Free Stan by C.J. Duggan

rang
true in my head.
    Man up, Stan, I
told myself as I scoffed and poured the water down the sink. No more Mr Nice Guy.
From now on, it would be all business; from now on, it would be all hands on
deck. She wanted to get me back for sabotaging my weekend; well sweetheart, now
you are going to join in on the weekend fun. No lounging around her luxurious
caravan, no freedom in her days. If I was to suffer, she had to suffer: pure
and simple. No more feeling sorry or falling for the doe-eyed looks from those
big green eyes. No way, no time for that.
    I switched off all
the lights with a new determination. This was business Stan: bad-arse,
no-nonsense Stan. I tried not to think about the fact I hadn’t left the kitchen
and hall light on with the subconscious thought of what if Bel got up in the
middle of the night—strange place—and she was pretty uncoordinated, a definite
inability to find light switches. Besides, the last thing I needed was her
breaking a leg; I needed her to help out around the park tomorrow. I stilled in
front of my door, glancing to Bel’s closed door with a smirk.
    Sweet dreams,
Belin-DA!
    Being in bed by
8:45 p.m. on a Friday night was a new low. I could have stayed up, but solitary
confinement seemed like the order of the night. Even though the house was big
and now plunged into semi-darkness, I could still very much feel the unnerving
presence of the infuriating girl next door. The girl I had to stop thinking
about. Instead, I decided the night was too young, and I made my way over to my
old stereo, partly for entertainment and partly to annoy said neighbour. A
little laugh escaped me as I turned up the volume as Levon Helm and the Band
started up, and I sung each and every word expertly with Levon and boys at the
top of my lungs.
    When I get off
of this mountain, you know where I want to go?
    Straight down
the Mississippi river, to the Gulf of Mexico
    See, Levon knew
all about it—if I had my way I would be heading to Mexico, too.
    Any place but
here, thinking about anything other than the girl who keeps haunting my
thoughts. The night had turned into a one-man party and there was only one
thing for it. I had the tunes; all I needed was a beer or two … or ten.
    Hangover be
damned.

 
     
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    Bel
     
    You have got to
be kidding me!
    The beat of the
bass caused the pictures on the wall to vibrate, and the thudding of the music
could be felt in my temples and almost redirected the rhythm of my heart. I
groaned, stuffing the pillow over my head, which only served to muffle my
swearing.
    He was
deliberately trying to torture me. I had been fooled into thinking he was sugar
and spice and all things nice. That he was the better person, mature, and
thoughtful in his way of getting over the fact I had completely ruined his
weekend. Instead he planned to torment me. Slave me around the park with
‘chores’. Who the hell did he think I was?
    Deep breath,
Bel. Deep. Breath.
    The three of them
were probably partying it up now the killjoy had gone to bed, now they could
finally relax. I threw the pillow across the room in frustration. It made
absolutely no difference; the music was so loud, so mind-numbing, it was
obviously coming from Stan’s room. Was there seriously no other stereo in this
house? Or had he deliberately used that one? Maybe he was in there partying …
with Ellie. My stomach twisted in that unsettling way it did anytime I thought
of them together. I shook it from my thoughts, instead pacifying myself that at
least it wasn’t romantic music—any Barry White and I would have been sick.
    As it were, I
would stand to be seriously sleep deprived. I wanted to rip the door open to
demand he turn the music off, but that is exactly what he had wanted … no
doubt. Instead I lay there in the dark, glaring at the ceiling, plotting of
ways to seek my revenge on him, somehow, some way. Maybe I could sabotage the
power to the house? No, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing and