You Promised Me

  You Promised Me

  Lucy Scott Bryan

  Copyright © 2020 by Lucy Scott Bryan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without the express written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any means without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities are entirely coincidental.

  Lucy Scott Bryan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is available exclusively through Amazon.

  First Edition

  Cover Art by Victoria Schaefer, Eve Graphic Design

  Edited by Maxwell Williams Editing, BBB Publishings

  Formatted by Nichol Smith, BBB Publishings

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Part II

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Lucy Scott Bryan

  About Lucy Scott Bryan

  Stay in touch

  Sometimes you don’t realise your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.

  Susan Gale

  “Why?” I whisper to him.

  “Because then we will be together forever, remember. You said you wanted to do this, what is your problem?” he hisses back at me, as we hide behind the back shed. The grass is growing so long out here, that even if you are only steps away, you won't be able to see us.

  “I do, but why do we have to cut our hands again?” I say, confused by what he wants me to do.

  “I will have a little bit of you in me and you will have a little bit of me in you. Don’t you want me?” he asks me, his long hair hitting his blue eyes, obviously bugging him as he keeps puffing it out of his face.

  We are sitting, knee to knee in the shade.

  “I’m scared it will hurt,” I reply back, “but if you go first then I will. Is it forever?”

  “You are an idiot, you know that. Of course, it is forever. That’s what we said. We will be together forever,” he growls at me, pushing me in the shoulder a bit in his childish frustration.

  “Don’t push me,” I say back, my voice stronger than I thought possible. He laughs at it too.

  “Okay, come on, Mum will be home soon and I have to get the knife back or she will see,” he says as he leans over me again and with one hand lifts me back up to kneeling again.

  “I’m sorry,” he gives me a funny, toothy grin before grabbing my dirty hand and laying it face up on my thigh, and then he flips his own hand in preparation.

  “Watch me, I’ll prove that you are going to be mine forever, Gigi, I swear it,” he speaks through a cheeky smile, his face full of bravado, that only an eleven-year-old can wear.

  The day suddenly stills and I watch captivated as he drags his mum’s kitchen knife over his palm, it shudders and skips leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake, my eyes go as wide as saucers at the line it leaves.

  I hear him draw in a hiss through his teeth, “Sugar shits that stings, quick Gigi, give me yours,” he says and, fast like a snake, he captures my upturned hand and holds the blade over my palm, just where he had it on his.

  I watch a drop of his blood hit my grimy hand as the blade lowers. It’s like the world is spinning in slow motion.

  “Hunter!” a voice shrills, shattering the quietness that had descended over our secret pact.

  He jumps at the unexpected noise and the blade he is holding digs deep into my palm and he drags it across my hand. A loud pain-filled squeak falls from my mouth as the knife cuts, sending a series of burning stings up my arm. I pull my hand out of his as I whimper, looking at the cut through tear-filled eyes, that doesn’t look like his at all. The blood instantly wells up, dripping down onto my pants.

  He looks up at my face quickly, his eyes begging me to be quiet, to keep us hidden a little longer, before his gaze darts back to my bleeding hand, his eyes flaring wide in alarm.

  “Ssshhh Gigi. I am sorry,” he says in a shaky breath and then he drops the knife in the dirt and picks up my hand gently in both of his.

  A big fat tear trails down my cheek and falls in the dirt next to the forgotten knife.

  “Do it,” I whisper.

  Hunter clasps our hands, squashing them together so tightly, that it stings nearly more than the cut did.

  “You have to say it with me, Gigi, remember what we wrote down, you promised me. We have to say it together or it won’t work. You will ruin it if you do it wrong, got it?” he says so quickly that his words jumble together and sound strange in my ringing ears.

  We look at each other, he puffs his hair out of his eyes again.

  “Hunter, get inside now!” his mother screeches into the afternoon, for the whole neighbourhood to hear.

  Together we stare into each other's eyes and with a big breath, it signals a poorly worded childhood oath that changes our lives. Although sometimes, I wonder, if it would have happened anyway.

  “One cut, two cut, my cut, your cut. Your blood, my blood, our blood is red, inside me now till we are dead,” we say it slowly word for word.

  “Not the next part, it’s silly,” I speak quickly looking at our bloody palms, but he squeezes our hands again, his eyes suddenly looking angry.

  “Say it, Gigi. Start again,” he insists, disappointment clear in his voice.

  “Okay,” I say quickly, after seeing the emotions sweep over his face. My single word is enough to instantly change his face, replacing any concern with a look full of love.

  Another big breath and we start again.

  “One cut, two cut, my cut, your cut. Your blood, my blood, our blood is red, inside me now till we are dead. Inside me, inside you, our blood is our promise, it will be true,” we finish our sing-song together.

  It seems like there is only a moment or two of silence after our song ends. Both of us looking at our bloody union, before we look up at each other. No doubt my face matches Hunters. His eyes are huge, full of his happiness, surprise, and shock that we actually did it.

