Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Bex
Waking the next morning, I feel lost.
Was last night a nightmare?
Did that really happen?
Those assholes thought I was a joke. They bet their mate to kiss me. That’s what I have become, a cheap dare. A forfeit. A laugh. A memory they’ll tell at liquid brunch.
With my head in my hands, shame washes over me at the realization that the whole sleazy event was real. This is my life. I’m a ghastly girl who must rely on men paying each other to get attention.
Sitting up in bed, there is blood on the sheets. Pulling the duvet to the side, I stare down at my legs. They’re covered in scrapes and bruises. I remember running from the club. I remember falling. I remember the pain. I shudder at the memories.
The apartment was empty when I got home. Everyone else still out. Making a beeline to the fridge, I took a bottle of white wine and one of the extra-long party straws, then headed to bed. That’s the last thing I remember before the oblivion of alcohol flooded my brain. It was pure relief.
I check my phone. Ten missed calls. They must know I’m home.
My friends will be so angry with me for bailing.
I broke our code. Don’t leave the club on your own.
Don’t leave without telling someone where you’re going.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I listen for signs of life outside my bedroom. Nothing. The apartment is silent.
I glance at the small alarm clock on my bedside cabinet. It’s bright pink with Minnie Mouse in the center, her arms pointing to 9:15 am. I love that little clock; she reminds me of happy times playing with my dolls in my bedroom at home.
My toes sink into the thick fibers of my carpet that are snug against my skin.
My head isn’t sore, but it’s whirling. It crosses my mind that I may still be drunk.
It was only a few hours ago that I was drinking wine through a straw directly from the bottle.
Pinot Grigio, if I remember correctly. Looking at the evidence on the floor, I confirm it was Pinot. Classic.
My headaches don’t tend to be too bad when I drink that.
It’s the harder stuff that makes me ill.
I stagger to my bathroom to survey the damage, my mind racing over last night’s events.
It’s the worst I’ve been made to feel in my entire life.
Both gullible and embarrassed. I don’t want to see anyone today, least of all my friends.
The best thing about this apartment is that every bedroom has a bathroom. Whoever designed it was a genius. We took the flat for this exact reason, privacy. I don’t like to share my personal space. I want to leave all my crap lying out; I know where it is, then.
Woeful eyes look back at me from the mirror.
Oh hell, I look like I’ve just stepped out of a horror movie.
My mascara has run down my face with my tears, the rest of my eye makeup pulled across my face to form a bandit mask.
My lips are pale and my skin gaunt. The bird’s nest on my head looks as if little eyes should be watching from it.
I’m a mess. I look like someone who deserves to be mocked.
Roughly washing the muck from my face, then viciously brushing my hair into some sort of style, I berate myself for being so damn stupid. To believe a suit like that would be interested in someone like me. Of course it was a joke, you idiot.
A soft knock at the door distracts me from my self-loathing. Amy pops her head around the corner.
“Bex, can I come in?”
“Sure,” I mumble, walking past her and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Where did you disappear to last night? We were worried about you.” Her voice is firm but kind. She’s giving me a chance to come clean. Gives me a chance to admit that what I did was wrong.
I’m trying to collect my thoughts as she watches me. Do I want to tell her what happened? That a group of dicks made me their dirty bet for the night? That a cretin was paid to put his tongue in my mouth. Then laughed about it. Embarrassed and not knowing what to say, I stay mute.
“Bex, when we couldn’t find you, we came home,” she says, firmer now. My guilt churns. They cut their night short because of me. “We asked the bouncer, and he said you had a fall, that he put you in a taxi.” I nod because that part is all true, but I stay silent.
“We got home,” she continues, “and you were passed out on your bed, covered in blood with a tear-stained face.” Her eyes widen, and she reaches for my hand, encouraging me to speak. “Bex, what did you do?”
I look at her, wordless. What did I do? I can’t. Not like this. I hate the fact she’s looking at me with pity in her eyes. Screw her. My sister should be more fucking dependable.
Shrugging my shoulders and faking a smile, I sneer, “Oh, you know me, Amz. You can’t take me anywhere.” She sighs and gets up, leaving the room, saying nothing. Only closing the door softly behind her.
