Lena had walked too quickly and arrived at the bar both early and sweaty. She went to the bathroom, wiped off the red lipstick which she had felt screaming from her lips the whole way here. She splashed her face with cold water, then sank into the plush armchair in the corner of the bathroom breathing in the rose oil-scented air.
A night she’d not thought of for years came back to her. Mum’s husband had a big fiftieth birthday bash in the function room of a fancy Brisbane hotel. Lena had been allowed to invite Lou and the two of them tolerated the cringiness until after the speeches and then snuck out. They needn’t have bothered sneaking; Mum and the Dick were too busy tipsily dirty dancing across the silver balloon-strewn dance floor to have noticed anything.
They found the hotel bar, strode in like it was something they did every bloody night of the week. It was a walk, an attitude, they’d rehearsed many times at the clubs in the Valley. It had never worked before. Always there was a bouncer stepping in front of them, demanding to see ID, rolling his eyes or not even bothering with much reaction before he sent the obvious sixteen-year-olds away. Here, there was no bouncer, just three model-gorgeous barmen in old-fashioned waiter outfits gliding silently back and forth behind a marble bar. They didn’t even glance in the direction of the girls. No one did.
Score! Lou whispered, chin-pointing at a booth in the far corner of the room.
Lena’s instinct was to turn and run back to the party before anyone noticed her Kmart black ankle boots, tight red mini-dress and cropped vinyl jacket from Supré. Before anyone noticed that her lipstick was Priceline and her hair Just Cuts. In the function room with all the Dick’s gross bogan friends, she’d felt too classy to bear. Now, in this room full of actually classy people, she knew she looked like a hooker from a nineties movie. But more awkward.
Lou urged her on to the booth and she felt a little better sinking into the plush fabric and barely candlelit shadow. Almost invisible here. Good. Then she read the drinks menu. Might as well go buy myself a new car while I’m at it, she said to Lou. Seriously, though, the first cocktail she liked the look of was a third of Mum’s weekly grocery budget. While they were still flicking back and forth through the menu in the hope of finding something under twenty bucks, a hot barman plonked two enormous glasses filled with pink bubbles and garnished with what looked like fairy floss in front of them. A gift from the gentlemen, he said, like it was a frickin’ movie. He gestured towards two men in suits taking up half the length of the bar with their widespread knees. They were not as old as the Dick’s mates, but not too far off. One of them raised his glass at her, mouthed, Enjoy, darling.
The drink was revolting—raspberry cordial mixed with lighter fluid—but they drained them, tongued the sugary floss on the rim. The men sent over a bottle of champagne next, and Lou had the presence of mind, and the guts, to refuse. One of the men came over then, leant far, far over the table, his freckled hands planted flat in the space between Lou and Lena. Listen, this isn’t a transaction, ladies. We’ve had a win today. Bonuses coming in, big ones. Let us share the luck around, hey?
So they said, yeah, and, thank you, and started on the champagne, which must have been expensive because it tasted like air and happiness. As Lou shook the final drops into her glass, the man returned, his mate with him. They slid into the booth without asking, one trapping each of them against the wall. Seconds later another bottle arrived. The girls made eye contact, giggled, kicked each other under the table. Why not? they said to each other telepathically. Why not drink this delicious air and listen to these men talk absolute shit? Better than drinking flat Coke and listening to some different old men talk absolute shit down the hall.
They drank a lot. At one point the man squished next to Lena took her hand and ran it up the inside of his thigh. Armani, he said. You can feel the quality, can’t you?
