17
The following week is spent with Lydia, hitting all the bottomless brunch places across the town using her work benefits card, and with Catherine, day-tripping to Peppa Pig World and Adventure Wonderland . On Wednesday, I go for an afternoon tea with my mother in M I forgot about John’s manspreading. I cross my legs to make myself smaller, but it’s uncomfortable, so I just give up and try to filter it out.
I refocus on Becky. I pass her a small bag that contains a vintage brooch in the shape of a scarab because I know she’s fascinated by them and a voucher for an afternoon tea with alpacas. I remember she mentioned she loved animals and always wanted to have a farm. She flushes at my gift and hugs me.
‘That’s so generous and thoughtful, Holly,’ she mumbles into my hair with self-consciousness.
‘I thought you might not want another scented candle or a box of chocolates.’ I scan all the presents around me.
She checks that nobody is listening and whispers, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I love the gifts, but I’m also allergic to anything scented. It makes me sneeze.’
‘I guess you can always pull a Rachel,’ I suggest, and she laughs. I know she’s a Friends fan.
We end up talking about mid-2000s TV shows and spend a solid forty minutes discussing Pushing Daises because Chuck is the most iconic undead character that has ever lived , and her fashion choices are the thing of dreams to which Becky readily agrees. I sip my glass of wine slowly because I’m worried about what drunk Holly might do or say. After my third glass, Becky and I share a bowl of fries and pepper-stuffed olives.
‘I must admit I’ve always had a crush on Ned. There’s something about brooding, emotionally detached men.’ Becky titters; she’s passed the tipsy mark by about a mile. She searches the bar with her eyes, stopping at Alex who’s spent the last twenty minutes there, drinking and talking to the barmaid despite Jane leaving a while ago. No doubt avoiding me. A few people have a friendly chat with him despite professing at work he’s the bane of their existence. But Danielle sticks the longest, involving Alex in what is obviously a one-sided conversation. Eventually, she returns to her side of the table, crestfallen. Despite Alex being on the opposite end of the room, I sense his eyes watching me.
Half an hour later, the party takes a wilder turn. I’ve had two pina coladas, and my body feels light as a feather. I’m convinced that if I lift my feet off the floor, I’d instantly go up in the air like a helium-filled balloon.
Alex eventually returns to our table, drinking his fourth gin. Not that I’m counting. I notice he never finishes a glass but don’t think much of it.
Around half ten, a few tables are pushed to the sides and some people start dancing on the makeshift dancefloor, Danny and Danielle among them.
John keeps flitting between different people, but like a yoyo, keeps coming back to his seat to speak to me. Every time he does, he leans a little closer despite me sending a clear message I’m not into him. When he does that the fourth time, his fingers rest on the area where the collar meets my bare skin. It’s an overfamiliar gesture that draws attention. I squirm, but he doesn’t register my reaction. My attention snaps to Alex whose gaze is Velcroed to the place where John is touching me. What must he think of me? First, I kiss him, and now I let John manhandle me in front of everyone. I pull away from under John’s octopus-like touch once again, making a vague excuse of going to the toilet.
For someone so shy, Becky gives it her all. She gets so drunk she ends up what can only be described as hollering along to Rihanna’s Only Girl , but because she doesn’t remember most of the words, everyone’s in stitches. It doesn’t stop her from trying. Eventually, Joanna takes her to the bar to ply her with some coffee to sober up so she can carry on in her rendition of Shakira that’s to play at her request later on.
By that point, I’m ready to go home, so I push through the dancefloor to say my goodbyes to Becky, but the small crowd is denser than I expected, and I have to elbow my way through.
‘Aha. Our sexy femme fatale.’ John appears out of nowhere and grabs my waist, forcing me to his side. He’s sweaty and drunk as a lord. I push against him when he attempts to sloppily slide his hand below my waist while still holding a drink in the other. By the smell of it, it’s rum and coke.
‘Ha, ha,’ I say without humour and try to pull out of his icky grip once more. I’m close to committing second-degree murder if he doesn’t release me soon. ‘Let go,’ I command him, but he either ignores it or doesn’t hear my order.
I’m ready to give him my first-ever hammer fist punch on the jaw that I learnt from a YouTube tutorial when he dips his head to the crook of my neck, but immediately he’s plucked off me before I spur into action, his falling drink narrowly missing my shiny shoes.
‘Get your hands off her,’ a male voice grinds out from behind me. I swipe my head to the side to catch Alex glowering at John who, suddenly, almost sobers up. Alex’s fists are tightened, his knuckles white, ready to squash John with his big hands until he’s the size of a pocket Rubik’s Cube. I’ve never seen him this incandescent. I fear that if I don’t do something, he’ll rip John’s head off. Not that John wouldn’t deserve it for being a gargantuan sleazebag. Heedless of the attention he’s attracting, John wobbles on his feet, and his smile turns into a laugh.
