Saving from Monkeys

by Star, Jessie L.

  I watched as the girl, apparently needing no further provocation than a quick glance in her direction, unfurled herself off the car and began to stalk towards us, her hips swinging as if she was a model on a catwalk. Switching my gaze back to Elliot and seeing his shoulders hunch, I felt my stomach sink. Right, of course, he'd slept with her.

  It wasn't that I was surprised Elliot hooked up with these girls; he was 20 and hot and surrounded by girls of a similar age and hotness level so I got it. And obviously it wasn't that I minded; we'd had a stupid, drunken, meaningless one night stand, I hardly had any claim to him or anything. It was just...rich pretty boy sleeping around? It was such a cliché.

  "Remember, random slutty girls aren't just for Christmas, Smelliot," I said under my breath in a sugary sweet tone as the girl drew alongside us. "They're yours for life."

  "Elliot!" The girl leant in to wrap her arms briefly around his neck and I tried not to take some nasty little pleasure in the way he winced as she touched him. Not appearing to have noticed his pain, the girl leant back to smile charmingly at him. "It's been ages. How've you been?"

  OK, so not a recent notch on his bedpost then, that made me feel slightly better. No girl likes to think she'd barely collected up her clothes before another chick was shedding hers.

  "Hey, Samantha," Elliot greeted her, and I was impressed that he managed to sound so polite considering his reaction when he'd first seen her. "This is Rox."

  My abrupt introduction seemed to throw the new arrival, but good breeding clearly came to the fore and she smiled graciously at me.

  "Hello." I watched her painfully blue eyes sweep over me and her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch slightly as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of me and my suggestive hoodie. "So...um, how do you two know each other?"

  "I was his chambermaid," I said brightly, thoroughly rewarded with a look of total incomprehension that made Samantha's beautiful face all crumpled.

  "His what?"

  "Chambermaid," I repeated, ignoring Elliot's sigh. "You know, Elliot's bedroom was his chamber and I cleaned it. I was his chambermaid."

  I noticed some more of Elliot's rich adventure buddies had looked over now, maybe they'd smelt a poor person in their midst...or maybe they too were impressed by Samantha’s undeniably eye-catching side-boob.

  "You're his maid?" Samantha looked between Elliot and me as if trying to figure out if we were joking or not.

  "That's right." I lifted my chin, daring her to make something of it. Poor girl, I probably should’ve just let it go, but it's really hard not to mess with someone so pretty when you haven't had a shower that day.

  Samantha glanced again at Elliot and he said, "Well, she's not now. Back in the day, though, she used to dig through my stuff and pretend it was because she was cleaning, yeah."

  "Oh, well," Samantha recovered from her disbelief with quite impressive poise and attempted an open smile. "Nice to meet you, Rox."

  "And you," I said, hoping that the next time I saw her I was the CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation and had brushed my hair.

  Clearly sensing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with Elliot that day, Samantha cast me one last quick look before turning back to Elliot. Stepping forward, she delicately placed a hand on his shoulder and leant in to whisper, if the look on his face was anything to go by, not so delicate things into his ear. Moving back, she dropped a light kiss on his lips, said "See you later," and sashayed away, leaving a long line of gawking guys in her wake.

  "Well," I said into the resounding silence that followed her departure, "if you don't do her I will. She's hot."

  Elliot let out a bark of laughter, that turned into an alarming wheeze, and clutched at his ribs. "You girls," he gasped as his face paled, "you'll be the death of me."

  "You're the one who slingshot yourself," I tutted, but I could see he was genuinely in pain, and I wasn't such a witch that I didn't feel a bit sorry for him.

  In fact, as he clutched harder at the car as if to stop himself swaying, I heard myself sigh and say, "Look, standing around down here's probably not doing you any good. You could come up to Abi's and mine and lie down for a bit if you want."

  He looked at me quickly in surprise, but didn't say anything and I started to feel embarrassed, as if my invitation had had a Samantha-like edge.

  "You know what?" I asked as the silence between us dragged on. "Offer withdrawn in 3…2…"

  "I accept," he said quickly and then, more awkwardly, "thanks."

