“Arms, the ones that I’ve seen, neat little cuts, wrist to elbow. They’re faint, definitely old, but there all the same. You’d never notice if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but, you know, skin’s my thing.”
“Intriguing.”
“Anyway, she’s a model housemate. Clean, tidy and thoroughly well-mannered. She drinks too much coffee and lives on her laptop checking out goddamn work shit 24/7, can’t you do something about that? She needs a life. She also needs sex; hot, filthy, steamy, disgusting fucking sex to loosen her up a bit. She’s old way before her time. Maybe you could help her with that, too?”
“I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll give it a shot if you won’t, see if she’s got any bi tendencies lurking beneath the surface,” she grinned. “I’ve been holding off, but if you aren’t interested...”
“I’m not interested.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Knock yourself out, Rebecca. I hope she tastes sweet.”
“She’s submissive, by the way.”
Her eyes challenged me, baiting for a reaction. I didn’t give her one, just sipped my coffee whilst staring at the street beyond. Too close to work for this, too fucking close. The idea of prying eyes twitched at my fists. “How can you possibly know that? Self-harm doesn’t equal submission, Rebecca, not every time.”
“I’ve been in this game long enough to know when someone needs a firm hand.”
“It’s based on fuck-all then.”
She cackled at me, an edgy laugh which turned heads towards us. I gritted my teeth.
“She followed me into my room the other night, saw my personal stash of torture implements. You should have seen her face, James, half-apologetic, half-fascinated. I think it was probably the cane that grabbed her most.”
“Now you’re just taking the piss.”
“Yeah, I am, but only about the cane. In my humble experience I’ve come to know two kinds of control freak. Those like you with the desire to rule the world and everyone in it, and those like her. Control freak through necessity, not by nature. It’s not her nature, James, I’m telling you. Something made her toughen up, tighten up, hell, probably grow the fuck up earlier than she should’ve done. Plus, she’s a cutter, pain works for her. I bet you any money there’s a dirty little girl under that shell, just waiting for someone to tear her open and put her back together again.”
She paused in her little monologue, searching my face. “You’d like to see her scars, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” I lied.
“Oh well. I figured she might be your thing. I’ve never seen anyone more your type.”
“And what is my type, Rebecca? Enlighten me.”
“The eyes... Katreya-green, you could say.” I must have paled, mortified, staring at her like she was some kind of ghost whisperer. “I do know you, James. I’ve seen you drunk, I’ve heard you drunk, when you’re too bloody inebriated to keep your mask up, no pun intended. Besides, Rachel told me years ago; bemoaning the fact she had blue eyes, not green.”
“Rachel should’ve kept her mouth as tight as her pussy. Katreya has nothing to do with anything.”
“If you say not. Is that why you suggested she move in?”
“She needed a room, you needed a housemate. End of story.”
“You hate how well I know you, don’t you? Admit it, you hate it.”
I called the waiter and asked for the bill. Rebecca didn’t seem that surprised, just gathered up her cigarettes and made ready to leave.
“You try my patience to the point of violence, Mistress Raven, but I wouldn’t have you any other way. Stay, get yourself lunch since I dragged you out of Camden.” I handed her a twenty before I made my exit, stooping down low to ruffle her hair and land a kiss on her forehead.
She tilted her head up, one eyebrow raised wickedly. “I mean it, James. I’ll try my hand if you won’t.”
“I wish you all the luck in the world. I hope she’s your new bitch, I really do. A Lydia-Cara ménage à trois sounds exactly up your street.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“I’ll see you again, Rebecca.”
She spun in her seat to watch me up the road. “When?”
I could almost feel the roll of her eyes at my lack of response.
***
I kept my eyes focused on Frank as he delivered his monthly motivational spiel. Lydia Marsh pulled at my gaze, wedged in between some girls from admin. I tasked myself to blank her out, forget all about the ripples in the tight mauve shift dress she was wearing. The room was heaving. Lydia was five seats down to my right, squeezed against the table by the guys from sales. I caught them chancing glances over her shoulder, straining for a hint of cleavage.