Laura stays in bed for most of Saturday. She managed to stagger home after seeing Mark with Hayley and Gaz at the shows, and, God, was she suffering for it now. Drinking that wine had been stupid. Not like her at all. Her head is thumping and her mouth is as dry as a budgie’s cage.
What. An. Idiot.
Going there in search of Mark, planning to confront him . . . it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It started when she was sitting there after work, all freshly showered and excited about the night. As the moments turned to minutes, turned to ‘he’s not turning up’, she’d felt herself get more and more wound up.
By the time she’d stormed out of the pub, she was furious. She’d kicked over that bin and left it there, rubbish strewn all over the pavement. This wasn’t her. She didn’t act like this. Did some sort of hormones get released after you’d had sex for the first time? Something more than the endorphins from the physical activity? Something that made you mad with rage? Apoplectic. That was the word for it. Hopping fucking mad. Not to mention even hornier. If he’d been waiting for her outside the pub, pretending not to show up to wind her up, she’d probably have punched him in the face before dragging him round to the car park and screwing his brains out up against the bins.
She’d loved being with Mark. Taking control. Watching his face. Seeing the realisation in his eyes, that OK, maybe she was new to this, but oh my God was she a quick learner. She could still taste him on her lips. She could still picture what he did to her. With his hands. With his mouth. He’d gone down on her, kissed her afterwards. Grinning, waiting for her to react at tasting herself. She’d loved it. Loved all of it. Besides, she hadn’t gone in there completely naive. She’d read stuff online, read about what to do. She’d watched stuff . . . It made her cheeks grow hot, thinking about that. Being terrified of getting caught. It was part of the thrill.
But something that Mark said had given her a jolt. The way he’d looked at her when he’d called her ‘a wee nympho’. It wasn’t said affectionately. He’d almost said it like it was a bad thing. Like she should be ashamed. But why should she? It was fine for the boys to go and shag whoever they liked. She’d actually waited. For him.
Stupid.
Had he only been nice to her – taking her to the shows, taking her for a picnic – so that he could get what he wanted? Was he really that shallow? And was she really so stupid to have thought otherwise? Was it all about the bravado – him running off to tell his mates what a goer she was. Go on, lads, take a punt. She sucks like a hoover. She fucks like a bunny. Her fanny’s like warm apple pie . . . She’d heard all this stuff before, about other girls. Maybe this was just how it was. A rite of passage.
Fuck him.
It makes her feel sick. She wants to cry, but she won’t give him the satisfaction. And it’s not just him – she confided in Hayley too. She’d seriously misjudged that bitch. She imagined her shagging Gaz, that horrible greaser from the shows. I hope she gets an STD, she thinks, that’ll teach her.
Laura sighs and throws back the covers. She needs to get up. Forget about this. Luckily they used condoms, and, even luckier, there was no way anyone saw them. Imagine if he’d filmed it, or taken photos.
She picks up her phone from where she’d left it charging beside the bed. She hadn’t turned it off, but she’d put it on silent and turned it away so the light flashing for new messages wouldn’t bother her. Assuming she got any messages.
Yep. Three missed calls, two text messages. All from Mark. None from Hayley, which cemented her opinion that Hayley was a two-faced cow and most definitely not to be trusted. Anyway, they’d be back in school soon. Luckily this had happened in the holidays. There’d be a new scandal by next week. Things would go back to normal. She’d get on with her work and forget about the embarrassing summer encounter. She’s not going to go all Sandra Dee about it. Expect Mark to fall at her feet when she turns herself into a sexy Lycra-clad vamp. If he doesn’t like her as she is, then that’s his problem.
He’s the idiot. Not her.
She starts to feel better, mentally at least. Although her head is still pounding. Luckily her mum hasn’t come up to see why she’s still in bed. It makes her realise, though, that she has no one to talk to about all this stuff. Hayley was an error of judgement. The girls in her crowd at school don’t talk about sex. They’re nice, but they’re boring and bookish and Laura often feels like a bit of a misfit there. Yes, she’s academic, and she’s sporty, but she’s not dull. She’s sensible, but no way is she boring. It’s clearly time to expand her circle of friends. Maybe going into the sixth year will help. A lot of people will have left, gone on to college or taken jobs. There’ll be a different crowd. Her registration class will change. There’ll be opportunities to meet different people. It’ll be fine.
She gets out of bed. Stands up too quickly and feels a rush of blood to her head. She needs sugar. Some food. A can of Sprite. She would kill for a can of Sprite. And some headache tablets.
She opens the messages on her phone. Weak apologies. No explanations. ‘Meet me’, one of them says. Fat chance. She decides to call someone else. Someone who will make her feel good about herself again. Davie. He’ll understand. He was a boy once. Hopefully he can tell her that they grow out of it, and that not all men are pricks. Because at the moment that’s exactly how she feels.
He answers straight away.
‘Laura, nice to hear from you. What’s up?’
The words tumble out. ‘Oh God. Do you fancy a coffee tomorrow? I need to tell you something. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve no one to talk to. Please?’ She chokes on the words, realising the threat of tears hasn’t gone away just yet.
There’s only a slight pause before he replies. ‘Sure. I’ll get the cakes in.’
Laura hangs up, feeling a little bit less of an idiot than she did before. She just needs her brain to co-operate now; it needs to have a word with itself about trying to bash its way out of her skull.