‘Don’t be shy, sit down and make yourself comfortable.’ Her voice startles me as she unnecessarily puffs one of the cushions for me. She asks if I would like a glass of wine, I guess one won’t hurt. My gaze hops over every object in the room. A grey, white and muted pink colour scheme is consistent throughout and it feels homely rather than clinical. I like it actually, but I will still need to change it to something new. Something we both like when we make it our own.
A picture frame in the corner of the room catches my eye and a heavy brick starts to take shape in the pit of my stomach; conjuring dark, nauseating envy where only happiness should be. I can't tear my eyes away from it, this is something I never wanted to see; have tried to avoid seeing for as long as I can remember. Him in a dazzling black suit, her in a figure-hugging white dress with a long fishtail. Both of them hand in hand as their other overlaps as they hold a knife over a three-tiered wedding cake. Bile rises to the back of my throat and I swallow it back down and wince. This is wrong, all fucking wrong. This should be my home, mine and his – not hers.
She returns from the kitchen with two glasses and a bottle of rose wine, politely filling my glass before her own and handing it to me with a wide smile. I can’t stand the sight of her right now and it’s excruciating to pretend. My blood bubbles beneath my skin, scorching my skin in anger. I want to snatch the bottle from her hand, lift it to the sky and then send it soaring down towards her; enjoying the explosion as it smashes against her skull. I want her to feel pain. I want her to feel all of the same suffering I’ve had to endure on a daily basis for ten long fucking years.
Desperate for a minute to gather myself before I do anything too impulsive, I ask permission to use her bathroom and she gives me directions to the main one upstairs, explaining that the tap is faulty in her downstairs toilet. I take the same carpeted grey steps two at a time, hurdling my way to safety. As I reach the top of the stairs, I exhale sharply as if I have been holding my breath under water for far too long. I can see that the door to the bathroom in front of me is wide open, unable to be missed. I pause before entering, now finding myself frozen to the spot as a new idea springs to the forefront of my mind. I take one small step further towards the bathroom and then reach out and pull the door over very slowly; careful not to close it completely but just enough to create the illusion that it is occupied.
I creep along the hallway, praying that there are no loose or squeaky floorboards that might cause Lauren to suspect I am not where I’m supposed to be. I give each door a gentle nudge until I find the one that I’m looking for. A king-size bed with a dramatically tall black suede headboard rests in the centre of the room on top of a thick pile of cream carpet. At either side of the bed there is a black bedside table and the sheets are made up to perfection. I tip toe further into the room, closer now than I ever thought possible. I allow my fingers to skim over the soft satin milk white sheet; the same sheet he sleeps under. Pure pleasure dances around my stomach, waltzing through my veins.
The silver watch that he always wears on his right wrist sits on the left-hand side table beside a half empty glass of water. This must be his side of the bed. I tear my hand away from the comfort of his bed and find it drifting towards the glass. My finger traces the rim ever so gently. Round and round my finger goes, exactly where his mouth has been, and I close my eyes as I appreciate the connection. I don’t know how long the glass has been there, but I don’t care. My hand trembles as I lift it to my lips and take a sip, knowing that we now have shared something physical - even if it is something as simple as water.
Oh. Shit. I realise that I’ve left a smudge of red lipstick and so I lick my thumb and rub away the evidence of my mouth’s presence. I wonder if he will take another drink from this glass before it has been washed. Will he taste me? Will he be able to feel how close we are? I almost can't contain my excitement at the thought. I sit the glass back down quietly and then scoop up his watch, circling the cool metal inside of its face with my thumb. I think of it pressed against his wrist, touching his beautiful skin, the skin I’ve not been about to touch yet. I carefully wrap it around my own wrist and fasten the clip, but it hangs loosely demonstrating the difference in size between us. Far, far too big, and yet it still feels like a perfect fit.
The sound of footsteps beginning their ascent up the stairs jolts my attention and then I hear her call my name.
‘Zee, are you OK?’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I must have lost track of time. My legs won't budge, my eyes are now fixated on the door, waiting for her to appear and ask what the hell I'm doing in her bedroom. What do I do here? I have nowhere to hide, and what excuse could I possibly have that would make her finding me in their bedroom any less weird or creepy? My throat is bone dry with fear. I'm unable to conjure any words to make the situation better and my heart thuds wildly against my chest.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip, still glued to the spot, waiting for the devastating blow, when a phone starts to ring from downstairs. I hear her stop abruptly in her tracks and register the jog back down the steps towards the sound that just saved my life. I release a sigh of relief, but toxic adrenalin has been ignited deep within me and I realise that I am shaking beyond control – but not just from the fear of being caught. Touching his things, being so close to him; all of it has lit a burning fire of desire, and I don’t want to lose this feeling of exhilaration. I want more of it. I want all of it - all of him. She has to go.
