Bad Girls

by Rebecca Chance

  Naked to the waist, her impossibly high, perfect breasts jutting out at right angles to her slender ribcage, Skye paused, her pyjamas in her hand.

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I actually believe you. Which is crazy. I actually believe that being friends with some random stripper is more important to you than a shot at Joe Jeffreys.’

  ‘It is,’ Amber said sincerely. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Well, OK then,’ Skye said, laughing. ‘Friends it is!’

  She enfolded Amber in a hug, her head barely coming up to the taller girl’s shoulder, as unselfconscious as only a stripper or model could be about her semi-nakedness.

  ‘You know something funny?’ she said, still laughing. ‘Can you imagine what Joe would do if he saw us like this? In each other’s arms, me topless? It’s got to be what he fantasizes about every single night!’

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ Amber said, starting to laugh too.

  ‘He’d come in his fucking pants!’ Skye giggled, and the two girls cracked up, laughing so hard that Daniyel, doing a curfew patrol to check everyone was in their rooms, tapped on the door and called: ‘Ladies! It’s way past bedtime!’ which, for some reason, just made them laugh harder.

  This is what I need, Amber thought, hugging Skye back as their bodies rocked with laughter. Someone to giggle with about silly things. Someone to be a girl with. Someone I can confide in, who won’t judge me.

  I really hope Skye believes me. Because it’s true: right now, what I need more than anything is a friend.

  It was inconceivable for Amber – unless she was just out of detox – not to make sure that every aspect of her appearance was perfect before she left her room. But, before her daily session with Dr Raf, she was practically obsessive about checking herself out in the mirror. She was wearing a Reiss strapless silk dress, very simply cut, in dip-dyed shades of pale green that brought out the emerald of her eyes; wrapped over it was a big, butter-soft cloud-grey pashmina. Her hair was curled and pinned back from her face, her makeup so carefully applied it was almost invisible: mascara, gel to smooth her eyebrows, the most delicate glow of pale coral blusher, rose lip stain. She had sprayed her Arpège perfume into the air and stepped into it, so it wouldn’t be too obvious, just a subtle veil of scent, and her flat sandals were slender bands of gold leather over her perfectly manicured feet.

  So it was no wonder that Dr Lucy, exiting her office in a swirl of white coat and shiny dark ponytail, took in Amber, looking as if she’d just stepped off a catwalk, and jerked her head back in reaction.

  ‘Hi, Amber!’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t you look smart! Where are you off to?’

  Dr Lucy was effectively blocking Amber’s path down the corridor. Amber had no option but to stop.

  ‘I have my session with Dr Raf,’ Amber said cautiously.

  ‘Oh!’ Dr Lucy’s voice had a coating of frost on it now. ‘Your makeup is lovely,’ she said, smiling, her teeth white and perfectly even. ‘I can tell you used to be a model.’

  That ‘used to be’ grated on Amber exactly as Dr Lucy had meant it to, but her reaction was probably different from what Dr Lucy had been expecting.

  ‘Oh, thank you. Yours is very good too,’ Amber said, giving Dr Lucy the same scrutiny. ‘Very natural.’

  Dr Lucy’s eyes widened fractionally before she smiled and said: ‘Do you know, talking about this has given me a very useful idea. I have this exercise that I do with the women in group. I ask them all to take off their makeup, so they can interact with each other with bare faces, really get to know their essential selves without hiding behind a mask. We must do that very soon.’ She narrowed her gaze, looking at Amber’s luxuriant curled auburn tresses. ‘And I get them to brush out their hair too. Undo the styling. Really get back to basics. You and Skye could certainly benefit from that.’

  Amber had been on the receiving end of plenty of bitchery from women over the years, and she’d never known how to respond. She didn’t want to be bitchy back; that wasn’t in her character, and she wouldn’t know how.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t stand up to her. That doesn’t mean I can’t say she’s gone too far.

  ‘Do you come in without makeup,’ Amber asked, ‘or do you take yours off at the same time we do?’

  ‘I – what?’ Dr Lucy stammered.