***
Monday morning comes as a welcome distraction from the disaster of the weekend. Saturday and Sunday were spent avoiding everyone by sitting in my room reading, only emerging to meet whatever takeaway deliveryman came knocking.
London is amazing for delivery service; this weekend, I’ve managed to get every meal prepared and delivered to my door.
It’s been a relief not to run the gauntlet of meeting anyone in the kitchen.
I don’t need their pity or words of wisdom.
I just want to wallow for a few more days or weeks, whatever it takes to forget.
This is my second week working at my new school, and I’m looking forward to it. My plan of how I want to take my students forward is clear in my mind. My colleagues appear to be supportive and don’t take themselves too seriously.
Walking into the staff room, I meet up with one of the other English teachers in my department.
Wendy gave me a great impression the moment I met her.
She was warm and open, welcoming me into the team enthusiastically.
She has taken me under her wing, fussing around to ensure I’m settling in and have everything I need to conduct my classes.
She was very liberal with her advice, pointing out the disruptive students and the teachers to keep at arm’s length.
Her bluntness and boldness make her impossible to dislike.
I think Wendy and I will become good friends.
“Happy Monday, Bex,” she calls from her seat on the sofa. It‘s only the two of us in the staff room. “How was your weekend?” I grimace at her question, shake my head, and raise my eyes to the heavens.
“Don’t ask,” I say, trying to sound light-hearted and failing miserably. She frowns.
“That bad, huh? Come sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.
Then you can offload on me. Can’t have you starting the week down in the dumps.
” She smiles, and I sigh in defeat. This woman makes me talk.
I can’t help telling her what’s on my mind.
It concerns me as I’ve only known her a week, but I already trust her implicitly.
“Black, two sugars?”
“Yes, please,” I respond, semi-impressed she remembered.
The thought of a good cup of coffee lifts my mood. She appears from the tiny kitchen, which is in what used to be a storage cupboard. With us taking a sofa each, Wendy sets the two cups down on the old, worn table.
The staff room is bleak, gray, and boring.
Old, uncomfortable sofas sit around coffee tables that are on their last legs.
The stained walls are littered with posters and leaflets about meetings or school events, most of which are at least two years out of date.
Most of the window blinds don’t work anymore, which doesn’t matter as the staff room is in the darkest part of the school that barely receives daylight, never mind sunshine.
“So, Bex, what happened?” Her eyes survey me, but she stays silent, allowing space for me to speak. I know she isn’t going to utter another word until I tell her what happened. And somehow, that makes me feel safe.
“Where do I start? Friday night turned into an absolute crock of shit. I’d award it the title of the worst night of my life.”
My mind does a quick flick through all my terrible and embarrassing nights out. There are plenty. But it agrees that, yes, Friday night was the worst ever.
Wendy sits quietly and waits for me to elaborate. I take a deep breath, roll my eyes, then jump into the story in all its embarrassing detail. I ramble on and on, my emotions raging to the surface. Getting angrier and more upset with each word. Wendy takes my hands in hers, giving me a kind smile.
“Bex, honey,” she says, “we’re going to fix this.
” I narrow my eyes, confused. She continues.
“Stand up and let me look at you.” I do as she instructs, and she walks around me.
“You’re a striking woman. You just have to know how to use it.
This Friday, after work, we’re going shopping.
Clear your calendar. I won’t take no for an answer. ”
There’s a steel in her voice, zero room to argue.
With that, she turns and struts from the room.
I watch her depart, and a sense of relief washes over me.
This woman is going to make me do something radical to myself.
She won’t take no for an answer. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to say no.
Excitement and fear bubble in my stomach.
What have I just gotten myself into?
***
The week has gone well overall. I had a few issues with a challenging student in year ten, but after some negotiation, we’re moving forward.
Wendy and I are heading off shopping today.
I’m terrified. All she has told me is to bring an open mind and my credit card.
I wait patiently in the staff room. Half of me wants her to arrive, the other half hopes there will be a diabolical incident so we will have to cancel.
My stress started this morning when deciding what to wear.