Just so you know, said Lou, who was always watching out for her, and had leant across and tapped the man’s arm so he dropped Lena’s hand. Just so you know, she’s not going to root you. The man held up his hands, mock offended. Hadn’t crossed my mind. Lena had Lou’s spirit and the delicious air in her now, said, Not gunna blow you either, just to be clear. Both men cackled with laughter at that. Same here, by the way, Lou said to the one next to her, which made them laugh more. The man next to Lena put his hand on her back, the bare skin up near her neck. She liked how it felt was the truth, but she shook him off, because she might have been rat shit but she wasn’t stupid. It was possible these men didn’t expect outer suburban teenagers who accepted hundreds of dollars’ worth of alcohol from men in Armani suits to pay them back with their bodies. For all she knew, a couple of hundred bucks to them might be like twenty cents to her. Sometimes she tossed that much into a homeless man’s bowl on the street outside the 7-Eleven and it had never occurred to her that he should lick her out in return. So, yeah, maybe this was obligation-free generosity. But just in case, she would not let his hand linger on her skin. Just in case, she would excuse herself to the bathroom. She wanted to ask Lou to come with her, but she was engaged in a savage argument about the quality of the music playing in the bar with the man beside her (Lou said the music made her want to shoot herself; the man said she should do that but in shame at her terrible taste) and waved a hand at Lena to go ahead.
The bathroom was nicer than any she’d seen in her life. Maybe any room at all. She sat so long on the padded stool in front of the softly lit mirror that Lou came looking for her, worried she’d passed out or was yakking. Who knew there were bathrooms like this in Brisbane and that you could sit in their gentle light and barely-perceptible-yet-soul-lifting scent clouds, use their hand lotions and impossibly soft hand towels, all for free? How did people who came to places like this handle ordinary bathrooms with their stiff brown paper towels and ammonia stink? How could you live in the rough and fluoro-lit world once you knew there were places like this? Places like this were why girls her age fucked old men in Armani suits. Why people smashed up luxury shopfronts and dragged their keys down the side of BMWs.
Sitting in this hotel bar bathroom in Sydney, which was even nicer than the Brisbane one—the padded chair softer than her bed, the light golden—she looked at her hands, turned alien from the harsh chemicals she’d used to clean Nic’s bathroom. Skin rough and splotchy on top while the palms and fingertips were flaky white with angry crimson cuticles. She’d worked so hard, clearing and soaping and rubbing and scraping. When she’d finished, had sat back on her heels drinking water which she had been keeping in the living room fridge but which nonetheless seemed laced with detergent, she was confident the room had never, ever been cleaner. She’d even used a high-end brand of toilet duck (salvaged from the hoard) in the hope the scent would be more floral than chemical. She’d salvaged, too, a fluffy, peach-coloured bath mat with tags still attached, chucking the old one which was caked with dried lotion and soaps and fuck knew what else. She’d replaced the threadbare, scratchy towels on the rack with soft, thick, brand-new ones she found in a Kmart bag under the sofa. And even so, the room was grim and nasty. The cleanest it would ever be and the kind of person who came to hotels like this would take one look and decide to hold their pee in rather than use it.
Josh was waiting in a dim, narrow booth close to the bar. He was wearing a navy blazer with a crisp pinstriped open-necked shirt beneath it. His hair was freshly cut and immaculately styled to look ruffled. He froze when he saw her, pressed his lips together and raised one hand. The other was wrapped around a half-drunk beer on the table.
She backtracked to the bar and bought the cheapest beer on the list, taking a huge gulp before she approached Josh again. It was bitter and gassy and made her eyes water, which was a great way to start things off.
‘You look amazing,’ he said once she was seated across from him, and it was all she could manage not to tip the beer over his head and leave.
‘Thanks. Is that what you were so desperate to say to me?’
‘No. Sorry. Lena, I …’ He began tearing a burgundy napkin into thin strips. It must be hard for him, trying to sit still, pretend to focus on her and her alone. As though hearing her thoughts he dropped the napkin, pushed it to the edge of the table, folded his hands in front, looked her in the eyes. ‘I fucked up. I disrespected you and betrayed your trust.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never regretted anything so much.’
‘Same.’
‘Not being with you! I could never regret that. It’s why I needed to see you, to talk. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About us.’
God, was he for real? She kept her face blank.
‘I know you probably can’t forgive me, but can you at least admit that you did have feelings for me? That we were good together.’
