as he picked up where he’d left off on his Dire Straits playlist.

Track number 2, Romeo and Juliet, began playing just as Sam crested the top of the windy mountain road, the soft, opening chords introducing the humbling view of the sweeping valley and small villages below. The sinking summer sun illuminated the scene, and Sam felt as if the world had never been more beautiful. Grasping on to this long forgotten feeling of happiness and optimism, and committing fully and wholeheartedly to it, he began singing along through his genuine, unstoppable smile.

“A love struck Romeo sings the streets a serenade,

Laying everybody low with a love song that he made.

Finds a streetlight steps out of the shade

Says something like - ‘You and me babe, how about it’?”

Sam pictured himself as Romeo - the hero, finally finding his heroin and being released from the dark, smothering embrace of his pain and his woes, so that he may show her the light and rescue her from her balcony of lonely solitude.

His uplifted mood did not falter the entire way home, and as the music continued to play, Sam continued to bellow the lyrics to the winding mountain roads, feeling that he could now appreciate their meaning on a whole new level.

It wasn’t until he was slipping his key into the front door that Sam’s mood dipped. He’d been floating on sunbeams since lunch time, but on the other side of that door lay the true reality and horror that he had so blissfully, if briefly, been able to push to the back of his mind. He could never be sure what he would find on the other side of this thin panel of wood - a weeping mess, pools of vomit, incoherent yells and smashing plates, or even a suicidal depressive. No matter what it was, Sam would always deal with it or else nobody would. His father had put up with it for years, though admittedly she had been considerably better when he’d been around, but when push came to shove his father had shown his true colors - the brilliant, acclaimed, visionary English Master and tutor had also proven to be weak and selfish, and in his absence, Sam had been forced to take over his role.

             
Sam held his breath and listened intently, one ear pressed against the wood in the hope of some small hint as to what was awaiting him. Silence. He considered stooping down and peeking through the letter box, before realizing that no matter how prepared he could make himself, stepping inside this tomb of a house would always be just as emotionally draining and challenging as it always had been. His stomach sunk sickeningly, as it always did, but at least he had his ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ to keep him going through whatever he had to deal with this night, and all other nights to come.

             
Sam's body involuntarily tensed as he swung open the door and stepped over the threshold, but (as his eavesdropping had told him) the house was completely still and silent. His immediate thought was that he should run up the stairs to the bathroom, where he had last seen his mother, and make sure she hadn’t passed out in the toilet bowl and accidentally drowned herself in the toilet water. His foot was on the first step when he heard a snuffling, grunting, half-snore from the living room sofa. He walked softly over to the piece of furniture and peered down over the back - his mother lay awkwardly on its pillows, her limbs jutting out at odd and uncomfortable looking angles, but sleeping soundly (and for quite some time from the look of the dried, crusted trail of saliva that spread from her mouth and across her cheek). Her mobile phone lay on the floor nearby, where she’d dropped it as she’d passed out, open on the text that Sam had sent her that morning, an incomprehensible, half-formed and unsent reply showing on the screen. Sam smiled to himself, admiring his mother’s drunken efforts and feeling oddly touched by them. He strolled around to the front of the sofa and gently lay a tartan blanket over his mothers fragile, snoring form. Bending down to her level, he gazed at her peaceful, sleeping face, and couldn’t help thinking that, in sleep, she looked just the same as she always had - like the loving, joyful mother he remembered from childhood, if a little thinner and bonier. Sometimes he could look at her sleeping features, and if he concentrated and pretended hard enough, he could almost pretend that nothing had ever changed - that it had all just been some terrible dream. But he had no time for pointless daydreaming or wishing tonight - he had important research to do. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before standing up, causing her to scrunch up her face and snuffle a little more in her sleep, and smiled warmly down at her before quietly making his way to his room. Today seemed to have gone fairly well in all aspects.

             
Six and a half hours later, as the fluorescent lights of his digital clock announced to Sam that it was 11 pm, he was just about ready to tear his hair out in frustration. When he’d thought of the blonde girl as an ‘enigma’, he couldn’t have comprehended the true extent of that statement. He’d entered his room with a plan of tracking her down online, via Facebook. This task was made trickier by the fact that he had absolutely no clue what her name was. He’d started off by trawling through the ‘friend lists’ of all the people he knew from College, in the hope that maybe at least one of them had added her as a friend. He’d scrolled and clicked and scrolled and clicked, encountering disappointment after disappointment, until his mouse hand was raw and aching. His eyes burned from the thousands of computerized images he’d gone through, analyzing each one carefully for any sign of the blonde girl, but with no luck. So he moved on to the College’s facebook page, looking for her face in the tiny, thumbnail pictures next to each and every post and comment, and keeping an eye out for any students whose friends lists he hadn’t yet trawled through. After all - everyone these days had a Facebook, so she was bound to be on here somewhere! But four solid hours in and Sam hadn’t managed to find so much as a whisper on the mysterious new girl. He would have begun to believe that she didn’t actually exist, that perhaps it had all just been a figment of his imagination, if it hadn’t been for the incredibly real, tangible and lingering feelings she had inspired in him.

