Cruel Games

by Elaine May

  She is perfect.

  Our lives are perfect

  She makes me whole.

  She completes me in ways I never would have imagined. She is my one and only Noelle and I’m hers.

  Forever.

  THE END.

  SNEAK PEAK OF

  UNWORTHY

  PROLOGUE

  Grace

  The man and lady of the house my mummy works in, are screaming at each other and it’s really scary. I can’t remember their names, I’m sure it starts with a big H, but normally they are really nice to me and Mummy, but today is different and I don’t know why.

  Mummy and I are downstairs, and we can hear every word that is being said between the two of them.

  I look over at Mummy and her cold blue eyes that once told me she loved me, now tell me something completely different. They tell me everything she won’t say to me, even though I don’t want it to be true.

  “This is all your fault.” I jump at the scary sound above me that sounds like something special is breaking.

  “You can tell your British slut to get out of my house.”

  “She has nowhere else to go, darling.”

  “Don’t you dare darling me, you bastard.” I can hear something else break above and the man says a naughty word. I look over at Mummy and attempt to move towards her for a cuddle, but she walks away from me just as I hear the lady continue shouting.

  “You know what? I don’t care about the business over here. You can tell Edward we are moving back to America. I don’t care about that slut and her little bastard.”

  All of a sudden the picture changes before me and my adult self is flying through the town I grew up in and I can see my whole childhood before me. All the nasty words my mother or stepfather ever said to me. The slaps to the face my mother loved to give me when she felt I’d done something wrong.

  “This is all your fault.”

  “You worthless piece of shit.”

  “I hate you, we hate you. Even your father couldn’t stand to be near you.”

  “He left us, because of you.”

  “We live like this, because of you. YOU, GRACE.”

  “You won’t amount to anything, you’re useless.”

  “I wish I never had you, I hate you and you’re worthless.”

  I can feel all the hatred centred in on that little girl and I can feel all the tears she doesn’t show as she grows into the teenager who hates and loathes herself so much. I can see my teenage self standing by the edge of the River Tone just before its cold waters engulf me, drowning me and pulling me down to its depths with my own self-hatred and sorrow. I try to reach the water’s surface, but the cold water is keeping me down, engulfing me with the old memories that still haunt me.

  “You’re worthless.”

  “You won’t amount to anything.”

  I wake to the sound of my mobile telling me it’s the start of another day.

  Another day, another pound in the bank.

  Different day, same shit though.

  That’s my life in a nutshell, the story of my little life, but I am trying to change it. I will change it. I had the same dream again.

  I have no idea why I have the same dream every night, but every night it’s the same and every morning it awakens all the fears I have tried so hard to forget. All the hatred and self-loathing that are always there, haunting and consuming me, engulfing me within my own darkness. Without even realizing I’m doing it, I reach for the elastic band around my right wrist and begin my ritual of pulling and releasing it against my skin. The pain as the band smacks at my skin helps to lessen the self-hatred and knowing I have it there helps me get through the days.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Grace

  I have no idea why the same dream happens every night, I don’t even know if half of it is true, all I know is that the feelings I remember are still very much real and it’s a battle every day to control them, but over the last few years I have become quite good at hiding behind the act I allow myself to show the world. Ever since I can remember I have always wanted to better my life, prove my mother wrong, that all she has ever said to me were untruths, that I can amount to something even though in my mother’s own words I am worthless and come from nothing. That’s why I live the life I do now, the thought of becoming more than my mother ever thought I could has overridden the never-ending thoughts of ending it all.

  With a sigh I get my big butt out of bed and have a stretch while I look around my small home. I can’t really call it a home considering its just one large room with a side kitchen and a bed in the middle. There is a bathroom to the side and a small walk-in wardrobe, but that’s it. I have managed to make it as homely as possible, but it still feels like a room. The walls have old wallpaper which has been painted beige, but after the years looks more like an old rusty colour. In the corner you can see where the paper is coming away from the wall. I have bleached the kitchen area and bathroom till my hands ache, but I can’t get rid of the dirt that is stuck to the units and the black rims around the plugholes. I hate it here, but it’s better than I’m used to. This is all I can afford, and to be honest I have never really felt like I have had a home so it really doesn’t matter. That is why I work so hard and I must be the only human alive who willingly goes into work on a Saturday. The other alternative is too hard on my already-sensitive emotions.

