Breaking Joseph

by Lucy V. Morgan

  With the paperwork done, Will took me through to the little studio and Sukie, the photographer, gave me a warm hug.

  “It’s nice to see you back, hun,” she said.

  “Good to see you, too.” Why was I suddenly so nervous? I’d done far worse than taking my clothes off before. “Will said you had some ideas?”

  “Yep. Have a look in there.”

  She pointed to a big antique trunk and I knelt to rifle through it. It was stuffed with masquerade masks: small, dainty and sequined, feathered and exuberant, gilded and majestic. I could have experimented for hours.

  “What did you bring to wear?” Sukie arranged taffeta cushions on the bed that dominated the room.

  “Not a lot.”

  “Good choice.” She grinned. “I’m ready when you are. There’s a robe in the bathroom.”

  I brushed my teeth, retouched my makeup, separated red ringlets with my fingers. Shimmied out of my tank top and skirt. In the quiet of the tiled restroom, I studied myself in the mirror and fastened the mask. I’d chosen a startling turquoise number with tall feathered ears. Charlotte’s grey eyes peered back, her full lips curved into a delectable smile, and in that moment, the mitosis was savage. I couldn’t bear for her to be a part of me. Not when she had come between me and everything–everyone–that I loved.

  I fastened the shoes Joseph had bought me and wondered whether he would check for me on the website, if he’d see me wearing them. Why had I brought them with me? I had many other suitable pairs and would never wear them to an appointment. It’d feel so desperately disloyal. Maybe I needed to wear a piece of him, or I wanted him to see the Charlotte he had remoulded and recast because he was probably the only one who would be proud of her.

  If he still felt that way about me. If he still felt anything at all.

  William watched as I shed the robe and lay naked on the bed, his face soft with approval. Sukie spread my hair over the pillows and then arranged my limbs with her cool hands: my knees just touching, an arm thrown over my breasts. I was meant to look wanton, sultry, sophisticated. An expensive cocktail and all the more likely to get the client drunk. In that pose, the shoes were suddenly perfect–all I saw was the supple black leather, the delicate straps that Joe had admired, and yet the scarlet soles jutted out toward the voyeur in the roaring silence of seduction.

  It used to feel good, how easily I slipped into being Charlotte, but now it felt forced and incredibly lonely. I kept thinking back to Joseph’s eyes as we’d fucked last week, the ebb of his dilated pupils and the possession he shook away, time after time. It came to claim me now, only it smirked in the flash of a camera with each metallic click.

  “Loving the mask, Lei-Lei,” Aidan declared.

  I tugged it back over my hair as I sat up to greet him. “You think?”

  “Oh yeah. Gorgeous drama.” He drank me in without a shred of shame. “Let me strip off–five minutes, okay?” If he was surprised to see me back at the agency, he didn’t show it. I was grateful for that.

  I took off the mask to pose with him. Instead, he used wide palms to cover my eyes in a fleshy blindfold. He was hard before he even made it to the bed. I slid into his lap easily, sighed as his teeth caught my bottom lip. When he and I first had our pictures taken, it had been both erotic and awkward, but now being with Aidan was the only thing that felt natural about the whole process–it was all I could do to not actually fuck him, cathartic as his stiff invitation was.

  These past few days, I’d missed skin-on-skin so deeply that I felt abstinent for far longer, and I enjoyed this more than I should. It was like staring into an absurd mirror of our recent night in bed together: then, we behaved like brother and sister. Here in the studio, that was what we were offering, and yet we were beginning to cavort like lovers.

  But I could still get aroused for somebody other than Joseph. I don’t think monogamy is physical, Leila. A relief, if nothing else.

  Oh, but mentally…I felt sick with it, and Aidan knew. His touch was so slow and kind, and it served to make it ten times more frustrating–he knew that too.

  We stood with Sukie, wrapped ourselves in bed sheets and discussed our photos on her laptop. Aidan cheekily pointed out the changes that running had made to my body–albeit for the better–and together, we chose portraits where the lighting fell at its most evocative and the mask seemed part of my skin.