  The quiet afternoon is broken as we peel into nervous, relieved laughter at what we just did. Trying to keep our giggles quiet, in case Hunter’s mum's super-sonic hearing finds us, but it only makes our giggling worse, until Hunter suddenly focuses on my bloody hand.

  The smile falls instantly from his face as he focuses on my still bleeding cut. His attention seems to reignite the pain that starts zinging through my arm again, from my hand to my elbow, it stings. I cower, pulling my wounded hand away, but he stops the movement with a growl before ripping his t-shirt with his teeth and bandages our palms together.

  “Can you feel it, Gigi? I am inside you now. Don’t ever forget that,” Hunter surprises me by snarling.

  “Are you angry at me….why?” I ask looking at him, confused.

  “Cause I have to go. I don’t want to. I want to stay here, and it’s all your fault that I can’t,” he says, his anger gone between one-second and the next.

  “No, it’s not. It’s not my fault. It’s your stupid mum’s,” I reply quicker.

  “Hunter, you have three-seconds to get back from that little bitches house,” his mum squawks again.

  “Is she calling me that word Hunter?” I ask, feeling sick in my stomach.

  “Yep!” he says, a smirk over his grubby face.

  “Why?” I demand.

  “She is just jealous because I love you so much an
d I tell her every day!” he yells to the sky, before we both start laughing uncontrollably again, falling into the dust and bloody ground, kicking up our bare feet.

  Laying there, covered in grime, the sun beating down on us, we ignore his mum for as long as we can. We interlace our fingers on our bleeding hands, my cut throbbing in pain against his palm but Hunter’s happiness, his stories of what we will be doing tomorrow make it all fade away. Watching the clouds drift by, we swap naughty jokes, figure out stupid dares for tomorrow and talk nonsense to each other endlessly.

  “Your father is home Hunter, if he catches you he will tan your scrawny butt!” his mother yells again before the back door of his house slams shut.

  Hunter sits us up, staring at me intently as he unbinds his shirt from our bloody handhold. He quickly glances at me, before he trails his dirty finger over my palm, through my still weeping cut. The movement causes pain to ricochet back through my arm and I look into his face in question. His eyes are locked on mine, a peaceful smile on his face.

  “Don’t you forget Gigi, you will always be a part of me now,” Hunter says as he starts running through the tall grass. I roll on my tummy with a huge smile on my face and watch him disappear.

  If I knew that it was going to be the last time I saw him for years, I would have followed him. I would have stopped him from running away. I would have told him I really, honestly believed in our promise.

  “The extended family of Maximus along with his widow Sofia, thank you for your support and kindness, in their time of need. They will be receiving condolences in the Chapel once the casket has been interred,” the man in the black suit spoke some more, his bland voice filled the room but I really wasn’t listening. Instead, I am looking, searching, hoping.

  The only thing I remember of the last few days, is sitting in the dirt watching Hunter run back to his house. The sun is bright in my eyes, causing me to squint into the shadows, but I am positive he turned around for one last look, one last laugh with me, before he disappeared. The next thing I remember is my mother’s desperate screams for help, her distress, and her endless tears.

  My mum insists that his family moved away that night. It is strange though, they left everything in the house. They didn’t even lock the back door or check the windows. I didn’t believe her, I keep repeating, “it’s just a holiday” as I climb up the tree near his window and shimmying along the broken down pipe to his room. He always left the window open, he says it is for the fresh air but I think it is so I can sneak in. He taught me the safest way when he heard me nearly fall one evening. He made me practice nearly every day for a year. I knew my way to him.

  His room is exactly like it was the last time I saw it. His bed is half made, the blue and grey quilt quickly straightened, the piles of pillows thrown happily as a pre-teen will, not really caring how they fell.

  I put my secret note under his pillow, cause I know that he will feel it as soon as he lays down. Hunter always went to sleep on his tummy, he made me do it too. He says that it is what best friends do and it is the first step in us being blooded to each other. We had to do a lot of things the same.

  I don’t remember why, but I make Hunter a card, maybe I just want to do something happy while my mum is so sad. I trace my hand on some green card and even draw a red line to match the one on my hand. I didn’t put my name on it cause he will know, it is our secret.

  Exactly five nights later, when I need my best friend more than ever before, I sneak back over to his house while my mum is crying again in the shower. Hunter’s house is pitch black and nearly everything is the same. I creep in through his half-opened window in the shadow of the early evening, my heart beating out a calling song hoping he is here for me. Except he isn’t. Neither is my secret letter, it is gone from under his pillow.

  That is when I start to cry. I just want him home. I need him home. Someone has to help me understand why my dad isn't here anymore. Someone has to show me that maybe I can smile again. But he is nowhere to be found.

  And now as I search through the sea of sad people at my father’s funeral, I eventually figure out he really isn’t here and he isn’t going to be either. I collapse to the floor, under the feet and notice of the adults. I crawl far away from them, not looking where I am going until I find a dark room and there I let the tears fall. The sadness that has been following me since he left, bubbles up until it explodes out of my little heart, my tears turn into loud sobs. I am pretty sure I cry then for my dad too.