  ‘You do it too, don’t you?’ Amber said, terrified now, but pressing on bravely. ‘Otherwise your essential self wouldn’t be interacting with us, right?’

  Dr Lucy’s lipsticked mouth flapped open. ‘Well, I – I’m not sure how appropriate that would be—’

  ‘Oh, look at the time!’ Amber said quickly. ‘I’ll be late!’

  She shot past Dr Lucy and hurried quickly down the corridor, not daring to look back.

  I can’t believe I did that, she thought, her body racing with adrenalin at the confrontation and triumph at how well she’d managed. I really stood up to her! I actually managed to go head to head with Dr Lucy. Rehab is completely changing my life.

  ‘Amber!’ Dr Raf jumped up as she entered his office, staring at her in open appreciation for a moment. ‘You look – well, you look . . .’

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, taking his glasses off and then looking rather hopelessly round for something to clean them with before he put them back on his nose again. He blushed. ‘I shouldn’t really comment – it’s just that you look very, um, positive. In very good spirits.’

  ‘I am,’ Amber said, giving him such a dazzling smile that he hurried forward to pull her chair out for her.

  She settled into it, arranging her skirts around her, as Dr Raf took the other seat, a matching leather chair with a small coffee table between them, in the centre of which was placed the obligatory box of tissues. It was noon, and his dark stubble had not yet begun to show; his olive skin was still smooth. Amber could never decide whether she thought he was more handsome cleanshaven, or with the shadow of his stubble outlining his features, giving him a rougher edge. She stared at him, considering, and her scrutiny made him lift one hand to his cheek, rubbing it self-consciously.

  ‘So!’ Dr Raf said, crossing one chino-clad leg over the other. ‘Amber! I’ve scheduled you double sessions from now on, since we overran yesterday and cut into Petal’s time.’ He flashed a quick, enchantingly boyish grin. ‘And neither of us wants Petal getting cross with us again, do we?’

  God, he’s so gorgeous, Amber thought, smiling back at him. Look at his dimples. I could look at him for ever and never get bored.

  ‘Um . . .’ It was as if Dr Raf had read her thoughts, because his light tenor voice was louder than normal as he continued: ‘Did anything come up for you in group this morning that you want to talk about?’

  Something came up for me a minute ago I want to talk about, Amber thought, but she knew she couldn’t acknowledge Dr Lucy’s hostility to her, not with Dr Raf. She’d had this scenario a million times in her working life: men – the nicer men – wanted to think that women got along fine. There was no point bitching or complaining.

  But I could use it – I could talk about it without mentioning Dr Lucy.

  ‘I’m feeling so much stronger than I used to,’ she said. ‘I open my mouth and these words come out. Words I wanted to say before, but never could.’

  She couldn’t look at Dr Raf while she talked. She’d never been able to. His gaze was fixed on her, his dark eyes soft and so full of empathy that she lost herself in them and couldn’t get back.

  So Amber looked down at her hands, twisted in the folds of her pashmina, as she continued: ‘I could never stand up for myself before. Anything anyone wanted, I did it. I honestly don’t think I knew how to use the word “no”.’

  Dr Raf was nodding. ‘And that included drugs, of course,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She managed a faint smile. ‘I never said “no” to a pill. You know, I look back and realize that for the last ten years or so I was always in a haze. And I didn’t like it.’ She met Dr Raf’s
eyes for a moment. ‘I really didn’t like it. Some people do. They want to be knocked out all the time. But actually, I think I’d’ve been a better model if I’d been sober. I bet if I got out some of my old photos, I’d see it in my eyes. That I’m not completely there.’

  ‘You never did any professional work while you were sober?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I was on tranquillizers from when I was fourteen.’

  Amber expected Dr Raf to say something in response, but he didn’t. He just went on looking at her. And she knew what he was waiting for; she had known it almost since the first session with him.

  ‘I don’t blame Matka – my mum,’ she said eventually. ‘She was just trying to help me.’

  ‘And she’s an addict herself, from what you say,’ Dr Raf prompted.