  I ignored his thanks, that word sitting weirdly between us, and instead eyed his reliance on the car before asking uncertainly, "Can you walk alright?" He nodded, but there was an uncertain edge to it so I added, "Are you lying?" And he nodded again.

  OK then. I put my arm gently around his waist and felt his warm weight settle against my side. He didn't limp, but it was clear that every step hurt him as I guided him slowly towards the lifts that would take us up to my floor.

  Clearly sad to see him go, there was a chorus of farewells from his buddies as we went past, which Elliot acknowledged with a somewhat regal wave. Because he was hurt, I forgave him this little bit of pomposity and only muttered one or two insults under my breath.

  Abi and Jonah resubmerged as we drew alongside them, Abi breathlessly murmuring something about staying at Jonah's for the night even as I saw her eyes noting the position of my arm with interest. She didn't miss a trick that girl.

  Elliot and I were silent in the lift up to my floor, leaving me plenty of time to ponder how he'd managed to get me from 'you're a knob-head' to nursemaid in less than 10 minutes. There was no denying the boy had skills.

  Entering my room, I hesitated only momentarily before helping him over to my bed. Well, really! It's not like I could've put him in Abi's. First rule of a relationship, never have your boyfriend's best friend in your bed.

  "Urgh," Elliot groaned, picking up one of my economics textbooks as I went to the kitchenette to grab him some water. "I hate this crap."

  "Not exactly following the family line on that then," I snatched away my precious book and shoved the water at him. "The Sinclair name is pretty much Economics 101, I think your dad's actually mentioned in here somewhere..."

  "Huh," he laughed humourlessly. "If he knew you existed you and my dad would probably get along pretty well, you've certainly hit on his favourite topic."

  "Fiscal policy?" I asked finding the page I’d meant and turning it to show him.

  He shook his head and replied, "Himself."

  "Well, there's something that does run in the family then," I said with an eye roll, putting down the book and collecting up the rest of the papers so the bed was clear. As he shifted back and started to make himself comfortable against my pillows, I added, "You really shouldn't bag your dad out like that, you know. It only makes things with him a million times worse."

  "Ah yes, but haven't you heard?" He fished into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills, swallowing two with the aid of the water I'd brought him before finishing, "I'm the ungrateful son. Badmouthing my dad is what I do; if I didn't do it we'd have nothing to talk about at Christmas."

  I looked at him warily, cursing myself for guiding us back into family counselling territory, but disaster was yet again averted as he suddenly exclaimed, "Fuck me, how small is your room? You don't get much for what you pay for."

  Ouch!

  "And how would you know?" I asked, thoroughly insulted. How could he drag me so quickly from feeling sorry for him to wanting to poke him in his sore stomach again?

  "Right, sorry," he spoke hurriedly, but seemed sincere regardless as he shoved the pill bottle back in his pocket. "That was a shitty thing to say. I'm just knackered, do you mind if I...?" he vaguely motioned at the pillows and the dark shadows under his eyes seemed suddenly thrown into stark relief.

  "No, go for it," I said quickly. "I'll just be over here..."

  I trailed off feebly, but he just nodded, his eyes already closing. I guess it took a lot
out of you, being launched by a slingshot.

  Settling myself on Abi's bed, I pulled my textbooks open again, but it became clear pretty quickly that they weren't going to provide me with the same sense of tranquillity they had before. Elliot's breathing slowed, indicating he'd fallen asleep, but I was troubled by the wincing he seemed to be doing even while unconscious. Just how hurt was he?

  Horror stories of people who had fallen asleep never to wake up again started to fill my head and I felt my stomach sink at how I'd joked about internal bleeding. Yes he was irritating, but I didn't want Elliot to die! Not in my bed, at any rate, and not before I'd got to the bottom of us sleeping together.

  I suddenly remembered that the pill bottle he'd brought out had had a pharmacy label on the side. Maybe that would provide some clues as to what he'd done to himself.

