Page 103 of Revelry

“Maybe because your boss doesn’t want you to scare away all the customers,” he says, and attempts to pull me from the floor. I dig my heels in.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Get up. Get your stinky arse in that shower, wash your fucking hair—’cause I think there might be something living in it—and put some god damned makeup on. I’m gonna find you something skimpy to wear and then you and I are hitting the town. I’mma be your wingman. Your pussy is getting pounded tonight, whether you like it or not.”

“Okay, well now that’s just sounding a little rapey. What if I don’t want my pussy pounded? What if it’s already taken too many poundings and it misses the cock that used to do all the pounding, and now it’s just sad? What then?” I ask, feeling the words slip from my mouth as quickly as the tears fall from my eyes.

“Your vagina is not sad, Jones. Your heart is. Now get the fuck up before I strip you down and throw you in that shower myself.”

I let him pull me up this time and I walk to the bathroom, not bothering to take any clothing with me, because I have a feeling Tim will veto them anyway in favour of “something skimpier”. I lock myself in and frown at my reflection when the mirror shows me an unhappy hobo.

“We really have to stop meeting like this, Ali,” I say to my hackneyed appearance. And then I peel off my layers of ripe-smelling clothing and run the water.

After an age beneath the spray, I emerge from the bathroom on a cloud of steam. I smell of spice and vanilla, and my hair is clean and leaves wet trails down my back.

“Is that a … oh my god … is that a real fucking girl?” Tim says, covering his mouth in mock surprise.

“Shut it, butt fuck,” I say. He’s cleaned up a little while he waited, and fat tears form in my eyes again.

“No, no more fucking crying. I don’t do crying. You know that,” he says, and he points to a dress he laid out on my bed. “Now get your arse over here and get this shit on.”

I suck back my tears and wander over to my freshly-made bed. “I’m beginning to see why Cloe left you.”

“Cloe left me because she was an arsehole. Just like Brad, and just like those two band jerks.”

“Well, technically I left them, except Brad, and they’re not really arseholes,” I say, and then grimace before adding, “Again, except Brad.”

“Okay, I don’t give a shit. Just get dressed and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Tim, this is a Halloween costume,” I say, picking up the wiggle dress I wore two years ago to the Halloween party Tim, Brad and I had held at our apartment. I’d gone as a zombie Marilyn Monroe, and if you looked close enough you could see some fake blood staining the fabric, though it was well covered by the giant red cherries adorning the dress.

“So?” He shrugs, looking up from his phone, his fingers working at the keypad while he glances at me.

“Who the hell are you texting?”

He looks up at me from over his smart phone. “Some of the guys.”

“Please tell me you’re not lining up a pity fuck?”

“I’m not lining up a pity fuck,” he says automatically, with no emotion in his voice whatsoever.

“Oh eww, you totally are.”

“Just go get your arse dressed, Jones.”

When I emerge from the bathroom again, I’m wearing the dress and a fresh coat of war paint, courtesy of MAC. I do a half-hearted little spin and Tim whistles. “You scrub up good, kid. If you’d looked like that a little more often when we’d lived together I might have tried stealing you away from Brad.”

“But not now?” I glare in confusion at my wardrobe, both wondering what he means by that and silently freaking out about my limited footwear selection. All I own are my new-ish lucky red Cons, combat boots, and one pain in the arse pair of red pumps that I’ve worn once, to the same party where I wore this dress. I settle on the heels, because I’ll look like an arsehole in Cons with this dress. But I’m not happy about it.

“Maybe if I’d found you again before the rock star stole your heart, but you’re too far gone, babe. Anyone can see that.”

“Which rock star?” I grab Tim’s arm for support as I stuff my feet into the shoes and wiggle around a bit. With the exception of being blessed with the ability to rock multiple orgasms, being a girl kinda sucks. “There were two, remember?”

“What do you mean, which one? Did the other guy ever really have a chance? It’s like you think I don’t know you at all, Jones.”

I open my mouth to say something, but mostly I just stand there, wondering if it was always so obvious to everyone else around me, wondering whether Levi ever really did stand a chance, and feeling a fresh wave of tears slam into me because in hindsight I can see now how this entire mess could have been avoided.

Tim’s eyes narrow and his lips tighten when he sees I’m about to lose it again.

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