  Our couple shot was relatively tame in comparison to our playing: he stood behind me, his hands covering my eyes and nipples as he bit into my neck. My own teeth played on my bottom lip, sharp against soft, white against pink. It was the physical evidence of my shame…and it was beautiful.

  Will nudged at the healing welt which scored my back.

  “This needs to fade before you start,” he ordered. “How old is it?”

  “About a week,” I mumbled.

  “Another week, then. It should be fine.” He leaned in. “And the usual checks please, Leila.”

  I turned back to Aidan, who was brooding over the pictures.

  “Let’s hope Mattman never logs back on,” Aidan said under his breath. “He will, though.”

  I groaned out loud. “Will he hate you too?”

  He rolled his tongue around his lips. “Worse. He’ll pump me for info.”

  “Don’t tell him this is what I left to do, Aid,” I pleaded.

  “Then what do I say? He’ll know that you told me the truth.”

  “If he screwed me over, he could tell Poppy and Isobel and they could make sure everyone knows.”

  He shook out his bed sheet with a gust of cool air, folding methodically. “And if he didn’t?”

  “Then I’d trust him…but I’ve got no way of knowing.”

  “Mmm.” Aidan frowned as he reached for his jeans. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter 15

  I awoke on Friday morning to the tinkling of the doorbell. Assuming the postman, I threw on pyjamas and rushed to the door, only to find the corridor empty. No footsteps, no voice, no echo of the whizzing lift.

  His scent hit me before I noticed the bag on the floor–I was punched in the face by fresh lemon and spring herbs–his usual aftershave, and it had had time to mingle with the heat of his body. He evidently meant to be missed…but moments ago, Joseph had been here.

  Back inside, I teased open the bag and dissected the contents, praying for a token, a note, something. It was just my clothes, a book, a lipstick. My Parker pen. It didn’t seem a lot, but when I considered that we’d seen each other for barely a fortnight, it was a fair amount to accumulate in his space. All of it bore traces of his scent and the dress smelled like sex, full and heady.

  I was making breakfast about half an hour later when it occurred to me that all of the underwear was missing.

  * * * *

  I cleaned everything. My hands stung with the bleach. I smashed up the empty mirror frame and hid it under my recycling, and I boil washed bed sheets that Joseph and I had fucked on so that I wasn’t tempted to bury my face in them every five minutes.

  His words would not leave me. His silly banter, opinions on politics, the gasped curses as he held me down…it all swam about in my brain.

  Maybe I know things about Matt and Poppy that you don’t.

  At the time, I’d assumed he meant little tidbits, like the embarrassing videos kept on his phone–after all, he had socialized with Matt to the point of hiring prostitutes and Poppy was forever in and out of his office.

  Then he’d let slip about Poppy’s fairy dust habit and I unconsciously attributed it to that.

  Now I worried and lamented over things I would never know, and all the while, his invisible hands crept along my sides and kneaded at my hips. When I lay in bed, his fingertips toyed with the straps of my knickers and his warm breath poured over my neck. I was haunted by the ghost of a promise.

  That voice permeated everything, sharp and cool as the tip of his knife. I was terrified of losing the memories, and yet they faded like withering veins, tug
ged from my body in ribbons of blue ink.

  God, I missed him.

  * * * *

  Clemmie was coming for lunch, and I couldn’t hide my predicament any longer.

  The storm clouds had parted and the sun poured in; pavements were baked and smelt like warm ovens. As I strolled along in my summer dress, the cool air tickled my thighs, the light glared against my sunglasses and on the outside, it was decadent as any normal summer day could be. Even the Tube smelled…well. Less like a dog soaked in whiskey than usual.

  I ducked into Pret to buy salads and fruit smoothies–it felt right to cater when I was about to reveal that I’d lied through my teeth. I hadn’t been standing in the queue long when I noticed her.

