20 January 2013
[Ok this part has a couple of swear words and a little violence. Just a warning.]
I went back to the halls of residence to change and drop off my folders and books, with a promise from Marshall that he'd come over at 7pm for a drink before we walked into town. Emma was in the shared kitchen gathering supplies for the party, so I brushed past silently and into my room, not really wanting to talk to her. I was still angry at her selfish and bigoted attitude.
I showered and fussed over my make up and hair, something I never usually gave much consideration. But tonight I wanted to look good and feel confident, so I blow-dried my always-wild hair and carefully lined my eyes, before spending a good thirty minutes staring at my clothes. I eventually settled on boots, a black skirt that skimmed my knees and a tank top patterned with tiny skulls. There was a knock at my door and my heart fluttered around my chest before coming to a rest somewhere in my stomach. I glanced at the clock - it was only 6:30pm, it couldn't be Marshall yet. And I hadn't heard the buzzer for the main door go off. Quizzically I opened my door to find Emma standing in the hallway, her arms folded defensively across her chest.
"Yes?" I said, somewhat harshly.
"I just wanted to see if you'd changed your mind about coming to the party tonight?" Emma stared at her shoes and fiddled awkwardly with her hair.
"No," I replied, "I'm still going on a date with Marshall."
"Well..." Emma paused, biting her lip. "Have a good time, ok?" She smiled nervously and my anger melted a little.
"I don't want to fall out with you Em," I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. "But you kinda upset me."
"I'm sorry," Emma said earnestly, "I just...I didn't know you liked him. It was just a bit of a shock. His appearance is...well, you know?" she shrugged.
"I know," I grimaced, "I see how people look at him. But he's not a freak Em, he's a great guy. You're just judging him based on his scarred face, which, for the record, doesn't bother me at all."
"It doesn't?" Emma looked a little sceptical. "I heard it's not just on his face either. And I heard this story about how he got all those scars..." I held up my hand to stop her.
"I don't want to hear the ridiculous rumours. And it doesn't matter anyway. Please," I sighed, "I like him and he like me; can't you just be happy for me?"
"Of course,""she said, "if you are happy then that's what matters. And you look great!"
"Thank you," I hugged Emma, still not convinced she was on board with the situation. "He'll be over soon - what time is you party starting?"
"Not till later but I told the guys I'd come over early and help them get ready," she motioned to a pile of plastic cups and table cloths in the hall, "so I'm going now. I just didn't want to leave without saying sorry to you for earlier."
"Let's just forget it," I smiled, "you go have fun. I'm sure Liam will be yours by the end of the night."
"That's the plan," Emma grinned, collected her jumbled pile of cups from the hall and left the flat. I heard her footsteps echo up the stairs to the guys apartment on the next floor, where she was greeted with a lot of masculine whooping and laughter. I shook my head; Emma just couldn't resist the sporty, macho types.
The buzzer blared, indicating someone was waiting to be let in the main door. I pushed the intercom in the hall and tentatively said hello.
"Hi," a familiar voice responded, "it's Marshall."
"Hi!" I exclaimed too loudly, "come in!" I buzzed him in and opened the front door of the flat - I could hear Marshall climbing the two floors to my flat. He appeared, flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
"Flowers and wine?" I grinned, motioning for him to come in to the flat, "You didn't have to do that. Do you like wine?"
"Not really," he replied, handing me the flowers and kissing my cheek softly, "but that's what they always do on tv if they have a date; wine and flowers." He grinned sheepishly.
"Have you ever been on a date?" I asked, walking through to the kitchen to look for something to put the flowers in. I couldn't find a vase (I don't think we even owned one) so I settled for the large jug we usually used for mixing cocktails.
"Sure. Yeah...loads," Marshall rummaged in a drawer for a bottle opener. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Ok no, never," he said, opening the bottle, "you got me, I'm a date virgin." He popped the cork out of the bottle with perfect comedy timing and we both laughed. " What about you?" he asked, pouring us both very large glasses.
"Well," I smiled awkwardly, "I've had a few first dates...but never any second dates. I don't know, I guess I don't make a very good first impression."
"I'd have to agree with that," he smiled, "we didn't get off to the best start." I blushed hard and took a huge gulp of wine. " But I'm glad I gave you a second change."
"And I'm glad I didn't give up on you," I said, my cheeks still burning with a blush. Marshall stepped towards me, plucking my wine glass from my hand. He hesitated before leaning in and gently kissing my lips. I kissed him back, my fingers twisting into his tousled hair, my stomach exploding into a swarm of butterflies. Something about the way he kissed, nervous and naive, yet passionate, just made me want to stay in his arms for hours. I considered asking him to skip the band and stay in with me to just kiss more. Marshall pulled away, smiling.
" We have to go," he said, pointing at the clock, "or we will miss the band."
We walked to town, laughing and talking. Marshall seemed more animated and happy with the darkness hiding his features from passersby. Wen we reached the Cellar Bar I could already hear the unmistakable sounds of a band playing from within. Marshall insisted on paying for both of us and buying drinks all night. We spent the evening huddled in a corner of the packed bar, watching each other more than the band. By ten-thirty I was drunk enough to wrap my arms around Marshall's waist and rest my head in the crook of his neck. His inhibitions lowered, Marshall pulled me close, his arms snaking around my back.
"I can't really believe you're here with me, Rosie," he whispered into my ear, "I keep expecting the evening to turn into Carrie's Prom Night." I giggled at the reference. "I have to go pee," he grinned, pulling away, "I drink a beer, I have to piss like twenty times." I watched him walk away through the bustling bar, pushing through the crowd. A group of four young men in hooded tops stood up, half following Marshall into the toilets, half making a beeline towards me. I was immediately alert; something wasn't right. These men had something in mind and I was not eager to discover what. They closed in, blocking me in to a corner.
"What's a pretty thing like you doin' with Harvey Two-Face?" one thug sneered. His companion laughed noisily, his breath reeking of stale beer. I didn't answer, hoping if I ignored them they would leave.
"I asked you a question, sweetheart," he spat. "Or do you only go for freaks?" I swallowed hard, a little afraid now. A sudden and noisy disturbance at the other end of the bar got their attention for a moment and I took my chance, slipping around them and towards the exit. Marshall came staggering out of the middle of the confusion, his nose bleeding a little. I pushed though the crowd and grabbed his hand, pulling him up the stairs and out into the cold night air.
"What happened to you?" I exclaimed, trying to press a tissue against Marshall's dripping nose.
"We should get put of here," Marshall took the tissue and dabbed at his nose; it was starting to swell.
"Too late," an angry voice said from behind us. I span around to see the four yobs from the bar looming over us. One had a split lip and looked like he had been in a fight.
"Your fuckin' freak boyfriend did this to me," growled Split-Lip, grabbing my wrist, "and now I'm going to do worse to you."
"Get off her," Marshall said through clenched teeth, "it's me you want, isn't it? Or do pussies like you only beat up women?"
That was the last straw. Three of the men descended on Marshall like a pack of animals while Split-Lip held me back, his hand over my mouth to stifle my screams for help. Punches rained in from all sides until Marshall was on the floor, motionless. I was sure they were going to kill him, kick him to death. I had to do something, so I bit my captor with all my strength, tasting his blood. He howled and threw me to the ground next to Marshall and I screamed for help as loudly as I could, using my body to protect Marshall from any more blows.
A security guard from the Cellar bar appeared and the thugs ran, leaving Marshall and I in the gutter. He took one look at us and dialled 999 on his mobile.
"Marshall?" I cried, pulling at his lifeless body. He wouldn't wake up.
Scars - Part 6 • Opuss № I