Who the hell was this woman? Who did she think she was? Her dress practically just glittering postage stamps and cobwebs, scarcely covering her slender frame, red hair like silk fluidly caressing her spine and eyes like concrete; ashen and cold. She was stunning, but Jesus she must be chilly, it was November for crying out loud! Bare legs that went up to her neck and I’m surprised she can even walk in her shoes, they looked like magnificent devices of torture encrusted with jewels; luring you to a beautiful death, ridden with vertigo.
Hamish was winding around her ankles but saw my entrance with large, fearful eyes and took flight upstairs in a russet blur. Traitor, you better run. “Don’t know what got into him” Nick said taking a swig of his wine and then placing his glass next to hers. White wine? Nick hates white wine; a good red maybe, a whisky even better, but white wine?! It gave him heart burn and got him drunk quickly, he never drank it. He was wearing a new suit, made of glossy charcoal fabric that hung on his frame deliciously and had cut his hair; it no longer tickled the back of his neck or shaded his eyes but sat in a wavy side parting, he was even clean shaven. He scrubbed up good; he must actually like this woman.
Strike number one.
This red head immediately received my total hate quota, even stealing the doctor and psychiatrists rations. She was kissing him again and genuinely getting into it, this was horrific. I hated watching people kiss normally, let alone when it’s the man you love and a woman you despise. Give the poor man a chance to breathe you lecherous Jezebel. It felt as if he was cheating on me which was insane; so insane that, without realising, I had gravitated across the living room, trying to contain the atom of anger which had been split inside me, just gaping at them. Nick wasn’t mine, he never had been, but I felt betrayed, an oil slick of treachery coated me and I couldn’t breathe; I was tarred with hurt.
One step forward and three back; I was ready to banish Nick from my mind a few minutes ago and now I am ready to kill this woman for laying her thieving, hussy hands all over him. Literally all over him, she certainly isn’t holding back. Nick was trying to keep up, but this isn’t his scene, you could tell he was out of his depth with this amorous strumpet; not out of his league, he was miles out of hers, but he was holding back and unsure how to proceed with this gasping damsel who was practically mounting him. Oh, exchange practically for another literally.
I clenched my fists, took a deep, cavernous breath, tilted my head back and screamed with all the sparkling, exuberance my frustration could muster. The sound was conducted into the houses rafters and reverberated through the brick-work before being released into the atmosphere like a fury firework, endlessly wondering through space. They didn’t hear any of it of course, but it felt incredible; releasing my pent up tension. But I wasn’t stopping there; she’s not the only one who wasn’t holding back. The flood gates had been opened.
“WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BASTARD NICK?!” it rolled off of my tongue and as the unheard slur hit Nick face like a venomous draft he winced a little. “You okay handsome?” the red head enquired, coming up for air and I shot her a malevolent glance warning her to stay out of this “Sorry Chanel” Nick replied, blinking in the dim lamp light. Chanel? Are you serious? As in Chanel, we still on for brunch tomorrow? Can someone get Chanel another cosmopolitan? Chanel, that Chanel looks fabulous on you! “Just a little head rush, I’m okay” to which the harlot gave him a fleeting smile and launched back into her facial assault. Slut.
Strike number two.
I was still trying to breathe my way out of the molten mass of annoyance clawing at my head, calm myself down, but the grief of not being heard at my most lividly vibrant accelerated me forward. I paced the floor in front of the lovers on the sofa, shouting a torrent of accusations at Nick. “You have ruined my death! I just wanted to get my shit done, move on, but you are torturing me you stupid, ignorant, little man!” I paused for dramatic effect but this shouting match was one sided and I had the extravagance of continuing my lone dispute without interruption. “In fact I’m glad I’m not alive! Cause if I were, I would’ve punched you in your pretty, arrogant face by now!”
By this point Nick was barely holding pace with the woman, she was still nibbling on his ears and moaning through his kisses, but Nick kept putting a hand to his head and flinching through the waves of abuse I was launching at him. I was so passionately submersed in releasing all this anxiety I didn’t even notice him gently asking for a second while she ignored him and powered on.
Strike Number three.
Time for my grand finale “NICHOLAS COX; I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!” and with its crescendo Nick leapt from the sofa with a panicked cry. I don’t know if it was because of me, I didn’t care if it was because of me “what’s the matter now!?” Chanel whined, growing impatient while Nick was struggling to focus his eyes and disorientated “oh god I’m dizzy” he eventually confessed “not sure if I’m meant to drink with these” as he grabbed the sepia vessel of pills off of the bookshelf and coaxed his eyes to read the label. Chanel got up from the sofa “what are those?” She asked, a hint of fear in her voice “nothing bad” Nick replied “just to help me… sleep” the redhead nodded as if she understood, but her eyebrows were raised as an alarm bell went off internally. “I’m just going to the bathroom” she announced, grabbing her handbag and vanishing upstairs in a shimmering streak of gold.
I followed her, saw her getting her phone out on the way up stairs and my legs just followed my curiosity that and I don’t trust her. She went in the bathroom and turned the tap on before realising she forgot the door; the old ‘pretend to pee whilst being on the phone’ trick. Oldest in the book. After seeing this, I sprinted into the bathroom, sliding in a second before the door closed. I noiselessly negotiated the shower curtain and stood in the bath tub so I wouldn’t get in the way.