Her body betraying her, the liquid heat flooding her lower belly, replacing the hunger cramps and beer bloat. The warmth spreading out and up, probably turning her face red. Probably making her pupils enlarge. She slugged more beer because she would not lick her lips to salve the sudden dryness there.
‘The thing is …’ He picked up the table-talker—$15 cocktails Wednesday and Thursday 4–5pm—smoothed it flat against the table, his hands working the folds out, hard along each seam. ‘The thing is, I’ve been under all this pressure at college. Like, you know the shit that’s been going down, in the news and all. I wasn’t involved in any of it, and you’d think that’d be a good thing, but it put me under suspicion. People were saying I was the leaker. It got so I was piling furniture in front of my door at night, I was so scared they’d come and … I don’t know. Some act of retribution or whatever. I mean, you have no idea the kind of stuff these guys are capable of.’
‘I have some idea.’
He paused in his work, left his hands flat on the table-topper, looked at her properly again. ‘Yeah. That’s what’s so fucked up. I became the monster so the monster wouldn’t hurt me.’
‘My heart bleeds for you. Is that it? I’m really busy.’
‘Yeah? I wondered about that. You haven’t been at uni, so … I wondered what you were up to, if you were staying away because of me, or—’
‘My aunty had an accident and I’m her only family in Sydney. I’ve been taking care of her.’
‘Oh. Thank god. Not that your aunt—obviously. I was worried you’d, like, dropped out of uni because of …’
‘Do you really think I’d chuck my whole life away because of your bullshit?’
‘No, of course not. Sorry. I guess I can be pretty arrogant.’ Those damn hands, raised up now, like the fucking what-can-you-do emoji.
Lena finished her beer. She needed to walk away. Now.
‘How is your aunt doing?’
‘Not great.’
‘I’m sorry. And it’s only you taking care of her?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hectic. Can I help at all?’
‘Yeah. Delete the video and then leave me alone forever.’
‘Lena.’ He looked like he was going to cry, for god’s sake. ‘I deleted it, like, an hour after I posted it. I’ve been going after every fucker I see sharing it. Look!’ He held up his hands, scabbed-over knuckles out. ‘I haven’t punched anyone since I was fourteen, and I’ve been in two fights this week.’
‘My hero.’
‘I’m not saying that, Lena, Jesus. I’m just trying to show you that I know I fucked up badly. If there was any other way to fix things I would. I’d do anything.’
My pride fell with my fortunes. Who said that? Someone who understood what it felt like to choose between eating shit once and being covered in it forever.
‘There’s this company,’ Lena said. ‘They scrub the internet of stuff like this. Find it all and get it deleted.’
‘I’ve heard about that kind of thing. I don’t think it works very well. Impossible to stop the—’
‘You know it’s on sydneysluts? My full name, my uni. All up there now.’
‘I’ll find who did that. I’ll get it off. I promise. Just … Fuck, I’m so sorry. I can’t sleep with thinking about what I’ve done. I’m going to fix it. I’ll look up that internet scrubbing company. I’ll …’ Tears. Actual frigging tears. He swiped them away with the back of his hand, flinching as his bruised knuckles made contact. ‘Whatever it takes, Lena. I promise.’
‘Okay.’
‘What?’
‘Okay. I accept your apology and your promise.’
A smile. Such a smile. ‘Thank you. That’s just … It’s everything, Lena. Everything. Thank you so much. You’re amazing.’
‘I need to go.’
‘Already? Let me buy you a drink at least. Unless your aunt needs you, of course.’
‘She’ll be okay a bit longer, I think.’
A showy little air-punch. ‘I’ll be right back.’
While he was at the bar, she turned her phone on, felt the familiar sick drop of her stomach as the screen filled with notifications, shoved it back in her pocket without looking at any of them.
Josh put a beer in front of her, slid into the booth. ‘Tell me about your aunt. Is she the one from the rose garden, the one who held you after you were born?’
