Ruined

by LP Lovell

  “Well, put him in the kennel.” She snaps. “Back!” She commands the dog inside, and it obediently does so. Shit, Gary should come and stay with this woman for a while. He might learn a thing or two.

  She opens the kennel door, and Hugo has to shove Gary inside. I think he’s worried that this might be his new home. He’s not cut out for a life behind bars. He’s an Egyptian Cotton and fresh steak kind of guy. He wouldn’t survive this. He flashes a worried glance at Hugo and sits staring at him, like a child being left on the first day of school. Ah, it’s heart breaking.

  “I’m not leaving you bud. You have to go and…you know….stick it to her.” He winks at the dogs sad face.

  “I’m sure he completely understands what stick it to her means.” I comment from my puppy corner. “I think your dog’s a dud.”

  “Hey, he only just met her. Give him a chance to work his moves. It takes time.” Oh dear god. Really?

  “I think we should leave. Give them some privacy.” He says.

  I laugh. “He has no bloody problem with privacy when he’s at the park, trying to rape some poor woman’s prize show dog!” Hugo ushers both Henrietta and I outside the foul smelling building. I stand with my arms crossed, trying to ward off the cold. Hugo peeks through the glass top half of the door.

  “Oh, he’s having a sniff.” He says.

  Apparently I’m going to get a blow by blow commentary of his dog’s shagging experience. Not something I want to hear if I’m honest. I tune him out, and take out my phone. I have a few emails to reply to that are work related.

  I’m skimming through them all when I notice one with the subject line: Dinner.

  I frown as I swipe the screen to open the email. My stomach tightens the second I read it. It’s from my father.

  Molly.

  Here are the details of the dinner reservation, as previously discussed.

  A table has been booked at Cote, on Friday 20th February for 7.30pm. Do not be late.

  Sincerely

  Sebastian Curtis

  CEO, SC Investments.

  I’ll put money on the fact that his secretary wrote that for him. The 20th is the day after tomorrow. My stomach immediately starts churning, making me feel sick. God, why do I get like this about my father? It’s ridiculous! He’s just one person. I want to call my mum, but honestly, she has this habit of making me feel worse about it. He’s an arsehole, and yet she defends him. Sometimes you just want to hate someone, and for it to be okay. You don’t want justification or sensible reasoning. She thinks I hate him because of what he did to her, I don’t. I hate him because he takes pleasure in making me feel like shit. I hate him because he’s just not a good person. I don’t want horrible people around me. With him though, I apparently have no choice.

  Ninety nine percent of the time he has no effect whatsoever on my life. He doesn’t talk to me, I don’t talk to him and all is good in the world. Roughly twice a year he decides to remember that he has a daughter, and goes about getting me back under his thumb. He’s manipulative and cruel if he has to be. As long as he thinks he controls me, he will then leave and I won’t hear from him for another six months. All I have to do is turn up to the dinner, let him belittle me for a couple of hours, and that’s it. I suppose it’s a small price to pay for my flat.

  “What the fuck. Has her pussy got teeth or something?!” Hugo shrieks. I spin around and find Hugo’s face pressed to the glass. “Oh my god. She’s gonna snap his dick off.” He flaps.

  Henrietta looks positively disgusted by Hugo’s outburst, unsurprisingly. She glances through the window beside him. “That is perfectly normal. They’ve tied.” She exclaims.

  Hugo cups his package. “Poor fucker. If I’d known that would happen I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  Yeah, I have no idea what that’s about, but it sounds gross. “Hugo, I’m going to go wait in the car.” I tell him.

  He doesn’t acknowledge me. His face is a picture of horror as he watches whatever is going on inside the doggy love shack.

  “Hugo!” I shout at him. He turns his face toward me. “Keys.” His eyes flick over my face, a small frown line forming between his eyebrows. He wordlessly takes his keys from his pocket and hands them to me.

  “I’ll be right there, as soon as Gaz is…detached.” He winces as he says it.

