Not His Girl

Cassia's life is perfect. Awesome friends. Awesome hair. Awesome clothes. And -most of all - an awesome boyfriend.
But everything is about to change. It all starts with that one photo...

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4. Four

 

Leo’s place is a ten minute walk from mine.

You have to go round the outskirts of Bartoun, and then through the park. I love the park.

Great big oak trees surround me in a way some might find sinister, but I find comforting. I know that under these branches not enough the betrayal of my love can hurt me.

Wind blows down my top, through my long black hair. I can feel the tangles growing. Slowly, slowly, slowly. But I don’t care. I have no-one to impress anymore. It’s just me. Me and the oak trees.

I see some kids from school. Bea is one of them. I duck my head and scuff quickly past them. Bea looks up for a fraction of a second, but even if she notices it’s me, she doesn’t say.

Out the park gates, and round the corner. That’s the way to go. The huge three floor houses of Bartoun’s ‘Upper Crust’ tower above me, great looming shadows engulf. I like the oak trees, but I hate this.

It’s funny, but when you think you’re in love, you don’t notice much. Everything is fine and dandy. But now I see why people hate this end of town, why they much prefer to stick to where it’s open and populated. Even Leo dislikes where he lives.

Number 17, on the opposite side of the road. That’s where he lives.

I ring the doorbell, knock the knocker. Today I’m impatient, not polite.

Leo’s mum answers. She smiles at me. A huge, fake, plastic smile.  ‘Just like her boobs’, as Bea would say.

“Come in, come in”

I don’t bother to wipe my feet. Angry, heartbroken people generally don’t.

“He’s in his room. On his own, I think”

“Good”, I say, I swear if he has another girl in there with him…

I don’t knock on his bedroom door. Just walk straight in. Leo’s phone falls to the floor with a clatter.

“Hey babes”, he says. He takes after his mother smile-wise.

Somehow I still can’t build up the courage to tell him to not call me that.

“We need to talk”.

Those four, loaded words.

“Look... I don’t know what you saw, but it was a lie

I take my phone out my pocket. I need to show him.

“This jog your memory?”

All he can think of is that someone photo-shopped it. Likely story.

For the first time, I really study the girl’s face. Just out of interest, really.

“No…”

It’s Bea. The picture Bea sent me of someone kissing my boyfriend was of her. What was going on in her head?

Not much, probably.

“You…and BEA?!”

For the first time, he has nothing to say. No excuses, no nothing. Somehow, that’s worse. He doesn’t even want to fight for me anymore.

He doesn’t even apologise.

I pick up his stupid, overpriced, glitzy iPhone and chuck it. Right across his room. Right out his open window.

“I hate you! You selfish, little… BASTARD!”

Still nothing. But wait – he’s started shouting about his stupid, bloody phone.

Why does he even care?

Oh yeah. He’s a selfish little bastard. How could I forget?

I run down the stairs, straight out the door. The last thing I hear  is his mother’s cry of ‘close the door behind you’.

Do I hell?

 

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