Empty beer cans littered the stained wooden table that sat in the centre of the lounge room. Dad had obviously been drinking since early. I was thankful he was out and that I didn’t have to deal with him. The house smelt terrible and hadn’t been seriously cleaned in ages. I’d done random bits every now and then, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Since mum had left, my home had become close to unbearable.

I brought in the recycling bin from out the front and collected all the cans, disgusted at their presence as I did so. I wasn’t sure when drinking became alcoholism, but I felt that dad was probably straddling the fence between the two. His whole persona had changed recently and I wondered if the man that had raised me was suddenly disappearing. Though, I told myself I didn’t care. He could burn in hell for what he did to our family.

The phone started ringing the second I’d placed the recycling bin back in position. I ventured back in through the front door, let my feet take me along the wooden floorboards and through the narrow hallway where I turned right at the end, just before the lounge room, into my bedroom. I picked the portable receiver up off my un-tucked bed and answered.

“Hello?”

The words that flurried back at me like a ricocheted wind made it instantly palpable as to who I was speaking to.

“You fucking cunt.” Damo’s voice, as always, was excited and loud. It felt strangely endearing to hear.

“Oh, hey, Dame. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he repeated incredulously. “Where have you been? You were meant to take me to the footy last night, you prick!” He sounded angry but I knew he was trying to sound that way. I almost laughed. The last night had been one of the wildest and greatest of my life. The idea that I could have gone to the football instead of experiencing any of it was amazing to me.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” I replied coolly. “More important things.” I continued vaguely.

“More important things?” Repeating my statements with incredulity and phrasing them as a question was an annoying habit of Damo’s. “Like what?” he asked. I paused, partly for effect, partly because I wasn’t sure if I wanted Damo to know what I’d done. I opted then to proceed with the vagueness.

“I just hung out with a mate.”

“Fuck off,” came a lightning quick response, “don’t give me that shit. What did you do and with who did you do it?” Damo was usually like this. He liked pressing me whenever I was withholding information, regardless of the relevance such information may have to him. He did it because he knew it annoyed me and I think partially because he wanted to know what I was doing with myself. Though I didn’t want to tell him, I knew if I didn’t that he’d just bug me until I did.

“I went and saw a gig and then went for a drive with a girl you don’t know.” At least I kept Katya’s name out of the equation, I thought, for some reason wanting to protect her from Damo’s mind.

“Bullshit!” Damo exclaimed, despite believing me.

“No bullshit.” I countered pointlessly.

“Was she hot?” Another Damo trademark. In fact, three of them.

1. He got straight to the point.

2. He asked about her in the past tense, assuming I’d fucked her and chucked her.

3. He asked about her looks – the only feature of a woman that mattered to Damo.

“Yeah, she’s pretty hot.” I replied to his question without correcting the inaccuracies that had almost surely cluttered his comprehension. Whether this was because I subconsciously wanted him to think I’d had sex with her, I didn’t know. My friendship with Damo worked on weird levels.

“Sick.” Damo paused proudly for a second. “Anyway, Hood is having some guys over to his tonight, you keen?”

I didn’t have any plans for the night and I hadn’t seen Damo in a while, so it seemed like a good prospect. Hood was another old mate from school, though he’d dropped out in Year 11. He lived with his parents in an apartment in a courtyard and it was a pretty fun place to get drunk.

“Fuck yeah. I’m up for getting hammered.” I grinned invisibly to Damo as he chuckled.

“Well, anyway, show up any time from Eight onwards. We’ll get fucked and spew.” He replied before adding “Catch ya,” and hanging up. Afterwards, I just stood grinning in my room, happily considering my fortune of late. It felt like the first time in forever that I’d been able to smile without having worries contort it into a frown. For once my mind wasn’t on Bianca or my mother. It wasn’t resting in the mire of past events. It was fresh and peaceful. The world seemed to stand still for a second, prolonging my joyful moment. Then the phone, which I was still holding, rang again.

“Hi, Owen. Having a nice day?”

Katya’s voice filled me with the delight of a child on Christmas morning, about to receive their final and largest gift.

“Actually, I’m having a great day.” I answered emphatically. A thought then entered my mind. How did Katya get my number? I tried to think backwards, wondering if I’d given it to her and forgotten. I hadn’t. The conversation continued as my mind searched for an answer.

“I was thinking about seeing a couple of bands tonight. Do you want to come?” She asked.

“I’ve actually already got plans.” It made me nervous to turn her down. I briefly contemplated ditching Damo again, but I’d already hyped myself up for the night ahead. Impulsively, I told her “I’m going to an old mate’s party. You should come.”

“Um…” she sounded reluctant and it appeared for a moment that she might decline, “sure. Where should we meet?”

We agreed to meet in the city at Flinders Street station at Eight-Thirty and I told Katya that I’d buy a bottle of bourbon for us to share. Her voice was reserved as we discussed the details but my instincts moved the conversation along until everything was finalized.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Her parting words ignited an urgency in my mind. For whatever reason, I had to know how she’d gotten my number.

“Hey, one last thing,” I began, though when I went to ask, a realization hit me as suddenly and unexpectedly as a sniper’s bullet, effectively killing the need for inquiry. Of course, she must have got the number from Sammi. It took a few moments before I finished the sentence: “actually, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see you soon.”

With the night planned, I sat down comfortably on my bed and put the phone down. The house was silent and everything peaceful until the sniper fired again, the noise of his ammo deafening and unrelenting. Shit, I thought, Katya is going to hate my friends.