Bad Girls

by Rebecca Chance

  It was perfect. It was like coming home. It was as if their bodies had been made to fit together. Dr Raf rocked against her slowly, his cock scarcely moving in and out of her, but pressing inexorably against her clitoris, rubbing her G-spot, with such exquisitely gradual stimulation that she sobbed and bucked against him, begging him to go faster.

  His elbows propped on either side of her head, his hands cradling her face, he whispered against her mouth, shushing her, kissing her, refusing to speed up his pace, building the fire between them with every slow stroke of his hips. Amber tilted her hips to meet him, pushing down against him every time he drove fully into her, making him groan against her mouth with pleasure, sending herself into a trance of delight. Her eyes closed, her head fell back. Waves of stronger and stronger excitement were rushing up her body, taking it over. She had stopped trying to rush, to force Dr Raf to go faster; she had surrendered completely to the rhythm, and now it was all she could feel.

  She was going to come. Nothing could stop it. She was going to come just from having sex, and she was going to come stone-cold sober, without any drink or drugs to blur her sensations.

  My God, she thought. If everyone could get this rehab treatment there’d be no addicts left in the world . . .

  That reflection was so funny, and she felt so lucky, so happy, that she realized she was laughing, a laugh that started deep in her belly and sent ripples up through her body, rocking her against Dr Raf even more; she reached up and dragged his mouth against hers, kissing him with the laughter still on her lips, grinding her hips up against him, taking him so deeply inside her that he couldn’t hold out any longer and started to come.

  The sight of his face in ecstasy as he came, the feel of his cock spasming inside her, tipped Amber over the knife-edge on which she’d been balancing, and her body surrendered completely as she felt herself coming with him. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before; it took her over, flooding over and through her, scalding hot, sweeping her up and holding her in its grip as she orgasmed over and over again, waves of electricity running from her fingertips to her toes.

  Amber couldn’t have said how long it lasted. She might have lost consciousness at some stage. Eventually, her body still throbbing with the aftershocks, she came back to awareness enough to realize that Dr Raf was lying on top of her, his head on her shoulder, his breath panting out against her bare skin. She honestly thought she might never be able to move again; every nerve in her body was limp. She was flung out like a starfish underneath him, left there by the tide.

  Opening her eyes was like lifting a hundred-pound weight. Dragging her hand along the carpet, pulling it up enough to rest it in his hair, was titanic. But she had to be able to look at him, to touch him. His eyelashes were thick and dark on his cheeks; he had pulled off his glasses, and he looked touchingly vulnerable without them, very boyish.

  He stirred, his lashes fluttering open, and looked back at her. Then she bit back a wail of protest, because he shifted, getting his hands under him, pushing back, coming out of her, one hand on his cock to catch the condom, rubbing briefly against her as he pulled out and sending a last little shockwave of pleasure through her body.

  ‘We should . . .’ he mumbled, stumbling awkwardly as he tried to get to his feet, hoicking up the trousers and boxers that had caught around his calves.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Amber said, sitting up, pulling down her skirt, looking around for her bra. For some reason, she wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. She fastened her bra and pulled her knickers up from her ankle, where they had ended up, and pulled the bodice of her dress up from her waist, smoothing everything out, her expression as serene as Dr Raf’s was agonized.

  Though she couldn’t help smiling as she noticed his efforts to get rid of the condom. He’d grabbed a whole handful of tissues from the new box and bundled it up in that; but then he’d gone over to his wastepaper basket and was standing there, looking down at it, clearly debating whether or not he could throw a tissue-wrapped condom away in there for the cleaners, possibly, to find.

  Amber stood up, retrieved her pashmina, and wrapped it around her shoulders, rearranging her hair with the skill of long practice.

  ‘I’ll go now,’ she said simply, putting the final curl into place.

  ‘Amber . . .’

  Still standing over the wastebasket, Dr Raf looked back at Amber with dark, haunted eyes. His lips remained open as he struggled to find any more words, and failed.

