Shampoo (60 page)

“
You should’ve ACTED
BETTER, EVERARD, and this NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED – ”

“
Oh, FUCK YOU, YOU
FUCKING SLUT, for BLAMING ME, FOR YOU BEING A FUCKING
WHORE!”

We yelled. We screamed. I sobbed
my fucking heart out but kept listening to his abuse for some
reason. Like I deserved it.

Or was I still just clinging onto
him? I’d take him any way I could, even if he was hurling hate at
me. I didn’t want to hang up, cause if I hung up, that would be it.
I’d never hear from him again.

And that was almost too much for
me to bear.

“
You didn’t even
FUCKING PULL YOUR FINGER OUT ONCE, EVERARD, not once!! Not once did
you FUCKING TRY – ”

“
Oh, FUCK OFF I DIDN’T
TRY!!”

“
Well, YOUR TRYING IS A
FUCKING BAD JOKE!!”

“
I tried SO FUCKING
HARD, KARINA! SO HARD, TO BE WHO YOU WANTED ME TO FUCKING
BE!!”

“
Oh, what a JOKE! No,
ALL YOU DID was FIGHT AGAINST BEING WHO I WANTED YOU TO BE!” I
cried more then. “All I wanted was for you to be loving,” I sobbed.
“To FUCKING CARE AND LOVE ME – ”

“
Well you FUCKED THAT
UP, DIDN’T YOU! I don’t GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU NOW!”

(and what did I say?? It always
ends like this)

He was hoarse from shouting so
much, and he sounded devastated. I was ripped apart from that the
most.

I never wanted to hurt him. I
barely knew he cared.

“
I actually felt BAD
FOR YOU, how I’ve treated you these past seven months, BUT NOW I
FUCKING DON’T! You didn’t FUCKING DESERVE TO BE TREATED
ANY

BETTER – ”

That did it for me. That FLOORED
me. I bawled, uncontrollably, while he continued shouting and
calling me names.

“
I hope you feel bad,
for hurting me like this,” I managed to splutter out.

“
FUCKING NOPE! I don’t
feel bad AT ALL – ”

I gathered all of my strength and
let rip. “Well, HAPPY FUCKING WANKING, EVERARD, cause you’re NEVER
GONNA FIND A GIRL WHO LOVED YOU LIKE I DID, and you FUCKING RUINED
IT!”

And I hung up on him.

Ever Saga officially over. Just
like that.

Now that’s an ending for that love
affair.

Happy endings are for stories that
haven’t finished yet. Ever and I’s story is over.

And it really fucking breaks my
heart.

Oh, I cried my eyes out, fucking
sobbed for all I was worth

(again, a lot),

for like half an hour. He rang
back immediately too, soon as I’d hung up on his hurtful ass, over
and over again. I refused to answer it.

I wished Evvy and his hand a very
long future together. Lots of happiness for the two of
them.

Then I pulled myself together.
Showered, put make up on, did my hair.

It was the only thing to help my
self-esteem right then. I needed to look hot.

(eat your heart out, you stupid
fucking prick)

The phone rang, AGAIN, and my
stomach roiled.

Would I ever be able to hear the
phone ring again and not have my heart rip to shreds?? Or wonder if
it’s him? Maybe not. Maybe never.

But it was Steve. My old Tafe
bestie.

It warmed my heart, Steve ringing.
It was like he knew I needed him and Andy right then, and The Three
Musketeers back together again.

Within half an hour, Steve was
picking me up. I slipped out the door, determined to forget all
this hurt and just move the fuck on.

Steve knew I was upset, asked if I
was okay, but I wouldn’t go into it.

Steve and Andy know about my
history with men. How to say, AGAIN, that I was distraught over yet
another one? He wasn’t like Rick, but, BOY. Did Evvy hurt me
tonight.

It feels worse somehow. Maybe
cause I really had loved this one. Maybe cause Rick had hurt me
physically, but Everard…he got right in there under the rib cage
and stuck that knife in. Repeatedly.

It hurts far worse than being
beaten, for some reason.