  Elise browsed the coffee menu, her shiny hair pulled back in a bouncy ponytail. She wore city shorts and a nude blouse that clung to her meandering hips.

  I winced as I remembered the amorous texts we had exchanged last weekend. I never realized it could be like that. Can we try again? Kenji says yes xxx

  Had Joseph told her that he thought I’d gone to a rival firm, that I’d be taking what I’d learned from the documents she’d shown me? Out of everyone, even Joseph, I felt like I had betrayed Elise the most. She’d been a good friend and we had confided in each other.

  Among other things.

  Now, I was reduced to hiding behind the sandwich displays while she gestured at the attendant with her pearlescent smile. I must have looked ridiculous.

  Elise left, clutching a latte, and my sigh was a lullaby to my raging pulse.

  Back at home, I went over my speech to Clemmie. I rolled the confessions into balls on my tongue and deposited them in a grim vault where they whined for release like wraiths. Over and over, I wrung out the reasons I’d never wanted her to know about the whoring in the first place. She was judgmental of my, ahem, libertine behaviour, as it was, although I think that was more to do with the fact that I was usually being unfaithful. I’d only ever planned to work for a short time and I didn’t want anybody at all from my vanilla life to know. Then, when it was over, I could safely blot it out and pretend it had never happened.

  So much for that, eh?

  * * * *

  “Ooh,” said Clemmie, peering into the fridge. “You cooked.”

  “Sod off.” I laughed, nudging her aside so I could empty the salads into bowls. “Do you want the strawberry smoothie or the tropical one?”

  We took our food to the sofa and performed our usual little dance of crossing legs, prodding cushions and getting comfy.

  “James still not moved out, then?” I said.

  Her glossed upper lip twitched. “No. I’ve been looking for a room to rent somewhere, though. I think I want to be the one to do the leaving.”

  “You know my couch is always here.”

  “I know, you tart.” She grinned at me. “I may have to take you up on that. Or at least, if you haven’t run off with this Mr J.” She eyed me curiously and I felt all the colour drain from my cheeks.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Him.”

  “Well, go on then. Who is he? And why is he already sucking up to your friends? Not that I’m complaining,” she added. “I’m going to save that Champagne for when I move.”

  “He’s…” I tapped my fork on the plate nervously. Clink clink. “He’s my boss, Clem.”

  “Gosh.” Her eyes widened. “Is that even a good idea?”

  “No,” I said forlornly. “It wasn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Deep breath. Here goes.

  “I’m not with him anymore. I was barely with him at all. But it’s because…look.” I reached over to the coffee table. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Clemmie set her bowl down and accepted the plastic wallet with a frown. I stared hard at green streaks of salad as she pulled out two photos. One was my first Ladarna picture, black scarves and all. The second was one of the new versions, and I lay sprawled over the bed, clad only in the feathered mask. And Aidan.

  Clemmie wrinkled her nose and cleared her throat sharply. “Is this some sort of weird portfolio? Do you want me to give them to Diederick?”

  I wanted to laugh, but it wouldn’t come. “No, Clem. They’re shots I had done for an agency.” I swallowed. “An escort agency.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes darted up toward me, then back to the page. “A what now?”

  “I’ve been working as an escort. For about a year.”

  She set her bowl down slowly. “Like, someone who goes out with men? Keeps them company?” She scrutinized my every movement for trace of a lie.

  “I mean like someone who sleeps with men,” I muttered.

  Silence, greasy and awkward.

  “So what does your boss have to do with that?”

  I looked away again. “He was one of those men.”

  Clemmie swiped her smoothie from the table and demolished it in several long gulps. I was beginning to wish that I’d bought wine instead. God knew, I needed it.

  “Clem.” My voice was hoarse. “Will you say something, please?”

  She glanced about, gesturing wildly. “Okay, okay. How about… What the fuck? What the fuck!”

  I broke a bit, then–first Aidan used my real name, and now Clemmie was swearing? The world was all going wrong. A fat tear came tumbling down from one eye socket and plopped wetly on to my hand. The deluge of secrets followed.