  But Amber didn’t need him to say anything at all. With a last, beautiful smile, she turned and went towards the door.

  Today, I’ve actually managed to make two psychiatrists lost for words, she thought, the smile deepening. I’m discovering I have a good sense of humour, I’m standing up for myself, and I just had the most amazing sex with the man I love. Rehab really is the best thing that ever happened to me.

  Coming down the corridor were Joe and Brian, talking to each other about baseball: at the sight of Amber emerging from Dr Raf’s office, however, they stopped dead in their tracks.

  ‘Amber,’ Joe said eventually. ‘Jesus, you look amazing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Amber said sweetly, flashing him a smile that rocked his and Brian’s heads back.

  ‘What the hell kind of session did you just have?’ Joe said, grinning. ‘Dr Raf handing out happy pills now?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just high on therapy,’ Amber said, turning on her heel with a swish of her skirt and strolling off, her curls bouncing over her shoulders.

  ‘Love to watch that girl walking away,’ Joe sighed to Brian. ‘God, I could look at her walking away all damn day.’

  ‘Did she ever do any posters?’ Brian said hopefully. ‘I’d really like to get a poster of her. In a bikini. She ever do anything like that?’

  ‘I tell you, there’s something magic about her,’ Joe said in heartfelt tones, ignoring Brian. ‘She’s a goddamn angel come down from heaven.

  Skye, who had been sneaking up behind them, meaning to surprise Joe with a surreptitious pinch on his tight ass, froze dead at hearing this.

  Again with the angel stuff! she thought furiously. I could have mind-blowing sex with him all day and he’d still be obsessed with Amber! She bit her lip.

  It doesn’t matter what Amber says to me about not being interested in Joe. I honestly think she means it. But as long as Joe’s hung up on her, there’s no real chance for me with him.

  Shit, I’m an idiot. I should just get out of here and take that recording to the Investigator.

  But as Skye stood there, watching Joe and Brian stroll away, she knew she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet.

  The damn truth of it is, I really like him. And if I go to the Investigator, I’ll never see him again.

  She had fallen, utterly and completely, for Joe Jeffreys. Which was a really bad idea. Because he couldn’t stop mooning after a girl who was obviously hooked on her psychiatrist.

  Give it up, Skye, she told herself.

  She knew it was the only thing that made sense. But she just couldn’t bring herself to walk away from Joe Jeffreys for ever.

  Skye

  Skye wrestled with her dilemma for hours. Joe, the National Investigator, and Amber tumbled and danced through her head in an endless series of different permutations, like puzzle pieces she needed to slot together.

  Only she was failing. As they all filed into their early evening group session and took their seats, she was on autopilot at first, barely concentrating on a word anyone was saying. It was only gradually that she became aware that the vibe in the room was weird. It was often intense as the clients divulged embarrassing facts about themselves, or broke down in tears, or snapped at each other; but you knew that Dr Raf and Dr Lucy had seen it all before. Their trained, poised expressions showed no surprise, no distress at any revelations that might pop out, and they knew just how to work with or defuse any tension between clients.

  Oh, Skye realized, detached enough from the therapy proceedings to be able
to work out why things felt so jagged this session, it must be Dr Raf and Dr Lucy making this session feel so gnarly. Did they have a fight?

  She looked closely at Dr Lucy for the first time. Dr Lucy’s lips were drawn tightly together, her legs crossed equally tightly. She was staring straight at Amber, and her gaze was distinctly unfriendly. Not that Amber showed any signs of noticing. Amber looked as if someone had switched on a light bulb in her face, a rosy-tone, pearlized one; her skin was pink-tinged, her green eyes glowing.

  She’s totally stunning, Skye had to admit. Skye wasn’t normally the jealous type. Live and let live was her motto; it was what had kept her happy and balanced in the Midnight Lounge, an atmosphere full of backstabbing and rivalries. But none of the girls at the Lounge was an international supermodel. And though Skye knew exactly how pretty she was, she didn’t much enjoy being compared with Amber, cover girl and Sports Illustrated star.

