white socks gather messily at her ankles, showing off pale, bruised legs as she runs. Dark hair streams behind her, tangled in tails. She turns to call after me, her face still streaked with the tears from her scolding indoors. The skidding halt of her body, long skinny fingers reaching for mine.
“I’m going to run away, James, come with me!” Her eyes pleading, wide and green, the palest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Where?”
“Who cares.”
“What about school?”
“Don’t be such a sissy.” Her savage eyes tease me. Cut me down before her. She smudges her tears with the back of her hand.
“I’m no sissy.”
“Sissy boy, James. You’re so fucking good. So nice. Such a good little boy, James Clarke.”
“Shut up, Kat.”
“Make me.”
My throat chokes up with childish desire, too young to understand how to really play this game.
“We said we weren’t going to do that again.”
“So? I changed my mind,” she giggles.
“No, Kat. They’ll think you’ve been fighting again.”
“Hurt me, James. I know you want to. I’ll show you where... places they can’t see.”
“We said no.”
“I’ve still got the marks from last time... I’ll show you... They told me off. Said I’m a bad girl, but I’ll be a good girl, for you, I promise. I’ll do whatever you say. Please, James. I’ll beg you if you like. Make me beg, James.”
Shit... I forced the past aside before it swallowed me whole, smoothing hair back from my forehead while I eyed myself in the mirror. Get a fucking grip, James. This trip was trouble, a whole pissing heap of trouble. Did he make you wet? Jesus Christ, what a fucking question. But she answered... her awkward little swallow, the darting of her eyes. So much I’d wanted to say. He doesn’t know how, does he? Doesn’t know how to fuck your little asshole raw... Doesn’t know how to stretch you all the way open... until you’re riding his fist like a wanton fucking whore and grunting for more... Ever had a tongue deep in your ass, Lydia Marsh? Ever had someone force their fist all the way inside you? Ever pissed down someone’s throat while they tongue your greedy little slit? Have you ever been hurt, Lydia? Really hurt? Anyone ever fucked you up? Slapped your tight little cunt until you cry? Ever gagged on cock until you puke, Lydia Marsh? Ever seen your titties swell purple? Ever choked for breath until the world turns black? I’ll make it feel good for you, Lydia, it’ll feel so fucking good. I’ll make you squirt all over my filthy fucking fingers.
Stop. Just stop.
I was running out of legitimate toilet break time. She’d be waiting, expecting me to come back all smiles and professionalism. Expecting me to steer the conversation back to White Hastings fucking McCarthy and our perfect day’s work.
Fuck no-one you know, and know no-one you fuck.
If only I hadn’t seen her cry...
***
I smoothed down my tie, smiling politely and resigning myself to another round of work talk, but Lydia Marsh surprised me. She toyed with her sundae, poking the thing like it was alive, over and over with pensive spoon gestures.
“It’ll melt if you’re not careful,” I said, forking up a liberal portion of creme brulee.
Her eyes latched onto mine as she took a mouthful of ice-cream. Unconscious obedience at its finest. “You got me thinking. I think it’s really the security I miss. Not him. I mean I do miss him, I love him, but it’s not the relationship I miss so much as having that part of my life all wrapped up. You know?”
“That’s what you want, is it? Security? The happy ever after of companionship and TV nights?”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I thought that’s what I wanted, but a few weeks out of it and I’m not so sure anymore.”
“You’re a bit young to be settling for the nice steady guy, don’t you think? Those guys are normally friend-zoned until at least mid-thirties.”
Her eyes did smile this time. “Stuart clearly wasn’t as steady as I thought.”
“Why did he cheat? It’s never just the drink.”
“Ouch.” She placed a hand over her heart.
“It’s not an attack, Lydia, people cheat. I’m just curious why he cheated. Comfy slippers man doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who’d want to rock the boat for a casual fuck.”
“That’s a probing question.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“If I answer, it’s my turn next.”
“I don’t make deals unless I know all the terms,” I stated, bluntly. “I’d need to know the question first.”