  I have my lukewarm shower and dress into my dark trousers with a pale shirt. If I go for pale it seems that my fuller breasts go a little more unnoticed, rather than if I wore something bright. I tie my shoulder-length, mousey brown hair up into a ponytail and add a touch of mascara along with some tinted lip balm to my lips. I don’t bother with anything else; I’d rather not stand out. Hide in the shadows, that’s what I like to do, and I do a rather good job of it if my list of friends is anything to go by - none. I have no friends, but in a way that’s how I prefer it. Hence the reason why I am going into work on a Saturday, when other women my age are probably out shopping, spending money on things they can’t afford. I would love to be more like them, but they have not had the same upbringing as me and in reality this is all I know how to be. I had too much attention thrown my way at home as a child so when I was at school it was easier to just be invisible, that way I didn’t get any attention. I could just get into my school work and hopefully work out a way to better my life. I have managed to do it and I’m proud of myself. I still have a long way to go, but I am getting there.

  So that’s why on this cold morning, I am walking through the busy streets of London to my job at Harding Inc. I don’t know why, but that name has always meant something, as has the world of business. That name pops up in my dreams, but to be honest I think it’s just that I work for the biggest company in the world that bears that name. After I had finished school I managed to enroll in the local college and do a business-related course, but if I’d wanted to go any further I would have had to go to University and that is something I could not afford. I looked into other options and that was when I found out about the internship program at Harding Inc., London. Long story short, I applied and got the position and moved from my family town in Somerset to the big city of London.

  I round the corner just past Parliament and I see the grand building of Harding Inc. The structure of the building is amazing, and the inside is even better. Steel and glass cover the outside and inside everything is very posh. I have a meagre position which happens to be very important, it just goes unseen. I attend meetings, write up reports, sort out files - you name it and I bet you, I do it.

  I step inside the building and the security guard gives me a nod of the head. I am in most Saturdays so this visit doesn’t seem to faze him. I swipe my security card to get the lift and it arrives with a ping. As I step inside I still find it hard to believe how grand even the elevator is. The walls are painted a light brown, but there is gold paint around the top of the wall and around the edge of the doors. The mirror on the wall opposite the doors is unforgivi
ng as it reminds me that I still need to lose weight. I wouldn’t say I am fat, I’m only a size ten - possible twelve depending on the store - and have curves in all the right places, but I happen to be one of the largest members of female staff here or that’s what my eyes tell me every time I see a female colleague. Being this size, though, helps me to be invisible. No-one will look at the largest girl who is working herself up and does all the crappie jobs. That is what my job involves - I just do the jobs that no-one else wants to do, but I am working myself up the ladder and learning so much. It’s a slow process, but I am only twenty-three so I have time on my side.

  Apart from the fact I spend most Saturday mornings here getting things ready for the week ahead, the main reason I am here today is that we have a visitor arriving on Monday. The company is run by two unrelated by blood American brothers that were both adopted by the same family, each had their own family, but only one had a son. There was a big meeting Friday afternoon to say that the son is getting groomed to take over and he is spending the next two months here in London. My job is to prepare an office for him so he is out of the way. Someone has already left a desk and chair outside the room which is to be the boss man’s office, it’s my job to get it in there and sort everything else out.

  I spend four hours getting everything ready, the office looks clean and tidy, he wanted some reports waiting for him when he arrives on Monday morning, and they are now sat there waiting for him. He has an amazing view of London from his window and his office must be the largest we have. There is a bathroom and closet as well. Why this man needs so much is beyond me, but the powers that be think this guy needs it, that’s what they have given to him and I have sorted it out. With everything done I get ready to leave for home to take a nap before I start my other job. I swipe my card again so the bosses know what I am doing and wait for the lift. It arrives and I step in, thinking about tonight and how packed it will be. At least when it’s packed I should get good tips and the time goes by quicker.

  Six hours later I am behind the bar of my second job.

  It happens to be the hottest night club in the city, with female employees happy to strip for the punters. I am not one of those girls, I like to work behind the safety of the bar, where I only have to show a little of my ample chest in the ridiculous outfit my other boss calls a uniform. It consists of a red boob-tube that literally only covers my boobs, with a red skirt that just covers over my bum. The black heels I wear kill my feet, but it must be said that they do wonderful things to my legs. I don’t generally like what I see in the mirror, but in this stupid outfit and made up to the nines even I look somewhat hot.

  Yeah, Grace, you really look hot, you idiot.