  No wonder Dr Lucy doesn’t like her. I mean, for a doctor, Dr Lucy’s a knockout. She must feel like a supermodel all the time. Until she meets a real one.

  Oh. That’s weird. Skye’s glance had slid sideways to Dr Raf, and she noticed immediately how subdued he looked. Usually, when group was in full swing, he’d be leaning forward, his dark eyes alert and engaged on what was being said: Brian, in this case, droning on about his previous rehabs and what he’d learned from them about resolving his trust issues with women. This session, however, Dr Raf was almost slumped in his chair, staring at the floor in front of him. He seemed to have completely tuned out of the proceedings; none of his usual, helpful interjections to move the group along, prompt them into making connections, keep them working hard.

  He looks like he really doesn’t want to be here. He and Dr Lucy must have had one hell of a fight – if that’s why they’re acting so strange . . .

  But then Skye looked over at Joe, and she forgot completely about any speculations as to why Dr Raf and Dr Lucy were in such odd moods this evening.

  Joe was lounging back in his chair, ankle hooked over the opposite knee, his blue eyes bright and clear, focused entirely on Amber, a smile of utter and complete appreciation curving his lips.

  I might as well not be in the room, Skye thought bitterly, and realized that Amber was talking now.

  ‘I know what you mean about the trust issue with women, Brian,’ Amber was saying, ‘though in an opposite way. I never had any positive experiences with men, really.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s funny, but it never occurred to me in group that I couldn’t say something in front of a man, or that it’d be easier to talk if there were only women in the room.’

  ‘We do have women-only sessions,’ Dr Lucy said snappishly. ‘I’ve mentioned that to you.’

  Amber favoured her with a beatific smile, looking so stunning that Joe and Brian instinctively leaned forward.

  The admiring look in Joe’s eyes was the last straw for Skye. Without thinking of the consequences, without giving herself a moment to take a breath, she blurted out: ‘Amber, if you’re OK with talking about things in front of the men, I think you should share what you told me yesterday. You know, the going on dates with guys for money? And the guy who’s paying for you to be here?’

  Amber turned her head to look at Skye, her green eyes widening in utter shock. Dr Raf stirred in his chair, sitting up straight.

  But it was Dr Lucy who said reprovingly: ‘Skye! We have an absolute rule here not to reveal anything that’s told to us by another patient, unless it’s against the Cascabel code of conduct!’

  Skye couldn’t believe what she had done. Everyone was staring at her now, horrified, their mouths gaping open. Everyone, that is, apart from Dr Raf, whose gaze had lifted from the floor and was now fixed squarely on Amber.

  Amber was sheet white. Carefully, as if her bones were brittle, she pulled the pashmina over her shoulders and stood up.

  ‘Amber?’ Dr Raf said in a husky voice, but she shook her head, not looking at him. In complete silence the group watched her cross the room, heading for the door.

  ‘I’ll go after her,’ Dr Lucy said a few seconds after Amber had exited the room.

  Oh God, poor Amber! Talk about adding insult to injury!

  ‘No, I will,’ she said swiftly, jumping up from her chair. ‘It was me who upset her – I should go—’

  As Skye turned to leave, she was taken aback by the realization that Petal was glaring at her, the black panda makeup turning her eyes, narrowed into slits of resentment, into a mask of hate. If Skye had betrayed a secret of Petal’s, rather than Amber’s, Petal could not have looked at Skye with more disgust.

  Skye couldn’t look at Joe. She just wasn’t brave enough.

  I totally fucked up. Skye hung her head as she followed Amber. I should never, ever have opened my dumb mouth about what she told me. Never.