  ‘Yes. She always says it’s for pain relief. You know, her back hurts, or her arthritis is worse, or something like that . . .’ Amber trailed off, because she’d suddenly had a revelation: All these years, Matka said her back was bad from all the cleaning work she’d done. Bending over, mopping and scrubbing floors. But she was never cleaning at all. That was a lie.

  How many other lies have there been?

  ‘Amber, are you OK?’ Dr Raf asked. ‘You’ve gone very pale.’

  ‘No,’ Amber said slowly. ‘I’m not OK . . .’

  And then, to her horror and dismay, it came pouring out. Slava’s story about being out every night cleaning offices, locking Amber into the flat for safety, when she was really working as a prostitute. The desperation with which Slava had pushed Amber into modelling, her stone-cold insistence that Amber had to succeed at all costs, because they could never go back to their old life in Margate. And Amber’s realization of exactly what Slava had meant by that.

  ‘I can’t imagine it,’ Amber whispered, her pashmina clutched into a tight damp ball now, her fingers working on it. ‘She never told me anything.’

  ‘It sounds as if she was trying to protect you,’ Dr Raf suggested sympathetically.

  Amber’s head shot up, her green eyes full of misery as she looked at him.

  That would be true – if she hadn’t been OK with me doing it as well. If she hadn’t told me she knew what all my ‘dates’ really were.

  If she hadn’t pushed me to go to Dubai.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, and her eyes filled up with tears so fast they came pouring down her cheeks before she’d even realized she was crying.

  Dr Raf was pushing the tissue box towards her. She reached into it, her fingers scrabbling against the cardboard base: it was empty. Muttering apologies, Dr Raf got up and rummaged on the shelves behind his desk for a fresh box, ripping it open. As he came back with it, passing Amber’s chair, he leaned over and handed the box to her.

  Her face was wet with tears. She could hardly see. She fumbled for the box, but it fell through her fingers, dropping to the floor between them. Dr Raf bent to pick it up, but it had slipped partially under her chair; he went to his knees to retrieve it, and when he straightened up, still on his knees, the tissue box in his hand, his face was directly on a level with Amber’s.

  For a split second, they looked at each other, so close that even through the tears clinging to her lashes, Amber could make out every tiny detail of his features. It was one of those moments on which everything hangs: waiting for one of you to lean forward, just a fraction . . . for the other one to lean forward too, acknowledging the tension hanging in the air between you, thick and heady as a cloud of incense.

  Or for the moment to pass. For one of you to pull back, fumbling with something like a tissue box, remembering that he’s a doctor and you’re the patient and that having his mouth so close to yours is completely unprofessional.

  I won’t let that happen. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.

  It was the bravest thing Amber had ever done, and if she’d given herself any time to think it over she would have stalled.

  But she didn’t. She leaned forward and kissed Dr Raf, her mouth tender and wet with her own tears, and as soon as their lips touched, the electricity that had sparked before, when their hands met, short-circuited and burst into flames. If Dr Raf had any resistance in him, it melted the moment he tasted the salt of Amber’s tears against the warmth of his mouth.

  The kiss was better than any drug Amber had ever taken. They were wrapped in a cloud now; heavy and dark, enveloping them so closely that their movements were long and slow and languorous, as if in a dream. Dr Raf’s hands slid up Amber’s arms, lingering on her bare skin, wrapping round her back, tangling into her hair, pulling her close, their mouths never leaving each other’s. His tongue slid past her lips, and her whole body trembled with incredulity at how wonderful it felt; Dr Raf inside her, wanting her, his scent all around her, his hands on her body. She closed her hands over his arms, tracing his muscles, hearing him groan deep in his throat at the feel of her fingers against him, and she couldn’t believe this was happening, that the world had spun so out of kilter that she was able to touch Dr Raf as she had yearned to ever since she’d first seen him, press herself against him, slide her fingers against his scalp, feeling the tight curls of his dark hair springing against her palms, absorbing every sensation as slowly as she could, not wanting to rush a second.