  I shrug and follow the path back to the rear of the house, and out the side gate that leads to the front drive. I press the button on the fob, and the car makes a little chirping noise.

  Once inside, I plug my phone into his sound system and start playing some Royal Blood. I let the drums and guitar combination push away any thoughts that are currently trying to swirl around in my brain. Fuck this shit.

  I pick up the phone, and read the email over again. Maybe it’s the lack of anything particularly interesting that bothers me. It’s just so…benign.

  I quickly press the reply button and type out a brief response.

  Sebastian

  I will be there as agreed.

  Regards

  Molly Curtis

  Editorial Assistant, Catwalk Publications.

  It’s my work email, so my name and job title are set as a template on all my emails. I could delete it, but he didn’t offer me the courtesy, so I don’t. It annoys him that I work for a magazine, and it annoys him even more that I’m an assistant. Might as well rub it in.

  I press the send button, and sit back in my seat.

  A few minutes later and Hugo opens the passenger door, to let Gary into the foot well. He doesn’t even try to drool on me. He lays down in the tight space, curling around my feet. Poor guy looks knackered. Hugo slides behind the steering wheel and waves an envelope at me.

  “Gaz may eat a lot, but he’s paying for himself.” I nod and feign a small smile.

  I just want to go home. I’m not in the mood for Hugo’s permanently overly joyful state right now.

  He tries to make conversation with me on the way home, and asks if I’m okay. I tell him I’m fine. I can see him glancing over at me in my peripheral vision.

  I turn the music up slightly, and turn my face toward the window.

  We stop to drop Gary off at Hugo’s flat, before he drives me home.

  “Thanks.” I say as I get out of the car, slamming the car door shut behind me. I’m almost to my front door, when I hear his door slam, and that little chirp of the car locking.

  I spin on my heel to face him. He’s only a couple of feet away from me. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath and releases me slowly. “Coming in, so I can find out why you’re pissed off with me.”

  I turn back and unlock the building door. “I’m not pissed off with you. I’m fine.” I snap.

  “Uh-huh. Real convincing there Sweetness.” I push the door open and he follows me through, like a shadow.

  My flat door is immediately on the left. I turn and press my back to it, facing him. “Honestly Hugo. I’m fine. Just go.”

  His eyes narrow and he steps closer to me, until there’s almost no space between us. He leans one forearm against the door beside my head. “Give it up Molly. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I did to piss you off.” My pulse skitters wildly as his body leans in closer to mine.

  “Not everything is about you!” I shout.

  He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “No shit. I thought only I had the ability to piss you off.” He smirks.

  “Sadly, no.” I sigh. “Look, just go. It’s just not a good time okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He laughs. “Not a fucking chance. Inside now. You will tell me. And remember I have no respect for boundaries or socially appropriate behaviour, so there’s no point in arguing with me.”

  I groan. God, he’s infuriating. I push him away from me and turn around to unlock the door. “You said you hate girl shit.”

  He shrugs. “I do…with anyone but you.” I smile, because even if he doesn’t realise it, which he won’t, that’s actu
ally really quite sweet. I lean my forehead against the door for a second. I just don’t want to talk about it, but Hugo is like an annoying child, and he won’t let this go.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you, but this will need wine.” I warn. “And you can buy pizza.” I add.

  “On it.” He says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He starts tapping away, and I start hunting for that wine. I’m sure we have a bottle in the fridge. I’m pretty good at keeping the place stocked.

  George is out. It’s a Saturday night, so he’s probably out on the pull somewhere. George and I are good friends, but honestly, Lilly kind of linked us. George and I are the devil and angel on her shoulder if you like. I was always the one trying to keep her on the straight and narrow. She has a lot of issues, and she doesn’t always deal with them very well. I would always be the rational one, where George would take her out and get her so smashed she couldn’t remember what the hell the problem was in the first place. Basically George and I are two opposite ends of a spectrum, and although I’m happy to party with him on occasion, I can’t keep up with him like Lilly used to. He knows it and I know it, so all is well. George is one of those people who will walk into a bar on his own, but never ever leave alone. Whether it’s making friends with a group of girls, or pulling a guy, he’s very sociable and instantly likeable. His looks don’t hurt either. He jokingly calls me a heart breaker, because of my admittedly rather large list of ex’s. If I’m a breaker of hearts, then George is a destroyer of them. I’ve lost count of the number of hopeful faces I’ve watched walk out of his bedroom in the morning, never to be seen again.