Ooof! What was this feeling? What was happening right now? Falling and falling while sitting still, bursting and bursting while trying to stop her face from showing any of it. Failing, obviously, by the way his gaze was locking on to hers, his own falling and bursting clear.
‘Can’t believe you remember that.’
‘Best origin story ever, Harris—of course I remember. So it’s her? The same aunty?’
Lena nodded. ‘Nic.’
‘So you and her have been bonded from the start. No wonder you feel like you need to be there for her now.’
She was going to burst open and who knew what would come out? There was too much in her and he was too good at knowing it. Oh god. I have to go. I have to go and sit in a pile of sticky dust and throw out other people’s garbage that my aunt has collected. I have to go and clean up after the woman I’ve looked up to my whole life while she cries and rants like a mad person, while she accuses me of theft and betrayal.
‘I really do have to go, actually.’
He touched her hand. Fast, but oh! Damn. ‘Finish your drink at least. Tell me about Aunty Nic. What do the family legends foretell about her?’
‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ she said.
‘Okay. Tell me something else. Tell me about the music that was playing when you were born. What song was it?’
The song Dad had sung while she was born and that he’d sung to her every year on her birthday and that would sometimes come on the radio or be playing in a shop and wrench her grief up to the surface within a few notes. The song was a massive hit that year and was loved by a lot of people, but no one would expect it to be the most important song in the world to someone her age. No one except Mum and Will and Nic, who knew and who silently reached for her if it ever came on when they were nearby. I just want you to know who I am.
‘Do you think we’re friends?’ she asked Josh.
He bit his lip. ‘I wish we could be.’
Lena finished her beer. Too much, too fast. Her eyes and nose watered. ‘I’m going.’
‘Okay. But … can I see you again? I mean, I know it’s … I know I’m asking a lot, but … I really like you, Lena. I can’t stop thinking about when we—’
‘Thinking about? Or watching?’
‘How many times can I tell you I’m sorry?’
‘I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too, because I really like you. Or I did. I can’t trust you, though, so that’s it.’ She slid from the booth before he could speak again. God, she liked him. It was pathetic.
As she walked out she saw Will had sent several texts, clicked open the first.
I’ve seen the video. You need to get back here. Now.
Lena turned off her phone. Josh was where she’d left him in the booth. He looked up with an expression she could only describe as fatally thirsty. Made her feel like a cockroach was scurrying up her spine.
‘This is a hotel, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ Up out of his seat, moving towards her.
Josh apologised that the room was corporate and bland. Lena’s word would be immaculate. She touched the smooth stone bench to the right of the door—empty except for a sparkling stainless-steel kettle and a glossy white dish filled with individually wrapped teabags. She touched the dust-free top of the big-screen TV, then the slippery, flawless ceramic of the lamp on the desk, and then the black leather folder with For Your Convenience embossed in gold on the cover, then the desk itself. A light touch, skimming past with her bare fingertips. Touch by touch the rope inside her uncoiled.
She headed for the bathroom, wanting to press her hands against the un-smeared tiles with no mould in the grout, run her fingers over the hairless drains. But Josh was a step behind her, his breath on the back of her neck. Do ya take me for a pirate? Dad would’ve said. Bloody big parrot on my shoulder.
She turned, tried to look at his face instead of the crisp white sheets on the queen-size bed.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You do what you need to do.’
A lurch in her chest. How did he know the filth she had come from? But then he held up his phone and said, ‘It’s off. Look. You keep it until we leave.’ She took his black, dead phone, realised she should have asked for it immediately, should have been doing what he assumed and checking the room for hidden cameras. She really was asking for it. Dumb cunt.
‘Thanks.’ She made a show of double-checking his phone was off, shoved it in her backpack and continued her circuit of the room. Part of her wanted to ask him what it felt like to be the kind of person other people needed to check for spy equipment before they could relax around. Another part of her wanted to jump out of the streak-free window because what kind of a person hooks up with the kind of man you need to check for spy equipment? The biggest part—right now, anyway—wanted to scrub herself raw in a clean shower then climb into a clean bed, have a fast orgasm with a clean man, shower again and sleep through the whole night without waking to cough up dust.
