Chapter Thirty
ELLA
‘He’s not worth it then, is he?’
From my position prone on the sofa, I look up at the looming figure.Can a person loom and sway?
‘And he’s a total knob and a fuckwit, a douche canoe and a blue waffle,’ Jules exclaims.
‘I’m not sure about that last one,’ I say, the slight shivery-hiccupping sob still evident in my words. In fact, despite being a sniffling sad-sack of a wreck, I’m not sure any of those descriptions fit him. He was angry, for sure. Confused, too. Hurting and wanting to cause hurt in return? Definitely. And that’s all on me for not telling him about tonight. About the reasons for starting it. For going ahead with it. And there was my goading. The things I said. His accusations and insinuations? I brought the situation on myself.
I should’ve told him, and I didn’t, so I deserve to feel wretched.
‘He is!’squeaks Jules, high enough to make the dogs of the neighbourhood howl. ‘He’s totes a complete wank stain if he doesn’t realise what he’s losing. And if I ever see him on the street,’ she says, lip curled and her index finger pointing at me. ‘I’ll tell him so. Right before I kick him in the balls for being so dense.’
‘You’ve never even met him; how would you know what he looks like, never mind about finding his balls to kick?’
‘Obvs, I’ll Facebook stalk him when you’ve gone to bed. Might even send ’im some hate mail.’
‘But I’m already in bed,’ I reply wearily, pushing up onto my elbows and patting the sofa with my palms. ‘At least, the nearest to a bed I’ll have until I outstay my welcome and move back home.’
‘Don’t be ridicalus. You’ll stay with me until you get sorted.’
‘Why don’tyougo to bed,’ I suggest gently. Before you fall. ‘And I’m... I’m sorry you didn’t make it to bed earlier. You know? With him.’
I’d let myself in after I’d sent Mac away, and about an hour later, Julia arrived home. She’d tumbled through the front door with her tongue down someone’s throat, her hand rummaging around in his already half unbuttoned pants. Ungluing her mouth from his, she’d taken one look at the sobbing and forlorn lump on her sofa and announced to her hook up that she was no longer in the mood for shagging.
It’s official. I am the worst house guest ever. And like a bouncing ball that keeps bounding back.
‘I’m really sorry for spoiling your evening.’ God, I am such a screw-up.
‘You totes didn’t. Hot dad is the beaver impeder here.’
‘He’s... what?’
‘Hot dad,’ she repeats. ‘He’s the cause of my clit-orference. The reason for my va-gection.’
Maybe I did her a favour by turning up tonight although herbeaudidn’t have two heads or horns or look like a serial killer. In fact, he looked pretty normal, but she’s perhaps too buzzed to be making good decisions.
‘Besides, I can always bang him on my lunch hour. We work in the same building. He’s a cunt.’
‘Wow. Wearesweary tonight. And if he’s that bad, then why are you shagging him?’
Jules looks on confused for a moment, her eyes rolling ceiling-ward as though to rewind. ‘No, no, no. Aquant,’ she repeats, beginning a drunk girl semaphore. Or maybe an expansive wave of her hands; I’m not sure which. ‘He’s a quantitative anananlyst!’ She staggers back a little as though the mere effort of speech is taxing, causing her to fall into a nearby armchair.
‘So what exactly did he say, this knobhead you like so much?’
‘Who said I like him?’
‘Because A, you haven’t run away yet.’
‘Run—’
‘And three, you’re a wreck.’
‘This is what I do. I cry.’ My shoulders rise and fall in defeat.
‘Did you cry like this when it fell apart withHenri?’
