Into the Velvet

Nine Days Until

Like an inexperienced swimmer braving the choppy ocean tide, I had no idea that I was in trouble until I could no longer find the shore.

It was far past the early hours of the morning. These days, I was sleeping less and less. The sun was slow to wake up, and had gotten slower still — the winter chill was here, hardening the morning dew. I shut off Olly's car ignition, tired and satisfied. I pressed my bruised lips together.

Stealing my way back into the house was a no-brainer. I was used to it now. The weatherboards no longer knocked painfully into knees. I could swing my body weight in an upwards motion, ascending the ladder and assured of its hold.

It was easier climbing back up than it had been to climb down. Only hours before, I had been an absolute wreck of a person.

My fingers danced on the windowsill, trying to find the latch that would pull the window clean off the wall. The window wasn't there. Only empty space. I paused in thought, then shrugged it aside, assuming that I'd left it open.

I swung my legs over the ledge and hopped into my room. It was pitch black. With a sigh of relief, I sank to the floor and began untying my shoes.

Without warning, my bedside lamp switched on. Then came the exaggerated clearing of a throat.

"Eh-hem."

My first instinct to being busted was to stay frozen. Maybe if I stayed as still as possible, I wouldn't find Olly's giant dancing feet, dangling over the bed and hovering over my face. I shut my eyes tightly and exhaled.

"What do you want, Olly?"

He pointed his sock-covered toe and poked the end of my nose. "Boop."

I swatted him away in disgust. "Don't poke me with your feet."

Olly had his arms behind his head, long limbs happily stretched. He had a dumb smile on his dumb face. "Well." He shrugged. "What can I do? Cause my gas money is limited at best, and you absolutely love burning through it."

"So?"

"So for as long as you keep stealing my car, I'll keep poking you with my feet."

Sick of lying and sick to my stomach, I deflated. Sagging downwards, leaning against the detached window by the wall. "How long have you known?" I forced myself to ask.

Olly shrugged. "How long have I suspected, or how long has my airbag been deflated for?"

Softly, I banged my head against my folded arms. Stupid, stupid me. How could I have forgotten to get that thing fixed? "Both?"

"The airbag's been deflated for seventeen days and fifteen hours, for those at home keeping track," he answered. His voice was soft and contemplative against the buzzing of the lamp. "I've known since you first snuck out – the night you passed your driver's test."

"But... how?"

He held up one finger. "One: you're terrible at being sneaky. You wear those high-tops everywhere, and they're loud as hell against the floorboards. Never forget that only a thin wall separates our entwined lives." Then he held up a second finger. "Two: the Land Cruiser is just as loud as your shoes. But only just. You really are that loud."

"Is there a three?"

Olly fluffed the pillow under his head. "Yes there is, actually. Three: I've been in this game for years. I've perfected it, so I know an amateur when I see one. First of all, you need to throw your shoes out the window and then climb down. You can put them on once you've hit solid ground. Secondly, you're been acting super weird. Stop that. You should be impenetrable. Never let anyone catch even a scent of your dodgy dealings — it attracts mice. Take me, for example."