She finished her inspection of the bedside tables and the wardrobe and strode to the bathroom, Josh behind her the whole way. The shine coming off the tiles made her feel like weeping. The tiniest bit of dirt or dust would show up like an oil spill.
She stood facing him, their doubles looking on from the wall-sized mirror. She had grown up believing that men who took care of their appearance were soft, dressing in the clothes Mummy laid out on the bed. But there was a manliness to Josh’s neatness; a confidence and certainty. He did not expect to be changing a tyre or digging a ditch—or ending up in one, for that matter. But if physical action was called for, he would be up for the challenge, his pants not too tight to squat in, his jacket easily slipped off.
And what kind of woman would you expect to find in a nice hotel with someone like him? Not some scrawny bitch nastiest in this series yet good tits but arse like my granny 6 out of 10 are you kidding mate thats a four at best.
‘All clear?’ he said, moving towards her.
‘I’m hungry.’ She left the bathroom, flipped open the room service menu, nearly choked at the prices.
‘What?’ He was behind her, breathing on the back of her neck.
‘Nothing.’
needs a gag on her noisy bitch
She turned, shoved the menu at him. He sighed, already reaching for the room phone with his other hand. ‘What do you want then?’
She’d been so distracted by the prices she couldn’t remember any of the items they referred to. ‘I’ll have the forty-seven dollars ninety-five with a side of eighteen dollars and a glass of twenty-four,’ she could say. Nic’d laugh at that, reply, ‘Oh, forget your diet. Go for the thirty-eight seventy-five with the eighteen and the twenty-three dollars on the side and a whole bottle of a hundred and ten.’ But Josh wouldn’t get it so she said, ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ and he ordered two Wagyu burgers with beer-battered chips and a bottle of something she’d never heard of.
‘What’ll we do while we wait?’ he said, coming at her again, touching her this time, his lovely, clean hands on her shoulders.
‘I need a shower.’
‘Shower after.’ His hands moving down her arms.
‘Shower first.’
‘Okay, but I can help.’ Hands moving around to her back now. ‘Scrub the places you can’t reach.’
She pulled away, turned too fast to see his reaction. ‘Nah, I’ll be right. I’m very flexible.’
‘Oh, I know that.’
‘Yeah, you and the entire internet.’ She was in the bathroom by then, shutting the door. She locked it, stripped, turned the shower on full. The water came from a silver disc in the ceiling above and covered her so completely it was like being submerged, but with deliciously hard water darts striking her all over. She lathered her hair with shampoo that smelt like freshly squeezed lemons, lathered herself with body wash the texture of whipped cream. Blood and grime swirled at her feet, then was gone.
If she told Josh she had her period would he be disgusted and leave? Would her relief be more powerful than her shame? She watched the water run clear over her feet and down the drain, imagined having that clean bed to herself all night.
Maybe he deserved to be bled on without consent, to know what it was to feel violated and stained.
He might not even notice.
The towel was softer than her good sheets, almost as thick as her pillow. It wrapped around her twice, hung past her shins. She never wanted to wear anything else ever again.
Josh was on the bed, stripped to shimmery grey boxer shorts, watching a screeching high-speed car chase on the TV. ‘Finally she emerges.’ He glanced at her, smiled, turned off the TV. ‘Sorry to tell you, Harris, but you’ve wasted your time.’ He got to his knees, his hard-on obvious. ‘I’m going to get you filthy.’
It wasn’t normal to feel like throwing up right before you had sex with someone you were attracted to. Wasn’t right to feel torn between kissing or stabbing the near-naked hottie reaching out to you from the biggest, cleanest, softest-looking bed you’d ever seen.
‘Seriously, you need to get over here now. You’re so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it.’