  No doubt I’ll be seeing just such a face tomorrow morning.

  “Okay. Pizza is ordered, and I even said I’d give him a big tip if he stopped and got some wine.” Hugo says coming into the kitchen. I straighten from where I’m bent over in the fridge. I glance over my shoulder and find him staring at my arse. He looks up at me and shrugs without apology.

  “I have one bottle.” I wave said bottle at him.

  “I take it this is a two bottle conversation?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow.

  I nod. “This is most definitely a two bottle situation.”

  He nods, looking thoughtful. “Okay. So are you going to tell me?”

  I pour out a glass of wine for Hugo, and another for myself. When I say glass, I use the term loosely. Lilly’s brother Harry is always travelling, and he brought us back a set of wineglasses from Italy. I shit you not, you can get three quarters of a bottle in one glass. They’re more like buckets on sticks.

  I hand him one glass and take a gulp from the other. I move from the kitchen to the living room, he follows me quietly. I take a seat on the sofa, with my back to the arm and my legs folded underneath me. He sits close to me, side on and grabs one ankle, pulling my legs out from underneath me until my feet are in his lap. He does this often, and sometimes I think it’s not even a conscious thing, he just does it. He must like it. He always just rests his hands across my shins, or grips my ankles loosely. It’s not sexual in any way, but that casual touch shocks me. It’s a foreign, but oddly comforting slice of warmth that Hugo rarely shows. Don’t get me wrong, Hugo is warm. Few people smile as much as Hugo, or are as quick to laugh. He exudes this happiness, and yet…he’s ice cold. He has this care free vibe going on, but underneath that façade, he’s terrified of feeling anything. He would never ever admit it, but as soon as you get to know him, it’s glaringly obvious. He doesn’t talk about anything in depth. As soon as anything emotional starts to come up, he jokingly skirts around it. Getting to the real guy under all that whoring and partying bravado is not something I’ve managed, but it must be there.

  He turns his body slightly to face me. “Okay. Talk.”

  I drag my fingers through my hair. “You don’t want to hear this shit. I know you’d rather be fucking some girl right now.”

  He frowns and presses his lips into a line. He looks…confused. “I’d rather my friend told me why she went from being the cool chick I know to…well, a moody girl.” He says the word girl like it offends him and it makes me laugh. Aside from the fact that I’m pretty sure he would fuck me if I asked, because, it’s Hugo, and I have a vagina, I think he almost sees me as one of the guys.

  I take a deep breath. I hate talking about this shit. Mostly because I think it just sounds pathetic. I sound like some teenager who’s pissed over their parents divorce or some shit.

  “Okay. I have to go to dinner with my dad on Friday.” He says nothing, just waits patiently. “I hate him.” Nothing. “Like, really hate him.”

  “So don’t go.” He says as though it’s so damn obvious.

  I tilt my head back and study a spot on the ceiling. “It’s not that simple. He’s my dad, and he pays for the flat.” I sigh. “I only have to see him once every few months. It’s a small price to pay, but I still hate it nonetheless.”

  He nods in understanding. “Why do you hate him?”

  I laugh humourlessly. “Now that is a simple question with a really bloody long answer.” I murmur before taking another heavy gulp of wine. It’s cheap stuff, and it tastes like crap, but I don’t really care. “He’s just a dick.”

  He laughs. “There are a lot of people who are guilty of that.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I guess. He just likes to make me feel like shit. Whatever I do isn’t good enough. He pays for the flat so he can control me.”