Rock bottom crazy, I can see this now.
Chanel sat on the side of the bath tub and scrolled through the phonebook of her mobile until she reached ‘Gav’ and pressed the handset to her make-up clad face. “Gav?” she whispered down the line “It’s Kelly” Kelly?! Of all the fake names out there she chose Chanel? It’s a shame it was a fake name; I’d attached a plethora of negative karma to it already that I now had to re-categorize to ‘Kelly’, I hate paperwork. A gruff, digital bark came down the line as response “No… this jobs a no go… guy’s mental” He’s not mental, Just hormonally imbalanced… apparently. Wait a minute, ‘job’? Is she a prostitute? I thought prostitutes didn’t kiss on the lips, did they? I made a mental note to myself that pretty woman was not a documentary and leaned further to the conversation “Gav, I can’t rob him if he doesn’t go to sleep. Guy’s on medication… insane… he could kill me or something!” he could kill you and then I would try to kill you again. This woman is a thief, god can Nick pick them; Ghosts and burglars.
The voice at the other end of the line was not happy and Chanel looked fearful of its conclusion whilst taking an onslaught of abuse herself. She told ‘Gav’ that she would keep trying; Nick was going on a business trip tomorrow, so all his money and documents were ripe for the taking. This was like something out of a cheap hustle movie; beautiful woman seduces rich man and robs him blind.
I can just imagine her perched on a chrome stool in some exclusive bar, selecting her victim; waving off the affections of lesser, average men until one arrived in a roaring sports car and paid with a crisp fifty. It would have been a well-honed routine of flirting; I bet she even had fun choosing her alias for the evening and crafting her character for the night. She must have thought she hit the jackpot when nick ambled into the club, being so tall and handsome; probably even had a code name for the jobs she didn’t mind executing, like pulling a ‘Richard Gere’ or something as repulsively optimistic. Get pretty woman out of your head, she is not Julia Roberts. She isn’t even a prostitute either come to think of it. I hate to say it, but I admired her resolve, she wasn’t a gold digger, or a hooker; she went straight for the jugular and stripped you of your belongings after stripping you of your clothes.
‘Kelly’ hung up the phone and shunted it back into her handbag, I’d demonised the woman, but she did look pretty helpless. Up close and in the fresh light of the bathroom her dress hung off her emaciated figure, she was probably a smack addict. I am shockingly inept at remaining angry with people. This Gav character didn’t sound pleasant either; He conjured up images of a seedy, pimping Fagin; coaching helpless girls in the art of seduction and burglary before sending them out into the night to rape, pillage and plunder. All silk handkerchiefs and musical numbers, until a debt was due. The kind of man who would buy a woman a dress made of scarlet satin, making promises of an evening filled with cocktails and dancing; embossing her eyes with inked bruises if she didn’t bring home a good haul.
I needed to get rid of this woman, and fast, I clambered over to the sink and turned the hot tap instead of the cold. It surged into life and spewed boiling liquid into the waiting embrace of the sink, steam slithering like a balmy cloud into the room. Kelly, Chanel- whatever her name was- took a moment to pull herself together and fashion a plan of attack; she didn’t even notice the mirrors in the bathroom misting over; water vapour clinging to the glass in Frosted opacity.
When Kelly got up and strolled over to the sink, fussing with her non-existent dress and hair that was beginning to frizz in the humidity, she looked at the running hot tap with a confused expression “I swear I turned the cold one on” she said to herself, questioning the discrepancy. Kelly looked at the fogged mirror, a tinge of fear staining her eyes and I leaned over and scrawled a ghostly, vaporous message across the glass. It wasn’t terribly original, but I never had an affinity with horror films. Kelly’s eyes grew like wide like insipid moons, and her face twisted into a grimace of fright before she ran from the bathroom screaming like a banshee. Sure it wasn’t Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King, but I feel the shaky letters on the mirror spelling out ‘PISS OFF’ achieved the desired purpose.
After taking a second to gloat in the victory of my evil doings, I charged downstairs to see Nick standing confused and the front door wide open; she had run straight out of the house. He flung his arms up to represent how he couldn’t catch a break, threw the tan tub of pills on the sofa and muttered “I don’t remember reading ‘repels women’ in the side effects”
That night I slept in his room again, it was the first time in weeks, but I wanted to make sure he was safe and ‘Gav’ wouldn’t come bursting through the door with a crowbar to reclaim his share of the spoils. As Nick dropped off to sleep I knelt beside the bed as if in prayer, to have a word with him “you’ve got to start being more careful” I whispered to his back, semi clad in a duvet of cobalt dreams “that woman could’ve hurt you and then where would we be?” I wonder if the living feel this ridiculous talking to dead loved ones, directing their hopes to someone they knew was on their side. I guess they had faith they can be heard though, I knew I was essentially confiding in his shoulder blades. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt… I’m sorry I’ve mucked everything up” Nick took a sharp intake of breath, a dream slightly rousing his consciousness, he exhaled as a vocal snore “come to bed” and tapped the sheets beside him; still in the clutches of sleep.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?