  Out came the truth about my parents’ troubles with the estate, and how I had spent their cash unknowingly. Out came the way I’d found the agency, William, Aidan, everyone. I told her how things had been going to plan until the night I was hired by Joseph and Matt, and then how Joseph had seduced me from under Matt’s nose before I even realized it.

  Then I explained Sunday night at the restaurant, and Monday morning at work. I had been blackmailed and I quit. I was single, jobless…and about to be a whore all over again.

  Clemmie listened sagely, offering the occasional nod. Normally, when I was upset, she pulled me into one of her cosmically strong hugs. Now, she kept a measured distance. I felt something slipping away but I wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  “So you see?” I said. “I’m fucked.”

  “You could say that.” She’d barely looked at me for the past ten minutes, preferring to tug at cushion tassels and trace embroidery with her nails. “Leila, why did you never tell me?”

  “I was ashamed, I suppose,” I lied.

  “You used to tell me all the things you were ashamed of,” she said pointedly.

  “I know. But this was different, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I never wanted to lie.”

  She chewed her lip, kneading the cushion.

  “I take it you don’t approve,” I said.

  “What am I meant to say, that it was a fabulous idea? That it’s okay? It’s not okay, Leila. It’s not even about what it is, though God knows, that’s hardly going to look good on your CV, is it? But you’ve lied to me for over a year, and you’ve done it so much…” She was tearful now, too. “I mean, what were you thinking? Stupid Clem, she’s so wrapped up in her cretin boyfriend. She could never understand!”

  “That’s not how I felt–”

  “Well it’s how I feel!” She sprang up, trying to steady her trembling jaw. “I think I should go.”

  “Clem, Please. It isn’t personal, I didn’t tell anybody.”

  “But I’m your best friend,” she whimpered. “I’m meant to be exempt.” She threw her bag on to her shoulder and I followed her to the door.

  “Can I call you later?” I said.

  She tugged the latch open and hovered in the doorway. “I’ll call you,” she said under her breath.

  Then she hurried down the corridor and flung herself into the lift.

  * * * *

  I kept having the same dream.

  I was back in the dark room where time was measured in breaths, and spaces in echoed footsteps. I was naked, my hands bound behind my back. The air smelled like stale candle wax and J
oseph circled me with gleaming eyes.

  Then he turned, and the knife sat cleanly between his shoulder blades. He tugged it out with a thick groan and little rivulets of blood splattered my face. They were cold and sticky, as if they had been there for some time, and the remains clung to the blade so that it was crusted with crimson.

  Joseph did not talk to me and his eyes would not meet mine. He trailed the dirty knife across my collarbone, and it scratched as it sailed down my back. Then he took it to the bindings on my hands, the ones he had sliced through so easily in the first dream. Now he struggled and lost his temper, swearing under his breath. I grew frustrated with him, my tears sticking to the blood on my face, and we waged a silent war between ourselves as much as the rope. Fresh blood drizzled to the backs of my thighs, unnervingly warm.

  When I awoke, the sheets were damp with sweat, my wrists stiff and throbbing. I peeled myself out of the bed to reach for my water glass and tipped it down my throat, panting as I swallowed.

  The pillow beside me was indented as if somebody had been there. I lay awake for hours just staring at it.

  * * * *

  The next week began a slow drudge of preparation.

  I went to the clinic to confirm that I did not have box rot, as Aidan tactfully referred to it. I waxed and trimmed and manicured to within an inch of my life. Afternoons were spent sorting through my clothes, ironing my slinkiest outfits and arranging matching underwear so that it could be grabbed quickly. When I’d first begun the whoring, I hadn’t time for such organization and only considered the most blatant practicalities, but now, I had time to lament and worry.

  To anticipate.

  Clemmie didn’t call. I missed her dreadfully. A knowing panic simmered beneath my skin; life as I knew it had been washed away.

  I was about to have lunch on Wednesday when William called.