‘I knew it,’ John roars victoriously. A few people whisper curiously while still pretending to dance. I hate making a scene and think of a quick and quiet escape.
‘You’re shagging, aren’t you?’ John spins drunkenly to pin me with a disgusted look. ‘I thought you had better taste than that.’
My mind whirls. I see the situation play out in front of me in slow motion. Alex’s eyes flare with the rage of a thousand volcanic eruptions. His body sets into motion, his fist ready to wipe the smirk off John’s face. Before it lands, I jump between them and splay my palms against Alex’s chest and push. It feels like trying to budge a wall, but it stops him in his tracks.
‘Alex, don’t. He’s drunk,’ I croak, barely audible over the blaring music.
When he registers my hands on him, he slumps. His expression softens before it steels again. We’re almost the same height, but I feel fragile next to his powerful body. All I feel is lean muscles under my hands, and his heart, pounding almost painfully against my skin.
‘Sleep it off, jackass,’ Alex spits at John who salutes before he swivels around with a wobble like a clumsily twisted spinning top and buggers off the dancefloor.
I rear back when I realise I’m still latched onto Alex. As soon as I break contact, I feel strangely bereft.
Alex turns unapproachable once again. ‘We need to get some things straight.’ I nod nervously, for once in agreement with him.
We walk to the edge of the dancefloor. When he checks everyone is immersed in Bruno Mars, he takes my hand and leads me away from the main area of the lounge. His grip sends shivers up my arm, but I try to focus on where we’re going instead. My forehead puckers when he weaves through the crowd to the back of the lounge where an unused private room is. The sign on the wooden door says not in use , but Alex pushes through the door anyway.
When he’s happy we’re alone and the music becomes muffled behind the solid door closing shut, he lets go and rotates to face me. I look around the room and inhale shakily. It’s mostly empty save for a few pieces of furniture covered in off-white dust sheets. The only window in the room is draped in purple curtains that hang shapelessly against the wood-panelled wall and drag on the tiled floor. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, and a hideous tulip-shaped light casts shadows across the room and Alex’s expression in an almost ominous way.
His usually pink lips are the colour of raspberries in the dim light. His hair, usually short, has grown since September and now is almost messy around his delicate cheekbones. He looks more like the Alex I knew.
He stares at me with those bottomless green eyes. I want to look away or step back, but I don’t do either and just stand there, feeling more and more fidgety under his scrutiny.
He bites the corner of his bottom lip, an old habit from where his piercing used to be. There’s a tiny scar that mars the otherwise soft skin. X marks the spot, that’s where Alex should be kissed. As soon as the errant thought materialises in my head, I try to force it out, but it clings to me with its tenacious limbs. The force of the emotion makes me sway. When he reads my body’s reaction, he inhales deeply.
‘I can’t think when you look at me like that,’ he exclaims at the same time I say, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’ My thoughts scramble when I process his words.
‘I doubt that.’ His voice comes out hoarse.
To my shock, he places both his hands on my waist and pulls me to him until we’re as close as we can be without touching. Heat radiates off his body in waves. I don’t dare to breathe. When I don’t protest, he pulls me even closer, until there’s no space at all. That’s when he smashes his lips against mine.
His kiss is not gentle, far from the subdued peck I gave him on Sunday. This is something else because he’s a hundred per cent in this kiss. My hands automatically shoot out to grab him by his shoulders to hold him as close as physically possible. When he notices my reaction, he deepens the kiss, tracing the seam of my lips with his tongue until I open up to him fully. His tongue meets mine in an electric storm. A moan escapes my lips as soon as it happens, and he digs his fingers into my sides. My heart is a galloping horse, an industrial sewing machine thrumming out sixteen hundred stitches per minute, a steam turbine propelling a submarine, not a mere organ pumping blood around my body.
Footsteps approaching on the other side of the door make us jump away like a pair of teenagers. Thinking on my feet, I drag Alex behind the curtained window that, to my surprise, shelters an old full-length mirror. I place a finger on my lips as I tuck myself into the farthest corner of the window. It’s so cramped Alex ends up pressed against me, his hip digging into my stomach and my boob squeezing against his shoulder. It reminds me of the sardines game, except that this isn’t an old mansion, and if we get discovered, there are much worse consequences than becoming it in the next round or doing a dare.
‘Holly. Are you here?’ John loud whispers.
I don’t dare to move and anxiously watch Alex in the semi-darkness. Face tilted away, his stormy eyes are looking towards where invisible John is, solely focused on the noises on the opposite side of the curtain. He smells faintly of gin and his customary woody smell. Without meaning to, I lean in and inhale. He swings his head sharply in my direction.
After a few more attempts at calling me, John gives up and his receding steps plunge us back into silence. However, it’s like we’re on a halt, like the kiss has never happened. Neither of us wants to make the next move because it would mean something. For now, we’re even. A kiss for a kiss.
I need to find my footing. ‘What is it that you wanted to get straight?’ My lips are swollen, but I push the words through them anyway.