I quickly make my way back to the bathroom where I should have been and give the toilet a quick flush, hoping that she will hear it downstairs. I run the tap for a couple of seconds and dip my wrists under the icy cold water to soothe my nerves. I turn off the tap and grip the edge of the ceramic, my fingers still trembling against its base. I quickly yank open a couple of plastic drawers, searching for something – anything - I could use, but nothing fits. As I look down, I realise that Jacobs watch is still dangling from my tiny wrist. I slide it off without needing to unclasp it and push it deep inside the pocket of my leather jacket. What if I didn’t forget to take his watch off? What if it was a sign? A sign that he is with me right now; directing me, encouraging me, pushing me to do what needs to be done. I realise I haven’t tried the mirrored cabinet above the sink and so I raise my shaky hand and give the handle a gentle pull. It swings open easily, narrowly missing my head. I peer inside and it's like the heavens have opened above. It’s perfect. It's so fucking perfect. The watch was the first sign, this is the second. I know he wants me to do this.
I tip toe my way down the staircase, my hand skimming the white banister and then slowly enter the living room that leads me back into the kitchen. She has her back to me and is talking quietly on the phone; completely unaware that I’m behind her. My grip tightens around the smooth set of silver cosmetic scissors that burn in my palm of my hand and I feel powerful and confident. As I creep closer, the urge to raise my hand high and then plunge the sharp point through the side of her neck is overwhelming; like it was always meant to be.
This will all be over in a matter of minutes. All I need to do is take a couple more steps towards her and thrust my weapon into her pale skin as many times as it takes. Jacob won’t find her until he returns from work, but it will be too late. She will have bled to death before anyone is able to discover and rescue her. This is almost like a twisted fairy-tale; the ones they don't show on kid’s channels and yet they should, because the princess is always victorious in getting what she desires.
I see the scene in my mind’s eye; her beautiful bright kitchen decorated with menacing spatters of raw blood. I take one single step forward, closer, much closer. She still doesn’t turn around. She still doesn’t know that I am here. I take my second step, my right arm now extended ready to launch its attack. I close my eyes tight, scrunching them to the point of pain.
‘Please forgive me’ I whisper, as my arm falls through the air.
Chapter 15
The burst of the front door opening and then
slamming shut grabs both of our attention. She spins on her heels and lets out a piercing yelp at the sight of me lurking behind her. She drops her phone onto the marble tiled kitchen floor and I wince at the crack.
‘Shit Zee! You scared the life out of me there, babe!’ she laughs.
I don’t laugh with her. In fact, I don’t do anything - I can’t. I'm unable to force even the simplest of smiles because the power struggle between us has now once again see-sawed, and I am now the one up in the air with my legs dangling below me, much too far away from the ground and definitely in immediate danger. My right arm is pinned tightly against my lower back, the scissors biting into my palm. Stay still, I tell myself. Don't let her see behind you.
‘Please forgive you, for what?’ She asks perplexed.
I hear a deep and husky cough echo from afar as another door is now opened and then closed, but she doesn't seem phased in the slightest. She doesn't flinch, she doesn't call out for whoever just came through the door – which means it's someone who is free to come in and out as they please. Someone who lives here too. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I desperately need my feet to move but they are frozen stiff under some wicked and torturous spell. I need to find a way out of here - and fast. My previous plan of attack on Lauren must be abandoned because I can’t risk it now, there isn’t enough time to do what needs to be done and escape.
‘Lauren, I’m really sorry I have to run’, I gasp as I manage to free myself from paralysation and push my feet into my boots that are still lying on the floor, still careful not to remove my right hand from the bottom of my back.
I snatch my bag from the table on the way past, whipping it open and discretely dispensing inside the scissors that are now slick with sweat due to my nervous perspiration. I fumble to find the words, but somehow, I do.
‘The manager of my hotel just called. There’s been some sort of flood - from one of the rooms, and it’s… pouring into the landing’.
It wasn’t the most believable of excuses, and I kicked myself as soon it escaped my lips, but I had to say something, anything to allow me to break free of this bear trap I have found myself in. I notice the flush of the downstairs toilet and give myself a shake. I don’t have the time to stand here worrying if it was believable or not.
‘OK… but you’re sweating. Are you OK?’
She steps towards me, offering me comfort but before she can touch me, I’ve dodged her grasp. I swing open the back door and flee from the garden before she is able to stop me and then I run. I run faster than I’ve ever ran before. I'm catapulting myself to I don’t know where, just anywhere other than that house.
A few people cuss as I push them out of my way, but I ignore them and keep going. My heart constricts painfully. It starts to attack me brutally from within; my own body betraying me, firing sharp and crippling pains through my chest. My legs start to fail me as I am forced to slow down and eventually, I let them come to an inevitable halt. I don't need to run any more, I am far enough away I am sure but I beg them to just keep going and my head is so fucking heavy. The street before me starts to spin wildly out of control and my mouth begins to water. Oh crap. I dart round the side of a house, stumbling into a dark and grimy lane and lurch forward, throwing up nothing but black coffee and bile. The back of my throat burns raw with the acidity of my stomach's contents. Tears stream from my eyes as my body convulses like something out of The Exorcist. When there is eventually nothing left to erect from my stomach, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smooth down my damp and sweaty hair. My legs give way underneath me as I fall back against the wall behind me and stare up at the bright blue sky. Right now, I don't have a clue where I am, but I know that I am safe.
