You Don't Own Me(141)

‘It won’t break, will it?’

He laughs and pulls his jeans over the bulge. ‘Concern from you is always nice.’

‘Don’t mistake curiosity for concern.’

He zips up. ‘See you at four.’

I don’t say anything, simply stare at him.





Two


When the door closes behind him my breath comes out in a rush. Holy Moly! That was unbelievable and that was not enough. I am still throbbing with need. What is it about this guy? I simply can’t seem to get enough of him. I go to the fridge and pour myself a shot of vodka. I lift it up to my lips, and put it back on the counter. I don’t want to take the edge off the way I feel right now. I light a cigarette and walk onto the balcony. I blow out a smoke ring and my mobile goes.

I pick it up from the coffee table and it is my best friend, Lana.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Guess where I am?’ she squeals.

Well, it’s Sunday. Tomorrow is a working day. Her billionaire banker husband’s yacht is moored in the South of France. So the South of France would be my guess. ‘No idea,’ I tell her.

‘The South of France.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘I tried to call you earlier to see if you wanted to come, but I guess you were asleep.’

‘I was. So what is the little sprog up to?’ I ask referring to my godson.

‘He seems determined to swim across the English Channel.’

‘That’s my boy.’

‘What are you up to?’

I kill my cigarette on the balcony railing. ‘Enjoying a post-coital cigarette.’

‘What?’

‘Jaron came around and we had sex.’

‘Really?’

‘Unless I dreamed it.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Well, go on then, tell me what happened?’

‘It was hot and dirty, and he wants to come around tomorrow for more, but I’m not sure how I feel about it all.’

‘Why?’

‘I think it’s that crazy-eyed girlfriend of his. Mind you, I don’t feel bad about him cheating on her. I just hate the idea of him inside her.’

‘My, my, I’ve never seen you jealous before.’

‘I’m not jealous.’

‘Could have fooled me.’

‘Well, he’s not available. So that’s the end of that story,’ I say firmly.

‘I don’t know what the story is between them, but I got the impression last night that he doesn’t care about her one bit. There wasn’t enough heat between them to keep an egg warm. It was obvious she wanted to claim him as hers, but he only had eyes for you.’

‘Well…’

The doorbell goes again.

‘Hang on a minute. Someone’s at the door,’ I say, and walk towards it. I look through the spy hole.

‘Talk of the devil,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘Call you back.’

I look again out of the spy hole. The girlfriend is dressed to the nines in a white pantsuit, a long cream coat, sunglasses and a fringe sharp enough to skin a goat. I turn to the mirror and look at myself. My hair is a mess, my nightie is torn in half, and I have that slack, just-fucked look. With a grin I open the door.





Three


Ebony’s coldly disdainful eyes flick down my body and freeze at my torn clothes. We stare at each other. Tangibly above all other emotions, disbelief glitters in her eyes. Her chin starts to tremble uncontrollably and a small, pained sound escapes her glossy lips. Her hands, the two-inch long acrylic nails painted powder pink, rush upwards to cover her gaping mouth.

The smug grin dies quickly on my lips.

I pull at the torn ends of my nightie and hold them together. Suddenly I feel like a total bitch. A nasty piece of work.

She stares at me for a moment longer with hurt, accusing eyes, and then turns away, and runs down the corridor. At the end of it I watch her open the stairwell door and disappear through it to avoid waiting for the lift. I close my door and lean against it.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

Maybe she really loves the guy. I shouldn’t have done that. That was just plain cruel, and I’m not a cruel person. Damn Jaron. I go to the vodka and take a huge swallow straight from the bottle. The alcohol burns the back of my throat and splashes into my empty stomach. I shake a cigarette out of the box, light it and go back out onto the balcony. I drag deeply from it. Smoke fills my lungs and grips it. I hold the breath. My body starts mellowing out. I look down and see Ebony running down the street. I exhale slowly. A frown on my face.

‘Fuck.’

I didn’t go looking for him. She’s not my responsibility. He’s the love rat, not me, I try to rationalize, but guilt is a grim business. Sleeping with another woman’s man has left a sour taste in my mouth. It is the same feeling as accidentally killing the fox that suddenly dashes out in front of your car. Fucking hell, you think, why did you have to die under my wheel? Why didn’t you just go and die peacefully in some field?