  “So why not just go it alone?” He says in a tight voice.

  “My mum totally freaked out about me living in London. She hates him too, but she put her pride on the line and called him, to get him to rent the flat for me. When they divorced, he left her with nothing. She does okay for herself now, but she doesn’t have anywhere near the money he has.” I explain. “She worries about me and Lilly, continuously.”

  “I have wondered before how you guys managed to afford this place. These apartments aren’t cheap.” He mutters. “Your mum’s right to worry about you though. London isn’t always the safest.”

  “I just wonder sometimes whether the price is too high. Sometimes your pride is more important, and I would love to tell him to go fuck himself.” I stare at my hands, spread across my thighs.

  “You shouldn’t let him walk all over you, Molly.” His eyes search my face.

  “I don’t have much choice.” I whisper.

  “You know I would always help you out with this shit…” He says. I glance up at him, and he’s staring at a spot on my shin, drawing little circles on it with his finger.

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighs. “Look, I have more money than I could ever spend…” He starts.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I would never take money off you Hugo, you’re my friend.” There’s a beat of silence as I chug the rest of my glass of wine.

  “Sweetness.” He says gently.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look at me.” Gentle fingers touch my chin, pulling my gaze up to meet his. I meet his eyes, which are determined, yet soft. “It’s because you’re my friend that I would do anything for you, but if you won’t let me buy your way out of dinner, then I’ll come with you.” My heart squeezes violently, and my chest gets tight.

  I shake my head. “He won’t like it, and he’ll think we’re dating.”

  He smirks and tilts his head to the side. “You know I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I don’t give a fuck whether he likes it or not. He can think what he likes about us, but I’ll go as your friend.”

  “You would do that for me?” I ask quietly.

  His lips kick up in a sweet smile. “Sweetness, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.” Again with the sweet statements. I may have to check he hasn’t had a personality transplant. I want to crack a joke at him, but I don’t.

  “Thanks.” I smile.

  He takes my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “No-one gets to put you down except me.” He flashes me that charming smile and a wink.

  Hugo stays an
d hangs out with me. I don’t know if it’s weird that I spend more time with Hugo than I do with Alex, like a lot more time. I guess that’s just how it goes when Alex works ridiculous shifts, and Hugo doesn’t work at all. I’m well aware of the fact that Hugo and I hang out mainly because he currently has no-one else. I’m sure that as soon as Theo and Lilly come back things will go back to normal, and we’ll see each other on social occasions like we did before. That thought makes me sad. Hugo and I have become the most unlikely of friends. I doubted we would ever have anything beyond flirtation and sexual innuendos, but I think I judged him too quickly. Under his bullshit, he’s a good guy. He’s borderline insane most of the time, and he does some crazy shit, but he’s good.

  I send Alex a text wishing him a good night. I don’t get one back, but then I don’t expect it. He’s working the late shift tonight.

  We eat pizza, drink wine and watch this year’s Victoria Secret fashion show. I love all the theatrics of it, and well…Hugo isn’t exactly complaining. I eventually fall asleep watching some film with my head on his lap. Who knew that under that man-whore exterior is really just a big softie.

  ************

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I’m wearing a pencil skirt with a fitted blouse tucked into it. My father would approve. God, really? Part of me wants to throw on a mini dress and thigh high boots just to get a reaction, but honestly, I just want to get this over with as quietly as possible. I lift my hand to tuck my poker straight blonde hair behind my ear, and notice that my hand is shaking. I snatch my fingers into a fist. “Man the fuck up Molly.” I growl at myself under my breath.

  My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m debating sending him a message to tell him I’m ill, when I hear a quiet tap tap on my bedroom door.

  “Come in.” I shout through the bathroom doorway.

  I hear the bedroom door click open, and then Hugo appears in the doorway. He leans against the door frame, with his arms crossed over his chest. His fitted shirt strains over his biceps and shoulders, and he’s wearing trousers, proper suit trousers.