I take out my phone and open my Uber app, allowing it a couple of seconds to find my current location and I’m so grateful for technology at this moment in time because without it, there is no way I would have been able to find my way out of here for myself. I glance around me as I struggle to catch my breath. Wherever I have ended up seems to be quite isolated; rough, almost. A few houses that I can see in the distance have boarded up windows and aged for sale signs in their unkempt front gardens. Breathe. All I need to do here, is breathe. I am not in danger any more. I am OK. I repeat this over and over in my head until my need for fight – or in my case - flight mode begins to slowly but surely fade away. A couple of minutes later my car arrives and I hop inside, melting into the safety of its soft leather seats.
Back in my room, I stripped bare as soon as I got through the door and took a long hot shower in an attempt to freshen myself up, but it was no use, my nerves were still fraught. I surrendered to the chaos and slumped to the bottom of the shower, lying in the foetal position as the water bounced off my fragile skin. I desperately tried to piece together how it all went so horribly wrong, but my efforts were futile, and so all I could do was lay there until I found the strength to move.
Now that I have forced myself back to life, I find myself pacing back and forwards. Again and again and again. Still racking my brain for whatever it is that I'm missing here. There has to be something, I've been so careful. How did this happen? Where was the pivotal moment where things took a sharp turn? Think Karly, think. OK, she told me that he was working late, I’m sure of it because I would never have agreed to go back to hers if I thought for one minute that he would be there. That's it! That stupid, dozy, idiotic, little cow must have got things mixed up. She's not heard him right or she's been mixed up with another day. She ruined it, that's what she's done, and what's worse – he fucking ruined it too.
A loud blood curdling howl escapes me. I was so close to ending all of this and now I am right back at the start. A losing streak in our game of Snakes and Ladders. Everything has changed now though, of course. I can’t go back to simply posting the photograph through his door. No, no, no, that just won't cut it now. More than ever before I am highly aware of the extreme lengths that I am quite clearly prepared to go to now, in order to make sure I get what is rightfully mine.
I can't just post fucking photos. No chance. It’s not even solid proof, not really. Just two people who have drank too much and passed out next to each other. She could easily worm her slimy way out of that. I was naïve to think that would work in the first place. My fists clench painfully at my side; another maddening scream escapes me. If only she really had slept with him. I could have filmed the whole thing on my phone and had real ammunition to work with. I might not even have needed to send it to Jacob, I could have blackmailed her into leaving him, forcing her to do so without causing her any harm. But she had to fuck things up, didn't she? She had to force my arm. She only has herself to blame here. This is not my doing.
I was stupid to think that I could keep both of them. My feelings for each of them would constantly engage in a vicious battle with one another, and the one that came up trumps would be him - every time. It always will be. Everything is going to be OK. When she’s gone, I expect that he will be upset to begin with, it’s only natural, but that will fade over time. Time is a healer and all that shit, and when it does, and his grief subsides, I’ll be there waiting.
My stomach growls angrily. It craves food but is still extremely unsettled from my little, embarrassingly public, vomiting spree earlier on. I perch on the edge of my bed, my elbows balancing on my knees as they jut up and down. I've changed into a pair of black leggings and threw on an off the shoulder jumper that shows just a sliver of my black underwear on my left shoulder. I need to figure out how I can get back into that house. Just me and her though, no interruptions this time. Minutes later, as if she has read my mind, a text from Lauren arrives.
Babe, really worried about you. Hope everything is OK? X
I study it carefully, mulling over my response but before I can figure out a reply, she sends another.
J has gone back out for the night, probs won’t be home till well after we’ve gone to bed if you fancy a sleepover? X
It’s another sign. I'm sure of it. I am d
oing what needs to be done, no doubt about it. Things are starting to escalate and yes, much quicker and entirely differently than originally planned, but I don’t see a point in wasting anymore time now. I know for certain what I need to do now and tonight I will strike whilst the iron is still hot. Come tomorrow morning, everything will be perfect.
Chapter 16
An hour or so later Lauren picks me up from a busy pub, just around the corner from my hotel. I couldn’t fight my hunger anymore and decided to wait for her there whilst I ordered a strong drink and something off the snack menu to pick at. I didn't bother to try and make myself up, what was the point anymore?
I wait for her to offer to help me with my suitcase, but she doesn't. She stands with her back against the driver’s door, chewing gum and staring into space, so I pop the boot and fling my case inside myself. When I slam it shut, she makes a smart-ass remark about the amount of stuff I must have with me for only a few days to need a suitcase that big. I grit my teeth and force my lips to remain tightly shut and do my very best to smile back at her. I mimic a small and disingenuous laugh to break the silence. We will see who is really laughing soon, won't we Lauren?
On the journey to her house I listen to her ramble on and on about Jacob, and how he was acting so odd when he arrived home.
'I was sure he was working late, but I guess I just got mixed up. Anyway, it doesn't matter now because he definitely won't be home to disturb our little girls’ night, babe.’
The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down! Page 10
