“I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Do you need me
to call you a cab?”
“No, I’m only
‘round the corner.” The jacket slithered over my arms. “Thanks
anyway.”
He’d barely
closed the door when Toby erupted.
“Holy shit! She’s a prostitute ? No wonder she looked so pissed when I opened the door with
a twenty!”
Charlotte
wagged a finger at him and laughed like she’d swallowed a wasp.
Chapter 4
There was a
reason I’d suffered that split down the middle, and his name was
Charlie Flemming.
He was
forty-two. I was seventeen. I did work experience at his law firm
and got a lot more than a mouthful of meandering Latin. I had my
first proper boyfriend at the time, but it never mattered. Never
felt wrong. Years passed before I realized why.
Like the
silhouette in my dreams, first I blurred at the edges. Then my
seams bulged and I peeled apart. Whether Charlotte stirred to life
in Charlie’s palms, whether she waited all along as a savant twin,
I’m not sure, but what I do know is that by the time Charlie
married and our years of trysts came to an end, she was waiting.
She was hungry.
She was going
to eat me alive.
So I kept the
distance between us and the pattern began to form: two of
everything. For law, I had whoring. For the girl who longed for a
nice boy to rescue me from Charlotte’s war, there was one who came
alive for the man who thrust me straight back into it. Men are
mocked as slaves to their hormones. It’s no laughing matter, trust
me.
The problem
with being split was that it was exhausting. And impossible. People
didn’t react well to it. Women assumed me two-faced, and yet it was
never that simple; men, when they left the hotel room, no longer
wanted to share. In fact most of them weren’t that keen to begin
with.
Two sides to
me, then–the flesh and the carnivore. One of them, it seemed, I
would have to put to bed.
* * * *
“I’m coming
back,” I slurred down the phone.
“Leila, it’s
two in the morning. I was in bed,” William groaned.
“Oh, fuck off,
Will. It’s still business hours for you.” I paused to gulp more
wine. “Anyway. I want my job back.”
“I thought you
didn’t need me anymore, hmm? What’s changed?”
“Men are
bastards.” I sniffed.
“Nobody likes a potty-mouthed whore. Not that kind of potty mouth,
anyway.”
I fell back on
to the sofa cushions, wincing. “So…am I hired again?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I
whined.
“Because you’re
drunk, which isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
“I told you–men
are bastards. All of them. Even you, because you won’t bloody hire
me back!”
He stifled a
laugh. “Leila, you warm an old man’s heart.”
“You’re thirty-nine, you pansy. Please , Will. I had such an awful night. I want to go back to
screwing strangers with questionable amounts of money.”
“You really did
get a boyfriend, didn’t you?”
“No. No .”
“Oh?”
“They hired me. Guys from my
office hired
me,” I howled.
“Oh.” William
went silent for a moment. “That’s…unfortunate.”
“How did this
happen? I said no lawyers. No accountants and no lawyers!”
“They must have
lied,” he said sheepishly.
“Of course they
lied. They’re bastards.” Another gulp of wine. “It’s all a big
mess.”
“Are they being
twats? Because I can put them on the black list if they’re being
twats.”
“No. Quite
reasonable as far as it goes–for, y’know, bastards,” I said, “but
it’s still a big mess.”
“That’s
generally what happens when you shit on your own doorstep.” There
was the unmistakable gush of a toilet.
“Jesus, Will.
You couldn’t have waited?”
“Don’t lecture
me about self-restraint.” Water hissed as it spewed into a sink, no
doubt. “Shall I blacklist them anyway, to make you feel
better?”
“No…Well.
Actually–go on then.”
“You text me
their names in the morning and consider it done. I’m going back
“Do you need me
to call you a cab?”
“No, I’m only
‘round the corner.” The jacket slithered over my arms. “Thanks
anyway.”
He’d barely
closed the door when Toby erupted.
“Holy shit! She’s a prostitute ? No wonder she looked so pissed when I opened the door with
a twenty!”
Charlotte
wagged a finger at him and laughed like she’d swallowed a wasp.
Chapter 4
There was a
reason I’d suffered that split down the middle, and his name was
Charlie Flemming.
He was
forty-two. I was seventeen. I did work experience at his law firm
and got a lot more than a mouthful of meandering Latin. I had my
first proper boyfriend at the time, but it never mattered. Never
felt wrong. Years passed before I realized why.
Like the
silhouette in my dreams, first I blurred at the edges. Then my
seams bulged and I peeled apart. Whether Charlotte stirred to life
in Charlie’s palms, whether she waited all along as a savant twin,
I’m not sure, but what I do know is that by the time Charlie
married and our years of trysts came to an end, she was waiting.
She was hungry.
She was going
to eat me alive.
So I kept the
distance between us and the pattern began to form: two of
everything. For law, I had whoring. For the girl who longed for a
nice boy to rescue me from Charlotte’s war, there was one who came
alive for the man who thrust me straight back into it. Men are
mocked as slaves to their hormones. It’s no laughing matter, trust
me.
The problem
with being split was that it was exhausting. And impossible. People
didn’t react well to it. Women assumed me two-faced, and yet it was
never that simple; men, when they left the hotel room, no longer
wanted to share. In fact most of them weren’t that keen to begin
with.
Two sides to
me, then–the flesh and the carnivore. One of them, it seemed, I
would have to put to bed.
* * * *
“I’m coming
back,” I slurred down the phone.
“Leila, it’s
two in the morning. I was in bed,” William groaned.
“Oh, fuck off,
Will. It’s still business hours for you.” I paused to gulp more
wine. “Anyway. I want my job back.”
“I thought you
didn’t need me anymore, hmm? What’s changed?”
“Men are
bastards.” I sniffed.
“Nobody likes a potty-mouthed whore. Not that kind of potty mouth,
anyway.”
I fell back on
to the sofa cushions, wincing. “So…am I hired again?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I
whined.
“Because you’re
drunk, which isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
“I told you–men
are bastards. All of them. Even you, because you won’t bloody hire
me back!”
He stifled a
laugh. “Leila, you warm an old man’s heart.”
“You’re thirty-nine, you pansy. Please , Will. I had such an awful night. I want to go back to
screwing strangers with questionable amounts of money.”
“You really did
get a boyfriend, didn’t you?”
“No. No .”
“Oh?”
“They hired me. Guys from my
office hired
me,” I howled.
“Oh.” William
went silent for a moment. “That’s…unfortunate.”
“How did this
happen? I said no lawyers. No accountants and no lawyers!”
“They must have
lied,” he said sheepishly.
“Of course they
lied. They’re bastards.” Another gulp of wine. “It’s all a big
mess.”
“Are they being
twats? Because I can put them on the black list if they’re being
twats.”
“No. Quite
reasonable as far as it goes–for, y’know, bastards,” I said, “but
it’s still a big mess.”
“That’s
generally what happens when you shit on your own doorstep.” There
was the unmistakable gush of a toilet.
“Jesus, Will.
You couldn’t have waited?”
“Don’t lecture
me about self-restraint.” Water hissed as it spewed into a sink, no
doubt. “Shall I blacklist them anyway, to make you feel
better?”
“No…Well.
Actually–go on then.”
“You text me
their names in the morning and consider it done. I’m going back
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