  It felt like they never stopped kissing. Dr Raf was pulling her pashima off her shoulders now, the feel of his hands on her bare skin so wonderful that Amber heard herself moaning as if from a long way away. He had found the zip in the back of her dress and was sliding it down. She pressed herself against his chest, making it easier for him, helpless to do anything but wrap herself closer against him, and tilt her mouth up to his, so that they could keep kissing as her dress fell to her waist. And as his mouth left hers for a moment, so he could look down and see her, she started to unbutton his shirt, sliding one button and then the next out of their holes with ease, taking it as slowly as she could, unwrapping the best present she would ever have in her life, making each moment last as long as she possibly could.

  Slava’s rules for Amber’s appearance had always been strict. Not only was her makeup to be perfect, her nails shiny and polished, she was never to wear lingerie that didn’t match. Amber had never been more grateful than now for that rule; her pale green lacy Chantelle bra and knicker set was exquisite, and she knew it. Dr Raf sighed in sheer delight at the sight of her breasts in the strapless bra, his palms caressing her nipples through the lace till they stood up hard and eager against him. Amber was sighing too as she dragged the cotton of his shirt off his shoulders, baring his smooth warm tawny skin, running her hands over his toned pectorals, making his nipples as hard as hers.

  They looked up at the same time. Their lips met again at the same time. It was as if they were choreographed, every movement paralleling the other one’s, never needing to ask, because they already knew what their lover wanted. Amber slid off her chair just as Dr Raf pulled her towards him, and they tumbled to the carpet, pushing the chair back till they were lying in each other’s arms. Dr Raf unclipped her bra, and the sensation of her breasts pressing against his naked chest sent them both to a new height of sensation. She writhed against him, their tongues twining so neither of them could have said where one began and the other ended.

  He was pulling up the silk folds of her skirt; she was unbuttoning his trousers, his hips already rotating against hers, his cock hard. It pressed against her through the soft cotton fabric of his boxers, grinding the lace of her French knickers into her, an exquisite, delicately scratching sensation that stimulated her so much that she realized she was gripping onto his shoulders now, pushing herself down on him, working the lace of her knickers against her clitoris, feeling the swollen tip of his cock exactly where she wanted it, taking her pleasure in a way she never had before, his tongue filling her mouth, and before she knew it, she was coming, sighing and moaning her pleasure into his mouth, spasming again and again in a long slow series of orgasms that left he
r as dizzy as if she were blissfully high on vodka and Vicodin.

  Better, so much better . . . Oh God, I’ve never felt anything like this in my life . . .

  The cloud was lifting her up now; she was lying on it, floating, her limbs sprawled out in release, so completely relaxed that when Dr Raf’s body pulled away, his heat fading, she didn’t protest. Even though she was naked from the waist up, her dress pulled up to her hips, the sandals still on her feet, Amber didn’t feel vulnerable in the slightest. Somehow, she knew he was coming back to lie beside her.

  And she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Every muscle in her body was limp, every nerve overloaded. So she simply lay there, the afterglow of her orgasms still washing gently through her, keeping her aloft on the cloud, until a drawer slammed and a few quick footsteps brought Dr Raf back to her, kicking off his shoes, dragging down his boxers, dropping to his knees beside her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in the sight of him with awe. His shirt was hanging open, off his muscled shoulders and bare chest; he was naked to his knees, where his trousers and boxers were caught, and his thighs were just as strong, his quads just as defined, as they had looked through the material of his trousers. And his penis, rosy and full and stretching out towards her . . .

  Dr Raf paused, looking down at her. In one hand was a condom packet which he had been about to tear open; at the sight of it she moaned in excitement, knowing it meant he would soon be inside her. But the reality of what they were about to do had just hit him the moment he ripped at the foil. In his eyes she read doubt, hesitation, and the beginnings of guilt.

  And then she reached her arms up to him imploringly, and the look in her eyes overrode everything else. He dragged the condom on as she grabbed the lacy knickers and pulled them off, wriggling her hips to get them as far down as she could before Dr Raf dropped to the carpet, his hand around his cock, guiding it up inside her as her mouth dropped open in a silent scream of ecstasy. She was so wet that his cock drove up inside her easily, filling her at the first thrust. Their arms wrapped around each other tightly as their bodies pressed together, Dr Raf finding her mouth and kissing her again.