Maybe it’s just cause I’m in this
moment too deeply. That other moment is dimming. This one I’m still
trying to survive.

I’d sworn off men too, sworn off
love. What the fuck happened?? How did I let this happen again?? Me
fucking destroyed over love.

And, oh God. Matt.

Ever just took over tonight, and
made himself damn well front and centre again. That stupid
fucker.

Steve drove to Andy’s
place, and the sight of Andy walking out his front door of his
parent’s mansion warmed my heart. It was so familiar, this scene,
YEARS of us three doing this exact thing, picking Andy up, heading
to the pub together. Watching Andy walk in that way he has, that
cocky swagger of his (but really, it’s all bravado), flipping his
floppy hair out his eyes, ciggie jammed in his mouth…

It was just what I needed in my
devastation. There is comfort in the familiar, in people staying
exactly the same way for you, and in these boys for me. These are
safe boys. I know these two love me, for me, and I feel protected
by our long friendship together.

Andy jumped in the backseat,
climbing over me messily, shoving his bum in my face on purpose, I
swear. I smacked him on the ass as he climbed over.

“
Get your ass out my
face, boy!” Steve said in his British accent. He put the car in
gear and drove away.

“
Hey, I haven’t got my
fucking seat belt on, motherfucker!”

(Andy swears more than me. Where
do you think I got it from? I never used to even say shit before
meeting him)

Andy shouted, a ciggy hanging out
his mouth. He slid to the other side of the car as Steve

(crazy driving Steve, oh this I
remember)

rounded a corner too
fast. “FUCK, I dropped my FUCKING CIGGY, for FUCK’S SAKE – ” There
was a thud from the back seat, then a yelp, as Andy smacked his
head on the car. I turned around, cracking up at him tossed about
in the back seat as Steve purposely

(I’m sure)

rounded corner after corner at
eighty kays in his Jeep Wrangler, and Andy tried to keep leaning
down to pick up his ciggy, then banging his head on something else.
“Found it!” he finally yelled out in triumph, placing the ciggy
back in his mouth and sliding back to the other side of the car. He
started yanking on his seatbelt, and yanked and yanked and yanked,
the seatbelt refusing to come out of its home and round his body.
“Oh, for FUCKING FUCK’S SAKE!!!” he yelled, the ciggy once again
flopping out the side of his mouth. “SHIT!”

He was still yanking on his seat
belt and trying to get the cigarette back in his mouth at the same
time. “Burnt my fucking balls, it did!”

I was seriously in fits. I’d
forgotten how funny Andy is.

Steve rounded another corner
madly, and off Andy went again, slipping over to the right again,
and – THUD – smacking his head on the other side of the car again.
Right on the Jeep’s bar.

I was absolutely doubled over by
now, tears streaming down my face. It was too fucking
funny.

These two were just what I needed
in that moment. How can one be depressed with these two in her
life? I knew it then, these two were back in my life. We wouldn’t
be separated again. We were besties, which is just a beautiful
thing.

You can never have too many
besties.

Andy put on an English accent,
copying Steve’s. “Oh Steve, old chap…are you trying to fucking kill
me??”

Steve managed to keep a straight
face. Actually, I’ve spent years thinking Steve doesn’t actually
find Andy that funny, which is so weird, cause I find him
hysterical. “Sorry, old man. What’s going on with you? Haven’t you
got your seat belt on?” He rounded another corner too fast, and
once again Andy slid across the seat and hit his head
again.

“
Why don’t I just sit
here and smack my head repeatedly against the fucking car’s weird
metal bars?? Hey! Why the fuck not! It’s all I’m fucking doing
anyway!”

“
Put your seatbelt on,
old man!”

(I love how Steve only ever calls
Andy old man or Andrew. Never Andy)

“
Yeah, old man,” I
managed to splutter through the fit I was having. “Put your fucking
seat belt on!”

I watched in complete mirth as
Andy tried to slide back across to the other side of the seat as
Steve spun round another corner. “WHO KNEW there were so many
FUCKING CORNERS just to get to the FUCKING LOCAL PUB!” Andy
shouted, trying madly to slide over.

