The Dark Part of Me by Belinda Burns Page B

for bushwalkers but in the height of summer it was deserted. Every so often, there were bush fire warning signs, nailed into tree trunks. The week before there’d been
some emergency services guy on the news predicting bad fires by New Year if the drought persisted. The track was reaching its steepest bit and I kept skidding backwards on the loose gravel. I leant
against a paperbark for a quick breather and looked out.
    The dusty soup-bowl of BrisVegas lay beneath me: a faraway sprinkle of skyscrapers encircled by endless suburban plains; the river basking dull and brown like a giant snake in the sun. On all
sides the mountains, once green, were hazy purple and parched. I closed my eyes and could hear the hum of traffic on the Western freeway and a distant chainsaw, but around me it was quiet and
still. Up in the bush, far above the ant-like scurry of burban lives lived in brick boxes, cars, gyms, shopping centres and multiplexes, I could imagine I was different, set apart, a cut above the
rest. I turned and kept going, pushing off my knees for extra momentum, until I reached the clearing. My heart was racing like crazy, my face itchy with sweat, but my hangover wasn’t as bad.
I sat down on a burnt-out stump. Despite the heat and the bugs and the effort of climbing, I always felt better up there; freer, lighter, more alive.
    ‘Is something the matter?’ Hollie knelt beside me and stroked my brow. Her fingers were powdery-soft and cool. She was wearing a new perfume which was too musky, too grown-up for
her, and it made me feel sick. Her eyes flitted over my face as if trying to read something in me. I could tell she wanted to ask me about Scott, to hear that things had gone badly at the party;
for some tale of betrayal or bitter disappointment that would prove she’d been right about him all along. She’d been joyous when he dumped me. That first night, after the phone call,
I’d climbed out my window and ran barefoot in my pyjamas to her house. I threw stones at her window and she came outside in her long cotton nightie and hugged me and told me that everything
would be alright because we had each other. She said she loved me and we pashed like pretend lovers and she made me swear on Lady Shalott’s watery grave never to speak of Scott again.
    ‘Did you have a late night?’ It was her coy way of asking if I’d slept with him.
    ‘Yeah, kind of,’ I said.
    Hollie got up and wandered off but not before I caught a frown of annoyance cross her brow. ‘Did you sleep with him?’ she shot, petulantly, from across the clearing.
    I turned to face her and lied, ‘Yes.’
    ‘How could you?’ Her pretty mouth twisted in disgust.
    Indignation burned in my chest. ‘Just because you don’t have anyone!’
    She stared at me, eyes blazing. Her lips twitched as if she was about to say something but instead she snatched up the basket and tore off through the bush until I caught up with her. I grabbed
her by the back of her skirt and spun her around. She looked at me coldly, but I slipped my hand around her waist and waltzed her about in a circle. Her body was stiff, unyielding in my arms, but
as we danced, lacing between the trees, kicking up clouds of dust with our feet, her face softened into a smile. I set her down on the ground like a doll.
    ‘Do it again,’ she panted. I picked her up and twirled her around, and she threw her head back and laughed like a little girl, her eyes shining out from beneath the wide brim of her
hat, her cherry lip-gloss sparkling in the sun. She took me by the hand and led me towards the cave, the scorched leaves crunching beneath our feet. Our footsteps fell into sync; her kid-leather
boots; my stinky sneakers, sweaty-slimy between the toes. There was a rustle of a goanna or a snake in the lantana which grew in tangled clumps along the way. Hollie let go of my hand and charged
ahead, all forgiven, as I followed behind her to the cave.
    Danny, Hollie and I discovered the cave