  Skye looked first in their room, but Amber wasn’t there. It took a while to track her down to the garden, where she was sitting next to the fountain, her auburn hair and green dress blending into the bougainvillaea-covered wall behind it, her grey pashmina wrapped tightly around her, like a blanket. Some of the patients actually brought their blankets to the morning group session, like insulation from the painful emotional work they were about to do; but they bundled themselves up like bulky packages, while Amber, in the folds of her pashmina, was slender and exquisite. Trust Amber to be elegant even when she’s totally upset, Skye thought with another flash of resentment, before she took a good hard pull at herself.

  The steady fall of water from the bamboo poles of the fountain was loud enough that Skye couldn’t make enough noise to signal her presence to Amber. She had to reach out and tap Amber’s shoulder; Amber jumped, and, looking up and seeing Skye, she frowned, edging back along the low stone wall on which she was sitting.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ Amber said, turning her head away.

  ‘Amber, I’m so sorry.’ Skye hovered behind her awkwardly. ‘I know I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just—’

  ‘Joe,’ Amber finished for her. ‘You wanted me to look bad in front of Joe.’

  Skye writhed in embarrassment; there was no room to hide when Amber spoke the truth so simply.

  ‘The funny thing is, I don’t think it’ll have made any difference to him,’ Amber observed in a small cold detached voice. ‘If he thinks I need rescuing, the worse things I’ve done in the past, the happier he’ll be. More for me to be rescued from.’

  This hadn’t occurred to Skye. She gaped at Amber, realizing that the other girl was completely right.

  When did Amber get so smart? When did she get so good at figuring people out? This is not the girl who came in ten days ago, hooked on opiates, so quiet she wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

  ‘So you haven’t helped yourself. And you’ve hurt me,’ Amber continued, still staring into the cascading water.

  ‘Amber – I’m so sorry.’ Skye bit her lip. ‘I was just so jealous,’ she confessed helplessly.

  ‘Please leave me alone,’ Amber said. ‘I thought I could trust you. But if I can’t, I don’t have anything to say to you.’

  Amber might as well have been hitting her with a carefully placed series of blows, each one perfectly calculated to achieve maximum pain. And Skye deserved every one. She turned away; all she could do now was what Amber asked her.

  Skye couldn’t face going back into group, having to admit that Amber had told her she couldn’t trust her any more and asked her to go away. Instead, she went back to their room, lay down on her bed and burst into tears. She had ruined everything. Her budding friendship with Amber, the possibility of something with Joe. And she only had herself to blame.

  Petal

  Petal sat cross-legged on her bed, looking, for the umpteenth time, at the video on her phone that featured Skye and Joe in the storage unit. At first, simply possessing it had given her enough of a rush; the hugely satisfying knowledge that she – Petal, the girl whom no one paid much attention to round here – held something so exp
losive that it could blow up their entire little world here at Cascabel.

  But the rush hadn’t lasted for long. Petal was used to being the centre of attention. Her dating Dan, plus JC’s canny dyeing of her hair bright yellow, had caused a bigger sensation than ever before. The paps had been climbing over each other to snap pictures of her, and her bloody father had packed her off here before she could fully enjoy it. Texts from Tas and JC confirmed that Petal’s stay in rehab was all over the papers, so at least that meant that people weren’t forgetting about her. But it wasn’t enough. Even more than drugs or drink, Petal was addicted to people looking at her.

  Her regular one-on-one therapy sessions, plus the work she was doing in group, had made it very clear to her why: all those years of desperately trying to get Gold to notice her, practically jumping up and down and screaming his name, acting up at school, being a brat, since behaving well didn’t seem to score her any points at all. Dr Raf had explained that children were so hard-wired to want attention that any kind was better than being ignored, and that had been a revelation to Petal.

  All these years, I thought I was just bad. A wild child. And now it turns out I was only trying to get Gold to notice me.

  She couldn’t even call him ‘dad’ in her thoughts; it was weird even talking about him as her father.

  And I thought it was cool to call him by his name, she reflected bitterly. Maybe when I get back to London, I’ll start calling him ‘Daddy’. That’d really freak him out; make him feel his age.