All about you, part 1 (Love & Hate series #1) Read Free

don’t respond, pretending to look around our new apartment. I intend to not talk about my past for the rest of the day. Oliver is in Braxton and I need to try to deal with this the best I can. Dora needs to understand that the old India has gone, and she is never coming back.
    Dora starts talking about something else, and I’m glad that she ditches that uncomfortable subject. An hour later, she vanishes into her bedroom to deal with unpacking.
    Dora’s mum and dad divorced when she was around ten, and since then she has been floating between both parents. I don’t think that she ever got over the fact that her parents split up. Her father couldn’t see her that often, so he made sure that he gave her money to make up for the lost time. Back in high school Dora had the best clothes and the latest technological gadgets that everyone else could only dream of. She never had to chase after guys. She was popular and never had a problem with dates. We were close, but only two years ago I found out that she was suffering from depression and anxiety. She was seeing a psychologist occasionally. Apparently it had something to do with the fact that her dad wasn’t around.
    We’ve been friends for years, but I have never seen her in any distress. Maybe it’s because she ditched school quite a lot. When she was absent, she never returned any of her phone calls and her mother never let me in, saying that Dora didn’t wish to see anyone.
    Today I leave her alone. Then after a few hours I gently knock on her door and enter. She is sorting her clothes, muttering something about the shoes and the size of the wardrobe. She has to have everything sorted exactly the way she wants, which means that she can’t stand a mess. Even her underwear drawer is folded alphabetically.
    We kind of bonded in primary school, when my father died. After that, it was only me, Mum, and my little sister, Josephine. My father had a heart attack, and his death nearly cost Mum her job. She didn’t leave her room for days. Then she started drinking. She never used to drink, but a few weeks after the funeral she had to have at least a glass of wine every evening. It wasn’t a pretty time, but we managed to get through it. After her boss told her that she would lose her job, Mum finally stopped drowning her grief in alcohol. That day she changed, and we had her back.
    When Dora finally emerges from her room, it’s early evening. I know that all her clothes have been folded in the wardrobe by then. She is sort of weird like that, sitting on her own for hours. Deep down I know that she is going through some emotional whiplash. I don’t disturb her. I let her take her time.
    “What are you wearing?” she asks narrowing her eyes and pointing at my outfit. I look down at my old jeans and ugly T-shirt that’s more grey than yellow. Yes, I look like a tramp, but who cares? It’s only Dora and me.
    “Comfortable clothes. Why?”
    “Because we’re going out for food,” she says, staring at her reflection in the mirror. I automatically cringe and consider staying in the apartment on my own. I’m not comfortable going out, knowing that he is out there.
    “I don’t want to go out. It’s our first night here,” I protest.
    “That’s the point. We didn’t come here to sit around. We are here to party, so get that sexy arse of yours to the bathroom.” She smirks, pushing me towards my room.
    I pull my caramel hair in a messy knot with one hand, tapping my fingers on the edge of the table with the other. Recently I have been doing this more often, this small ritual kind of calms me down—until the memories of the party come flashing back to my brain.
    I’m not bad looking; people have always told me that I’m pretty. I have long wavy hair that I straighten often and brown eyes. I’ve got very fair skin with millions of freckles around my nose and cheeks, which tend to be embarrassing when people point that out. My self-esteem used to be high, but now