             
And so he moved on to other Facebook pages - The official Stephen King page, Bronte, Shakespeare, Dickens - as many great, classic novelists as his tired, frustrated brain could conjure up, sure that her worldly intelligence and understanding would have led her to ‘like’ at least one of the great authors pages. But still, nothing. He thought about messaging a few of his fellow College-goers, asking if they had any information on the ‘new girl’, but quickly thought better of it. If his group of friends were to find out about his sudden, intense interest in the ‘weirdo’ (as they so inelegantly described her), not only would he become the groups subject of mockery, but they may also begin to realize that he was not so ‘normal’ himself, and he simply couldn’t have that. Pretending to be something he wasn’t was much more preferable than having to deal with the pitying, alienating glances and awkward, unsure conversations that would inevitably occur if they knew the truth. Eventually, his friends would abandon him - too uneasy or afraid to speak in front of him in case they said the wrong thing, too uncomfortable to look him in the face, until one day when they simply wouldn’t be there anymore. And then what would he have?

             
He was considering trawling through every popular intellectual and cultural forum that his ‘Google’ search bar would produce, when his mind and body both gave up simultaneously. He stared at the computer screen intently, focusing as hard as he could and willing his brain to come up with some kind of inspiration, but it was as blank and useless as a static TV screen. His aching muscles pleaded for a stretch and a lie down after being scrunched up in an unmoving, cross-legged position for so many hours.

             
Sam relented a lay back, stretching across his bed and massaging his pounding temples as his joints and muscles sang with sweet release. As much as he hated to abandon his efforts (for some reason feeling slightly as if he were abandoning her as well), he knew he could see her and talk to her again tomorrow, and he’d need to be well-rested and prepared if he wanted to make a better impression than he had earlier that day. He set his alarm an hour and a half earlier than usual - he would take his time to wake up properly, enjoy the scenic drive once again, and then still have plenty of time to be alone, to collect his thoughts and to plan his actions before anyone else arrived at College. Sam fell into the feathery embrace of his pillow, confident that he would make tomorrow the first day of the rest of his life.

CHAPTER FOUR - PRIDE, PREJUDICE & PERSISTENCE

             
Sienna woke up much earlier than she had planned the next morning. A sharp slice of unnecessarily bright early morning sunshine had slipped through a tiny sliver of a gap in her curtains and had landed in a golden stripe across her sleeping face. She had been brutally awoken as the inside of her eye lids were seared red with the invading natural light, and had become instantly aware of an incessant, rhythmic pounding in her head, as if a very angry, African tribe were playing their war drums on her soft, vulnerable brain. The next thing she became painfully aware of was the arid desert that had somehow found its way into her mouth overnight. She rolled over in bed and threw one arm protectively across her face, attempting a groan of displeasure, but managing to produce nothing more than a dusty, raspy wheeze from her bone dry vocal chords.

             
She toyed with the thought of going back to sleep, wanting nothing more than to flip a big middle finger at the day ahead and be left to wallow in her hung over misery, but the drumming in her head was quickly becoming more and more fervent and insistent, until she was sure she could actually feel bruises forming on the delicate mass of her thinking organ. She threw herself speedily and furiously out of bed, going from horizontal to standing in less than a second. She swayed slightly on her feet as the room swayed with her, and she stumbled on bambi weak legs out of her room and across the hall into the bathroom, keeping both hands firmly on the walls either side of her as she went.

             
The bathroom was a hundred times worse than her bedroom. Pure, unfiltered sunlight poured in through the curtain-less, dappled window, and was reflected back at every possible angle as it bounced off the gleaming white tiles, concentrating it into a thousand beams of bright white pain. Sienna rested against the wash basin, her arms trembling as they reached towards the bathroom cabinet. Her fingers blindly fumbled over the contents of the shelves, pushing aside boxes of tampons and tubes of creams until they came across the small, bumpy, plastic packaging of a strip of paracetamol. She hurriedly popped four of the little pills into her eager mouth, washing them down with glugs of water that she scooped from the tap in her bare hands. Even after the tablets had all been washed down her throat, her body still cried and begged for more hydration, and so Sienna shoved her entire head under the running tap and filled herself with the relieving, refreshing liquid until her belly ached and sloshed with it.

             
Her mission complete, she made her way back to the comfortable, dark safety of her bedroom and waited for the pain killers to take effect.

It took half an hour for the drummers in her head to slow and eventually cease their erratic solo, and for Sienna to be able to open her eyes without being agonizingly assaulted. Though once she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror, her cheeks entirely blackened with resilient streaks of yesterdays eyeliner and mascara, she’d wished she’d
kept her eyes closed. It was clear what kind of day this was already turning out to be, and Sienna simply did not have the energy or will to fight it. She scrubbed and cleaned her face as best she could, going through at least five face wipes and still looking slightly like a soot covered chimney sweep, before re-applying it all for the day ahead.

             
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tattered corner of her precious, secret shoe box poking out from beneath her bed.

“Oh sod it.” She mumbled to herself - this day hadn’t got the better of her quite yet. She scooped her dear friend from under her bed once more, glancing quickly towards her bedroom door in slight paranoia, even though she knew her mother would still be asleep for hours. Once she’d assured herself that the coast was clear, she flipped the flimsy cardboard lid eagerly, only to be confronted with the disappointing sight of a mostly empty baggie. She cursed herself for smoking last night - she always over-filled her joints when she was drunk and ended up using more than she should. She lifted the clear plastic sheath up to eye level, shaking it slightly to separate the sticky buds, and calculated that she had about three reefers left - enough for today, but what about after that?

              She shook the unpleasant thought from her head, not wanting to further trouble her delicate, hung-over mind any further.

“Live for the moment.” She whispered longingly, repeating it over and over in her head, in the deep, sexy, wise voice that had once whispered it to her, in what now felt like a previous life. She knew he was out there, somewhere, maybe even waiting and longing for her as much as she did for him. And so of course she would always listen to that voice, would always do what it advised and strive to make it proud, as hard as it was to be without it, without
him
.

Sienna forcibly ripped herself from her thoughts, refusing to go down that road this early in the morning, especially when she was already feeling so delicate. Glancing at the clock, she figured she had enough time to quickly roll a joint before dashing to catch the earlier service bus to College, which would get her in forty five minutes ahead of everyone else, leaving her with plenty of time to relax and mentally prepare, on her own, before having to deal with the swarms of adolescent rabble and disappointing lecturers for yet another day. She just prayed she wouldn’t encounter Sam again.

              It wasn’t until Sienna was half way down the street, backpack swinging off her shoulder, joint and lighter tucked deeply and safely in her jacket pocket, that she actually looked down at the clothes she was wearing - the same clothes she had worn yesterday, the same clothes she had slept in. The old her would have been embarrassed at her crumpled, un-ironed jeans and the slight discoloration of her black t-shirt where she had spilled a little vodka. But the old her also had friends and a lover - people to impress and make effort for. Who did Sienna Smith have to impress these days?

Her mood and hangover were not helped by the grim stench of the old man who sat in front of her on the bus, or by the magnification of the sun's heat through the un-opened windows, and it was with great relief that she allowed the vehicles automatic doors spew her onto the tarmac of the College’s virtually empty car park. Without hesitation she made her way up the slight slope towards the hidden far corner of the smoking area and the peaceful company of its trees and shrubs. She slipped in through the narrow entrance way, her feet crunching satisfyingly into the gravel as her fingers stroked the smooth, waxy leaves of the shrubberies. She spent a few moments calculating angles and viewpoints, before finally taking a seat on top of the bin in the far right corner - the only spot that couldn’t be seen by anyone in the car park.

              The many layers of thick, green leaves above her head had turned the tiny motes of sunshine into soft, shimmering, light green specs of off-color gold dust, filling the tiny area with the impression and essence of being deep in a magical woodland. Once more in the company of nature, Sienna felt herself relaxing and becoming calm, a feeling that was helped along as she lit her doobie and sucked upon it deeply. The popping and crackling of the burning paper and tobacco seemed oddly loud in the tiny, silent space, and Sienna took comfort in the knowledge that - no matter what the day may throw at her, she could always return and seek sanctuary in this magical little corner of peace. She raised her head and blew a thick cloud of smoke up towards the tree tops, her soul placated as she gazed at the beauty of the towering silver birch above her.

“Live for the moment.” She whispered to the silent air, raising an imaginary glass to the distant horizon and imagining the delicate ‘clink’ of a glass raised in response, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, or maybe both.