  Sliding off Abi's bed, I crept over to Elliot’s side and then hovered uncertainly above him. If I rummaged in his pockets would he wake up? I was sure I'd never live it down if he woke to find me with my hand awkwardly close to his crotch. Then again, him dying kind of took the cake awkward-wise.

  Elliot twisted round in his sleep as I stood there; hitching his t-shirt up slightly and I had to hold back a little whimper. An ugly dark bruise spread across his exposed skin, looking 100 times more painful than his crack about my small room.

  My mind made up, I pushed my hand as swiftly as I could into his pocket and retrieved the bottle. After all my angst, it was easy and there, on the label, was a doctor's name and phone number.

  "Well, Smelliot," I said quietly as I went to dig out my mobile, "let's see what's what."

  ----------

  He slept the sleep of the medicated injured, that weird mix of heavily unconscious and borderline awake. A couple of times he heard Rox talking and he was sure at one stage he'd felt her take his shoes off, but it was all blurry and unreal.

  Finally, though, with an awakening not dissimilar to battling his way from the deepest ocean floor to the surface, he peeled open his eyes. God it was bright!

  It took him several goes to finally stand the light, but when he did manage it, the first thing he saw was Rox looking over at him from the other bed. He was used to her 'I'm about to say something crazy' look and he knew all too well her 'you are nought but something gross I've stepped in' look, but her expression this time was foreign to him.

  "It lives," she deadpanned when she saw that he was awake and he coughed against the furriness in his mouth to croak,

  "Yeah, barely," in reply.

  "Well it's a start," she rested her chin on her drawn up knees, seeming kind of self-conscious. Then she blurted out, "You must be busting for the loo."

  And now she mentioned it...

  Momentarily forgetting that moving was a bad idea, he sat up quickly and then hissed as his whole chest seemed to set itself on fire. Damn that hurt!

  "Easy," Rox was suddenly beside him, looking at him with such genuine concern he felt momentarily giddy...although that could’ve been the extreme pain he was in.

  He waved her away, trying for a 'thanks, but no thanks' smile to accompany his dismissal, but probably just grimacing at her. Whatever his expression, she didn't back off too far, hovering nearby as he forced himself up, grabbing his painkillers (that had somehow ended up on the bedside table) as he went. He had to sidle in sideways to squish into the teeny tiny bathroom, but the effort was worth it as his head started to clear with his bladder.

  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was a bit after 9 am. Considering he remembered getting back to uni not long after 2 pm, he deduced he'd somewhat overshot the short rest he'd intended to have. Well damn, no wonder Rox had been looking worried.

  He knocked down a couple more of the painkillers, all warnings about taking them on an empty stomach null and void when compared to the feeling of being knifed every time he breathed.

  Staggering back out into the main room, he leant against the wall for a moment to get his balance and clocked the colour coordinated timetable pinned next to his hand. It looked like Rox was missing Economics 306 to play Florence Nightingale; he couldn't have said why this knowledge made him feel so odd.

  "Shouldn't you be in class?" He asked as he made his way back to her bed, trying not to groan in relief as he lay down again. As God was his witness, he was never going to allow himself to be slingshot again.

  Rox pushed back some of her hair and he noticed that it wasn't as messy as the last time he'd seen it. In fact, she was now sensibly dressed in a neat pair of jeans and a top that, to his admittedly uninitiated eyes, looked stiff from ironing. Shame, he missed rumpled Rox.

  "I know that textbook better than the lecturer," she said haughtily, "I think I can miss one lecture."

  He was too out of it to play the games they usually played so he just came out with what he was thinking. "You're worried about me."

  "No!" She denied quickly, before pursing her lips and admitting, "...OK yes, maybe I'm a little bit worried, but not about you. I'm worried you'll haemorrhage all over my newly washed sheets or something. Not that you will haemorrhage," she hurriedly added, perhaps thinking it was something he was anxious about, "I checked."

  "Checked?" He repeated, struggling, as always, to figure out what she was talking about

  "With your doctor from the hospital."

  "The hospital in Papua New Guinea?"

  "Yes," she said patiently. "Why? Did you go to another hospital?"