He steps away, his back brushing against the heavy curtain. His eyes narrow at something over my shoulder. I turn my head and catch our reflection in the mirror. My dress has ridden up and exposed the back of my thighs; the lacy tops of my stockings now peek from under the skirt.
I watch him watch me in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are pursed in what I used to think was disapproval, but now I’m not sure. He reaches behind me and grips my thigh where the lace meets my skin. The sight of his hand on me in the mirror is arousing and immediately heat pools between my legs.
‘Your lacy collars and shiny buttons…’ He breaks off, and I don’t comprehend why, out of all moments, he chooses to discuss my fashion sense. He forces me back until I’m against the ledge of the window as he growls, ‘They drive me insane. I can’t seem to…’
Energy crackles between us until the air is so charged I expect the fire alarm to go off. He braces himself on either side of me against the ledge, trapping me in the cage of his arms. I hang on his lips, unable to move until he finishes the sentence.
His words split the moment in two. ‘I can’t seem to think whenever you’re around. All I can think about is how I want to watch you come undone with my mouth and my hands. What have you done to me?’
Air rushes out of me and then our bodies crash against each other like tidal waves. His hands anchor on my buttocks without hesitation. Unable to last any longer, I meet his mouth. He’s ready for me and immediately opens up, his tongue exploring and tasting mine while his hand is kneading my backside in the most exquisite way that makes me groan.
I slide my hand to his neck where the hair touches his nape. I used to pull at the hair there when we were teenagers, and it used to drive him crazy. As if he remembers, he moans into my mouth, and I can’t help but rub against his body. I can feel how much he wants me, his hardness pressing insistently against my belly.
He grabs the back of my thighs and hoists me up onto the ledge, making me yelp in surprise. My legs automatically wrap around his waist to steady myself and to be even closer to him. I reach between our bodies and move my hand down his belly, but he doesn’t let me touch him, and I growl in frustration. Instead, he propels us around and deposits me in front of the mirror, positioning himself behind me. He slides his hand down my belly and towards the edge of my dress, ending up under my skirt and deliciously circling my core through my underwear. The entire time his eyes are on me in the mirror. I grab onto the mirror with one hand and the windowsill with the other as he slips his fingers under the seam of my underwear and obliterates any remaining doubt.
His hand is warm, his fingers torturing before they finally sink inside me and my mind scrambles. He’s never touched me like this, but it feels like he was made to touch me. People always say that if you have wanted something for a long time, the actual thing is pale against your previous imagining, but this isn’t the case. It shatters my expectations.
He sinks another finger inside me, making me gasp at the fullness, and yet, feeling like it’s not enough. I start moving against his hand. My head lolls back against his shoulder as I try to stop myself from falling apart because the idea of Alex watching me come makes me vulnerable. Once again, I try to reach the space between us, but he presses harder against me, preventing me from touching him the way I want to. The way I need to.
He must sense my thoughts because his voice rumbles in my ear, ‘It’s my turn to touch you. I want to watch you.’ He moves his hand faster, and all I can do is stare at him pleasuring me in the mirror, memorising every second of his hand between my legs while his green eyes threaten to devour me. He presses his other hand against my belly, holding me in place as I give myself to him.
The feeling builds up in my stomach, and I start trembling in his arms. I must whisper his name because his body stiffens.
He sinks his lips into my hair and his hot breath hits the shell of my ear. ‘Say my name again.’
I shake my head, fighting against the need.
‘Say it,’ he urges as he continues torturing me, systematically undoing me. ‘I need to hear it. I need this. This is the only way I will get you out of my system.’
Before his words register fully, I fall apart so hard my eyes close. He strokes me through the last moments.
When I plummet down from my high, I replay his words in my head and my body is plunged into icy water. Immediately, I step out of his arms. Disgust with myself and my stupidity hit me so hard it’s like an uppercut punch to my gut. I can’t stand the sight of myself in the mirror. Shiny eyes, red cheeks, tousled hair. I look like a mess.
Is this what this is for him? Am I to be used as a tool to get him over wanting me? An outstanding list from the sixth form to massage his ego? Sleep with Holly. Tick.
He takes a step towards me to help me pull my dress down, but I shrink back. I feel cheap and dirty. The logical part of me knows that I wanted this and he did nothing wrong because from the start he said he wanted my body, especially after I kissed him first. But the illogical part is screaming at him because, even after ten years, he’s the only person in the world I can’t bear to hear those words from.
Something akin to hurt passes across his face, but I’m sure I’m reading him wrong. I’m almost glad my phone rings even though it’s my mother. I dismiss him by pushing the curtain out of my way and walking to the opposite side of the room without looking back. I know if I do, I’ll cry, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
‘Yes, Mother?’ I inject some cheer into my voice when I pick up, even though on the inside I’m an empty eggshell about to crack. The door behind me opens and closes.
Only when Alex has gone do I let my tears fall.
Why do all the men in my life hurt me?