              Sam’s early start had been a damn good idea, even if he said so himself. He had woken with the rising sun, feeling refreshed and eager, if still slightly achy - safe to say it was the best and most positive start to any day he’d had in a long time. He could finally put his problems in perspective - he felt as if he were soaring high above the clouds, looking down on his world from this new vantage point that made everything seem much, much simpler. Yes his life had more than its fair share of problems, and yes they were numerous and burdensome, but he was about to make the change that would fix it all. It was as if a grayscale filter had been removed from his retinas, and only now could he see all the infinite beauty and possibility in the world.

             
His first port of call that morning had been cooking up a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs for his mother. After all, they do say that ‘change starts at home’, and not only was it sure to do his mother some good (thereby lessening Sam’s constant, niggling worry for her), he figured it was also bound to bring about some good karma for him at some point. His simple offering was met with an emotional outburst - heaving sobs of appreciation threatened to tip the plate from her hands, while streaming tears of gratitude poured down her rapidly ageing, but smiling face, spilling onto the eggs and making the bacon go soggy. She managed about half of it, her shrunken stomach no longer able to deal with anything larger than a child’s portion, before quickly slipping back into sleep, almost slumping face first into her plate. Sam tucked his mother lovingly back in, beaming at what he’d managed to achieve. While it may not have seemed like much to an outsider, Sam knew he was already making some serious positive progress - his mother had eaten breakfast, wasn’t puking or drinking (yet), and had even managed a brief smile - an expression he hadn’t seen on her face in 8 long months. He vowed there and then to try and start every day in a similar fashion.

             
The panoramic mountain drive had been even more spectacular and invigorating than he’d expected. The beads of morning dew, not quite lifted from their delicate perch on the blades of grass, sparkled and glinted a myriad of colors in the hot morning sun, morphing every field and playground in the valley below into a breathtaking carpet of jewels and diamonds. Sam basked in all these wonderful, normal,
human
feelings that radiated through his body, feelings like joy, pride, hope and love, feelings that he had ardently missed over these past months.

He had the stereo blasting once more
–

“What a beautiful day (hey hey)

What a beautiful day

And nothing is impossible

In my all powerful mind.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” Sam spoke to the empty car, raising an imaginary glass towards the radio.

He pulled in to the College car park with just over half an hour to spare, and drove straight across the empty tarmac towards the very top corner, as far away from the main road and entrance as he possibly could. Now that he had arrived, the nerves began to set in, but not the grim, misery-inducing nerves that he was used to. Instead, Sam was experiencing the thrilling tickle of boyish butterflies fluttering in stomach at the thought of being able to speak to his enigma girl once more. He was so wrapped up in his excitement and anticipation that it took him a few minutes to spot the billowing clouds of smoke drifting across the tops of the hedges of the smoking area to his right. Hooks of intrigue dug themselves into his flesh and tugged him out of the safety of his car, pulling him towards the cordoned off area for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of. He took a few cautious steps towards the overgrown entrance, and the hot, still air was suddenly thick with the heady smell of cannabis smoke. The hooks dug deeper, forces unknown pushing and pulling him towards the source of the aroma. He was just a few feet away from the entrance of the smoking area when he heard the faint, metallic, crunching and grinding sound of a lighter mechanism breaking, followed by a faint female voice proclaiming -

“Shit! Shit shit shit!”

              He tentatively took the last few steps, carefully peeking around the edge of the hedgerow so as not to reveal himself. His peeping eyes quickly located the source of the smell and the swearing, and a lot sooner than he expected, he was confronted with his second chance. His beautiful enigma girl was perched on the bin in the corner, brow furrowed in concentration as she tried in vain to get her broken lighter to spark just long enough to re-light the half smoked joint that hung out of one corner of her pouting mouth. In that position, her legs dangling off the edge of the bin with her feet hanging at least a foot from the ground, she reminded Sam of an annoyed child, and he had never felt so protective of anything or anyone. He stood frozen to the spot for a few moments, watching her huff and struggle, before he realized he should probably step in. But what the hell should he say? He’d been so caught up in his excitement, joy and positive thinking that he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. The boyish butterflies kicked it up a couple of notches in his stomach, while his hands, suddenly slick with sweat, clenched and un-clenched stickily in his pocket. It was at that moment that his twitching fingers came into contact with something small and plastic in his left pocket - his mothers lighter that he had used to light the stove that morning. His heart leapt at this fantastic, convenient coincidence, and he spared a quick second to send a deep and heartfelt ‘thank you’ up to the heavens (not that he actually believed there was anyone up there to accept it), and to hastily wipe his palms dry on the front of his jeans.

             
Before this unfamiliar sensation of ecstatic nervousness could get the better of him, Sam pushed his way through the bushy entrance space, squeezing himself out onto the other side a lot less gracefully, and a lot more noisily than he had hoped, holding the little green lighter out in front of him like a wand.