  Any wages or tips I get from this place go into the mortgage bank. That’s the only reason I come here every Saturday night. Normally I wouldn’t go to somewhere like this, interacting with others isn’t my thing, I just like to hide away and survive, but the tips here happen to be great and to my horror every Saturday, I stand behind this bar allowing the world to see me. I know what they must think when they see me compared to the other girls. Why I try to survive in two worlds where they are all super-thin is beyond me, but I do. I’m not skinny, I’m curvy and no-one gives me a second look even when I’m dressed like a slut. That’s how I like it, that’s how it has to be for me to survive. The punters may not say it, but I know they question why I am here. She’s fat, she’s ugly, that’s what they think, I’m not stupid. I get paid the minimum wage at Harding Inc so that pretty much covers my outgoings and there is nothing left to save. One day I want to have my own home, I need to be earning a good wage by then and have a nice deposit. That’s the plan and why I work both jobs.

  I am brought out of my thoughts as I hear a glass breaking and the curses of two men, as a fight begins to start. Three of the members of the club’s security team approach the men and when the fight does not seem to stop they begin to pull them apart. I watch as the two punters are led away from the floor and to the doors when I lose a breath and everything around me ceases to exist. Standing at the stairs taking in his surroundings is the most stunning. No, that’s not right. The most handsome man I have ever seen. He is wearing dark jeans with a white shirt; he has short black hair that is shaped nicely around his heart-shaped head. From where I am standing I can see he has strong, yet almost soft facial features and as he moves you can tell his body must be ripe with muscles as his shirt clings to his skin.

  “Earth to Grace, hello Grace.” At the sound of my name I turn towards the direction it came from and I can see my colleague Amber looking rather annoyed at me.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, with confusion in my tone.

  “Wake up, there’s punters that need serving.” I slowly turn away from her and as I look out towards the club, I can see the customers looking angry at me.

  “Come on, love, I’m still waiting for my two beers.” One of them says.

  “Sorry, two beers, right?”

  “That’s what I said, wasn’t it love?”

  I hate it when they call me love; I’m no-one’s love.

  “Sorry,” I say as I turn around to pour the beers. I put them down on the counter and tell the guy how much and the whole time I feel like I am being watched. I am not used to it. I am so content being invisible that it unsettles me. I give the punter his change and he just looks at me.

  “For Christ’s sake, love, I gave you a twenty.” I look at his hand and sure enough there is only a five pound note in the guy’s hand. I take it and replace it with a ten. He looks at me and gives me a frown before saying “Thanks, love.”

  I turn to the next punter, only hoping I get my act together and I can serve him without any mistakes. I lose a breath as I see my next punter is none other than the guy on the stairs. He looks at me as if he is trying to remember where he’s seen me before. As he takes me all in I can feel his eyes roam my body and he gives away a little smile as if he likes what’s before him and I have to try and stop the giggle that wants to escape me. Oh, OK, Mr. Handsome, you like what you see? Yeah, right, and I feel my fingers go for my wrist to take away my fears and doubts.

  “What can I get you, sir?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What can I get you?”

  “I think I prefer it with the sir,” he says, with what must be an American accent. I could listen to an accent all day. As I begin to roll my eyes I can see him give me another smile and there’s my loss of breath again. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but I do not react like this over a man. No matter how handsome he is.

  “One whiskey please and whatever you would like.” There’s that smile again and that accent. Stop thinking of the accent, Grace, and tell him no. I start to make his drink and as I hand it to him his hand just barely touches my own, but the effect is enough to shock me. At that simple and small touch my whole body feels like it comes alive, leaving tingles in its wake. From the guy’s reaction I am sure he has felt something too, but I can’t allow myself to linger on it. I have a plan and men are nowhere near that plan. Men complicate things and I don’t need the hassle they bring with them.

  “That’s five pounds, please,” I say and he gives me a questioning look.

  “I don’t need a drink, thank-you.”

  “If you are sure. What about your number?” This guy must be so sure of himself because he doesn’t show an ounce of nerves as he awaits my answer.

  “I don’t have one, sorry.” He downs his drink and looks at me as he puts down his glass and takes out his wallet. As he opens it I can see it’s full of notes. I have never seen that much before in my life and before I know it he pulls out a fifty and puts it under the glass while he leans into the bar, looks deep into my eyes, so I can see the beauty of his grey ones, and whispers in my ear. I can smell his aftershave and it drives my sense of smell mad. It’s woodsy yet natural and all male.

  “Keep the change.” He gets up from his stool to walk away and before I know what I am doing I go
round the other side of the bar and follow him till I can touch his arm. I can feel the tingles yet again as his whole body stiffens. As he turns around I hand him back the note while I say

  “That’s far too much for a tip.” He leans into me again so his lips are near my ear and I can hear him say.

  “Please keep it.” He begins to pull away, but before he does he grazes my lips with his and my body feels like it’s on fire as the tingles overthrow my entire body. I feel faint and shocked as I see him walk away.

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