  "No, I..." He had enough trouble keeping up with her when he wasn't drugged, in pain and barely conscious; in his current state he didn't have a hope. "You called my doctor in Papua New Guinea?" He tried again. "Why?"

  "I wanted to know what was wrong with you,” she announced this as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Good news, you're only incredibly badly bruised. It's a miracle according to Dr Tagobe."

  Because he felt like something vital had just gone mushy at hearing she'd given enough of a damn to track down an overseas doctor for him, he ramped up the grumpiness as he replied, "Only incredibly bruised? Sounds like that doctor should just stick to malaria."

  "Malaria?" Rox said blankly.

  "Yeah, big problem in PNG," he said unthinkingly, before remembering himself and adding, "...apparently."

  "Oh," she looked at him oddly, "that sucks. I hate mosquitoes."

  He let out a 'hmph' of laughter. "Me too."

  "Did you take more of those pills?" She asked suddenly, her eyes alighting on the pill bottle still clutched in his hand. "Because they're really strong and you haven't eaten in hours, idiot."

  "Mmm, strong is good," he murmured, feeling his eyes start to close again. They were quick too.

  He heard her groan and mutter something that definitely included the word 'moron' and probably 'monkey', but then she was next to him and leaning down to help him shift back onto the pillows.

  "Look at you being all nice," he practically slurred, sounding a bit like Nan now he thought of it. "It's kind of off-putting."

  "Yeah, well, don't read too much into it," she snorted. "You're just my restriction."

  He didn't even have the energy to verbalise his confusion at this reply, but his expression must have given it away, because she rolled her eyes and explained, "You're the constraint I cannot change myself, and thus have to take as given." She dragged a blanket over him and the last thing he heard was her murmuring, "Sweet dreams, don't overdose."

  Chapter 8 – The Penis not Forgotten and the Smell of Green

  The problem with exes is that, for forever and always, you knew what their penis looked like.

  This was the prevailing thought in my mind that evening as I sat in the pub across the table from Jason. He had been my first crush, sex and relationship at uni and briefly, ever so briefly, I'd thought we might be on our way somewhere awesome.

  Then one day, as we sat working together on the problems we'd been set from our accounting tute, he’d started flicking his nails. It was entirely possible he'd done this befor
e and, in my romantically dazed state, I hadn't noticed, but from then on, it was all I noticed. That and the way he pretentiously rolled his r's and held doors open for me with a little smirk that said 'look at me being all chivalrous and manly'. Basically, every one of his little quirks became, in my mind, akin to fingernails down a chalkboard. So...yeah...we hadn't lasted long after that.

  No-one had been heartbroken, there were no tears and only a week or so of gloom, and now we regularly went out in the same group of friends and smiled and chatted just fine.

  All this, however, did not take away from that one, inescapable fact. I knew what Jason's penis looked like, and it was driving me crazy.

  This, I thought furiously to myself, is why we're supposed to have massive, dramatic break-ups and never speak to our exes again. It's to save us from having to hold polite conversation with someone whose dangly bits you intimately know.

  "You alright, Rox?" Annette, one of my awesome new buddies, who understood just how life affirming Keynesian economics is, nudged my arm and smiled at me.

  I so wanted to blurt out that I was going out of my mind trying to not picture Jason's penis, but I somehow managed to hold my tongue.

  This was the blessing of this group of friends, the self-restraint that so often seemed to desert me, appeared in droves. I was actually able to have quite calm, fun little debates with these people and rarely did I get the 'Elliot' look in return; the look that said, 'I have no idea what you're talking about, crazy'. The only downside to this normalcy was that I was often exhausted after spending too much time with them. When this happened, I ran on home to Abi and buried her under the avalanche of weird thoughts I'd withheld.

  That was what I really wanted to do now, but I couldn't. Tonight Abi was cooking for Jonah in our room (a culinary experience he was unlikely to forget in a hurry as my roommate's speciality was microwave dinners) and I'd promised to stay out nice and late. I hadn't minded making this promise at the time, but now, with Jason's penis rapidly taking over all cognitive thought, I was beginning to regret it.