Cover that ugly wound next time don’t know whether to barf or wank nice nips pity about the rest
There was a knock. Josh strutted to the door, adjusting his shorts as he went. Lena hovered near the edge of the bed, out of view. A voice said, ‘Good evening,’ and Josh said it back and then there was a man in a waiter’s uniform three steps away from her. ‘Good evening,’ he said in her direction, though not, thank god, looking at her. He placed a gigantic silver tray on the table and had Josh sign something—called him sir, told him to enjoy—and floated out of the room like it was nothing.
It was nothing, she understood. Just another rich bloke who needed feeding; another dumb cunt without her clothes on in the background.
Josh carried the tray to the bed, smiled at her as he put it down. ‘Picnic in bed.’
She stood, frozen in her corner. ‘I didn’t know you were going to let the guy in. I’m not dressed.’
‘So? He doesn’t give a shit.’
‘I do.’
A sigh. ‘Here we go.’
‘Where?’
‘To the place where your body is so precious and special it needs to be locked away in a fucking vault.’
‘Wow.’
He lifted the silver cover off the tray, put it on the bedcover, not even checking if there was sauce or something clinging to it. ‘Listen, you have a nice body. Gorgeous. I mean it. But hot girls are everywhere. People on the internet don’t care about your hot body. That dude out there doesn’t care. Stop acting like the world’s going to end if someone sees your precious tits.’
Lena perched on the edge of the bed, picked a chip off her plate. It was barely warm, soft and soggy. She ate it because otherwise she might scream so loud that the people in the next room would call security. She might punch Josh until his face looked like the chopped salad in front of her. She ate another chip and then another. She hadn’t eaten potato for years. Hadn’t eaten anything fried for months. The chips were starchy and salty and slicked with fat. She had to concentrate on chewing and swallowing each one completely before picking up the next. If Josh wasn’t there she would have been shoving them in by the handful. I’m so fucking easy. Josh’s hand on my leg and I’m a senseless whore. One not-even-good chip and I’m a greedy pig.
Josh was making fast work of his burger. He didn’t look like a greedy pig, though. He looked like a man with a well-earnt appetite. A man in a hurry, but not so much he couldn’t enjoy his food. He was near naked, too, and not self-conscious about it. Not self-conscious about anything. In his skin and in this room and everywhere else. What must it be like, to be so at ease?
‘So, ah, I think my brother knows.’
He stopped mid-bite. A millisecond but she saw it. Ha. Good. He chewed, swallowed, said, ‘About this?’
‘About the video.’
‘Shit. Should I be scared? Is he gunna come at me? Bash me farkin’ ’ead in.’
‘What is that accent?’
Josh took another bite. Chewed aggressively. Swallowed. Smiled. ‘That’s how he talks, right? Like you, when you get upset or turned on and forget to posh up.’
‘And the way you talk when you’re turned on? Is that how your family speaks back on the porn set where you grew up?’
He laughed at that, loud and surprising and real, a bolus of burger flying out and landing on the bed, all red and brown and wet and gristly. He covered it with a napkin and swept it out of sight like it was nothing. Everything was nothing with him. It was a superpower.
‘Is your brother as funny as you?’
‘God, no. He’s earnest as fuck.’
‘Pity. I wouldn’t mind him bashin’ me ’ead in if he did it in a funny way.’
‘Nah, most humourless head bashing ever, I’m sorry to say.’
‘I better stay away from him then.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘No, I mean … I could’ve gone somewhere else. I wanted to be away from him, and I wanted to be with you.’
Josh pushed the tray to the side, leant in and kissed her. ‘I don’t even care why. Not really. I’m so into you, Harris, it’s not funny.’
‘Not laughing.’
‘You laughed all the time when we first met. Now, barely at all.’
‘You talk like we’ve been married seventy years. You hardly know me. Don’t know how often I laugh.’
He bit her lip, held it there between his teeth until she ached all over. He pulled away, said, ‘I can’t bear it that I’ve made you unhappy.’
‘You have to.’