“
Just sit where you
are, old man!” Steve said, exasperated.

“
But I wanna sit behind
Pinky,” Andy whined, as Steve rounds another corner and Andy slid
back across. He banged his head again. “Oh, you’ve got to be
fucking joking!” He stayed where he was and started yanking on that
seatbelt. “I’m fucking yanking on this fucking thing, and it WON’T
COME! Fuck, this is just like me at home in the bathroom, worried
fucking Jen’s about to walk in! I can’t come then,
either!”

(he always calls his dear mother
Jen. Cracks me up. And if you annoy him, he’ll say to you, “Yes,
JEN.” Like you’re the biggest pain in his ass)

“
Andy, have I ever told
you…YOU’RE SUCH A YANKER!!” I could barely get it out. I was in
fits of laughter.

Steve finally cracked then, and
laughed with me.

“
Oh ho ho, fucking ho,”
Andy said. “I’m gonna snap this fucking bitch if it doesn’t give in
a fucking minute.”

“
AGAIN, just like you
in the bathroom, oh HAHAHAHAHA!” Oh God. Fits.

Steve laughed himself stupid
then.

Andy was still yanking. “We’ll be
there before you work out how to put your seatbelt on, old man,”
Steve said.

“
I’ll be brain damaged
too, by then!”

Steve and I laughed afresh at
this. “Aren’t you already, old man?”

We went to the pub first, our old
fav spot called

(appropriately, for
Steve)

Cheers, drank ourselves stupid
there, then went back to Steve’s place. We headed straight for our
old, usual spot – lounging by the pool.

Steve being British, he’s come
over to Australia and just fallen in love with our sunshine and
weather. He is always outside, drinking in the sun somewhere. He’s
gone from English, pasty white skin to sunbronzed Aussie beach
bum.

Steve got out the cask wine first.
Steve always, always, FUCKING ALWAYS, takes a sip of ANY drink,
doesn’t matter what it is, and goes, “Hmmm, that’s
good.”

Andy and I shared a look as he did
this over the boxed wine. “Hmm, that SURE IS good goon, Steve!”
Andy joked.

Then Steve got out his deadly home
brew. Deadly because all it does is make you drunk and make you
fart.

It was dark now, a beautiful
night. “Wow, this is the life, hey,” Steve said.

(another of his favourite
sayings)

That’s what I love about Steve.
He’s so happy with the simple pleasures in life.

Steve farted, then looked
embarrassed. “Excuse me, you two! I don’t know where that came
from.” He looked over his shoulder, like someone else was to
blame.

Oh, I laughed.

“
I know where that came
from,” Andy said, holding up his bottle. “It came from your fucking
homebrew!” He lifted his bum off his own lounge in an exaggerated
manner, scrunched his face up, and let one rip. A VERY loud one.
“Oh, I feel much better now.”

I laughed and laughed
uncontrollably. I almost fell off my lounge chair, I laughed so
hard. Someone farted again

(and I’m afraid to say it was
me),

and I was gone.

JUST GONE.

Laughing so hard.

“
PINKY!!” Andy cried.
“I’m FUCKING

DISGUSTED – ”

“
Karina, was that you?”
Steve laughed.

“
That’s just too much,”
Andy added, pretending to be outraged. “I mean, it’s just FUCKING
WRONG, a girl farting like that.” He pretended to sniff the air.
“UGH, it’s FUCKING RANK, TOO!!”

I was still laughing. Anything to
forget the pain. Laughing sure does help. “Like you two can talk!”
I tried to defend myself, all the while feeling another fart coming
on.

(what the fuck does Steve DO to
this beer??? It’s a constipation tonic, that’s for sure)

Steve chose that moment to fart
again, then Andy put on a show lifting his bum cheek up again and
farting, so I followed suit, too.

We all cracked up.

“
Ahhh, this is true
friendship,” I laughed.

“
Cheers to that!” Steve
held up his glass.