  I realise, sometime later, that the voices of the adults have stopped. I lost track of time hiding in the little room, but I didn’t really know how much.

  My mum’s big arms find me hiding in the dark and she wraps me in one of her cuddles before I even realise that I have company. We sit on the floor together and our tears mix, I watch them steadily falling onto my pretty black dress.

  “Verginius, we will need to go visit Grandma and Grandpa Bellafonte for a little while sweetheart. They have already gone home ahead of us with Aunt Addy, they will get a special room ready just for you. We are going to leave tomorrow, but we will come back one day, my little darling,” my mum says softly as she snuggles me into her chest.

  “But what about Daddy, who will stay with Daddy?” I ask. She doesn’t answer me for a long time instead she nearly squeezes the life out of me. “Can Hunter come Mum, he is my very best friend in the world, he will be home soon, probably tomorrow. Can we please wait for him? He won’t like that I have left without him,” I plead.

  “No Verginius, we are leaving in the morning. I am sorry my sweetpea, but I need to get out of here for a little while. It is not forever, I promise you,” she whispers before pushing me off her lap and using the wall to pull herself up to stand. She drags me out of the dark room and without another backwards glance at my dad’s coffin, laying there all by himself, she puts us in the car and drives off.

  She lied about going home, I figure that out when I wake up and we are on the highway in the middle of the night.

  “I hate you,” I whisper softly with my eyes squeezed shut. But she doesn’t hear me, I am just a child and she is too busy talking on the phone to Aunt Addy.

  “For fucks sake!” I scream at her.

  “Watch your mouth Verginius. Your father would be furious with you speaking like that to me!” she snarls back at me, her sister rolling her eyes at my raised voice from behind the large marble kitchen island bench at Grandma and Grandpas.

  “You are not listening to me again. I hear you all the time, do you ever even hear what I say? Even when I was a kid, you never gave me the chance to speak. Like when I wanted to go home, remember you said we would go home after Dad’s funeral. You lied then, and you are lying again. It’s the only reason that I can't trust anything you say anymore. Now, you drop on me that you are about to ship me off to a new school. Jesus Mum, Dad died six years ago and you are still acting like it was yesterday, still treating me like I am eleven years old, incapable of being involved in a decision about my future,” I hiss back at her, my anger unfurling like a living entity behind me, filling up our huge kitchen. She retaliates with a slap across my face, that has my Aunty Addy screaming in shock at her sister, and my mother crying.

  “Nice one Mum. You know what, maybe it will be best that I finish school at St Joseph’s. It seems we are just on different pages these days. All I want is for you to speak to me, to see me. I will pack my bag,” I reply without breaking eye contact with her, my voice devoid of all the drama that happened only minutes ago.

  Her eyes flash over to my cheek which no doubt bares her mark, her mouth is frozen in surprise. I have no doubt that it is because she lost her temper and put her hand on me in anger. I can guarantee that she isn't focusing on me, she is freaking out because she lost it. I turn and walk out but not before I hear her murmur a soft apology. I shoot my hand up to silence her. I don’t need it. I am the first to recognise that I have been difficult and moody lately. I feel so stifled living with her, such a ri
diculous notion, considering everything. I know my mother loves me, it's just teenage angst and a sense of her trying to control too much of my future, I suspect.

  In the time since we arrived at the Bellafonte family home, I finally learnt just what a secret their fortune had been. My parents had hoped I would live a normal life away from the money and privileges of the wealthy. Then Mum fucked it up by running home. She didn’t believe we had a family without Dad, she didn’t believe in Dad’s vision for me to have a normal childhood, so she upped and left everything from our very normal life in suburbia and ran back to her parents and her sister.

  After locking the door behind me, I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering why she lied about this. Going to St Joseph’s is a dream. It is a prestigious school, it will look good on my college applications. If only she spoke to me like an adult and not a freaking teenager, but that is the crux of our issue, my mother is stuck in a nightmare loop that started six years ago.

  My cell buzzes and I grab it off the nightstand smiling when Hartley’s happy face flashes up on the screen.

  “Hey Hartley, she finally cracked and told me tonight,” I say as soon as I press the green button.

  “I am so pumped Ginny, this year is going to be fan-freaking-tastic bitch! We are going to be Saints,” she replies instantly, her eagerness coming out in the form of a high pitched squeal. “Did you tell her that you had already accepted Gin? You should, she doesn't need to wallow in her guilt,” she added.

  “Maybe. I’ll talk with her on the drive down tomorrow,” I say quickly.

  “You aren’t driving yourself? Seriously Gin, you have to stop this ‘I’m a poor little rich girl’ she bought you a brand new Audi GT and you are going to leave it at home. Gin, Imma break it down real slow for you hun, it’s just fucking money. It’s not your fault you bleed it, stop being a miser and step up. You need to start dropping the Bellafonte name like any other normal person in the world would,” she laughs.