‘When you walked into the bar it was like seeing someone at a funeral. I wanted to bash my own head in.’
‘You should do that, for sure. You’ve got it coming. But not too hard. Only some of the funeral face is because of you.’
‘I’m sorry for that, too, then. That I’ve done this to you when you’ve got other hard shit going on. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
He nodded, kissed her, soft and chaste. ‘You can, you know. I’m not only here for the sex.’
‘What if I am?’
‘You do want to have sex with me then?’
‘Yes,’ she said. It had been good, hadn’t it? Would feel good again if she could shut all the other stuff out? And after, she could have another shower, wrap herself in another fresh, clean towel like this one, go to sleep in this clean, soft bed.
‘With me?’
‘Is there anyone else here?’
‘Right. See.’ He sneered. Face of a college boy who scores you out of ten while you pull on your undies. ‘You don’t even like me. You just want to get fucked and I’m the only one who’ll do it.’
‘Get over yourself, mate. You are not the only one who—’
‘Since the thing, though.’ Smug, superior, shit-eating grin. ‘How many queuing up to take you out since they’ve seen you riding me?’
Her body was too used to crying. The tears came easily, hot and fast. She tried to get up, but he held her by both arms.
‘I mean, you’re damaged goods now. No one wants to drive a car some other bloke crashed. Even if it’s been cleaned up okay, you know it’s not right.’
‘Let go or I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.’
‘I love it when you talk houso, Harris.’
She kneed him hard in the stomach, sprang off the bed. He was doubled over, gasping. ‘Psycho bitch. That hurt.’
She should pick up the bedside lamp and smash it over his head. Kick him. From this height she could land a good blow on his ear, set the bells ringing. ‘Lucky I didn’t do worse.’
‘Jesus, calm down. You said mean shit to me, I said mean shit back. No need to get violent.’
‘You’re a nasty, spoilt little cunt.’
‘And you’re a foul-mouthed houso slut, but I still want to be with you, so why don’t you calm down, come back over here and kiss me better.’ He lay back, eyes closed, pointing to his lower stomach.
Like nothing had happened. It hadn’t, had it? Not for him.
‘You want to be with me? Really? Even though I’m damaged goods. Wow.’
‘You say that a lot. Wow. It’s irritating. But, yeah, Harris, I actually do want to be with you and not just like this, either. I’m into you, you psycho.’
‘Sure you are. So into me you want to fuck me then take me to your college parties so everyone can see how much you’ve owned the six-out-of-ten bitch with the ugly arm wound?’
He flopped back on the bed. ‘You’re not ever going to let it go, are you?’
‘Seriously? It happened, like, ten days ago!’
‘I don’t see how we can be together going forward if you’re always harping on about this one mistake I made.’
‘How about this: I’ll get over it when the file is no longer anywhere on the internet.’ She walked to the bathroom, dressed fast. Didn’t even look at the heavenly, purifying, life-affirming shower because she didn’t want to change her mind.
When she went back into the room, fully clothed, his face fell. ‘You’re seriously leaving?’
‘Yeah. Don’t contact me again.’
‘Fuck you. You’re the one who asked for this.’ He spread his arms wide, taking in the whole fresh-smelling, dust-free, smudge-less, uncluttered loveliness.
‘Yeah, well, I’m a psycho bitch, like you said.’ She pulled his phone from her backpack, chucked it hard at the wall. Didn’t hear the crack of glass, which would be just his sweet luck. And she left, hair still wet from the magic shower, tongue still tingling with salt and fat.
When she turned her phone back on, there were no new messages from Will. Nothing from Nic. But there among the unknown numbers and caller ID unavailable, between a message from Annie and one from college admin, was Kylie.
Whatcha up to girl Bubbas at mums tonight wanna hang
The message had come in two hours ago, at 7 p.m.
Lena texted back: Sorry just got this. Are you still up and keen to hang?
Kylie answered straight away: Come now I have sambucca 
Do you reckon I can crash there? Okay if not …
