by LP Lovell
“Uh, that’s your cue to leave.” Lilly growls at the two girls. Trout pout looks like she might put up a fight, but a quick glare from Lilly silences her. The pair scurry out of the toilet.
“Seriously Hugo. Get some fucking standards.” Lilly sighs, before oh so graciously thrusting her tequila at me and going into one of the toilet cubicles.
Hugo watches me carefully. I shrug and offer him a small smile. It’s Hugo. You expect these things. I suppose it used to bother me when I was sleeping with him, mainly because it’s just gross. I know that the way Hugo is with me is about as close to respect as he’ll ever get with a woman. For a start, he cares if I’m mad at him, which is why he’s looking at me like that puppy that just shat on the carpet.
I take my lip gloss out of my clutch, and start applying it in the mirror. He goes to grab the tequila bottle and I snatch it away from him.
“If you seriously think you are drinking from that bottle after where your lips have just been, you are sadly mistaken.” I snort.
His lips kick up. “Well, as I recall, you don’t mind the taste of pussy.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and glance sideways at him. “See, now you manage to make that sound so dirty, when we both know that my own pussy on your lips is different to that skanky vagina you were just poking around in.”
He laughs, and I’m sure I hear a little giggle from the cubicle.
I turn back to the mirror, and rub my lips together. “I hope you at least got off before we lost you your companions for the night.” I smirk, and meet his eyes in the mirror.
He narrows his eyes. “What do you take me for? I made her blow me first. I don’t eat pussy without getting blown first.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, because I know that’s not true. He points at me in the mirror. “That’s different.” He says defensively.
“What’s different?” Lilly asks innocently as she opens the cubicle door. A small smirk pulls at her lips as she washes her hands.
“Nothing.” I say at the same time as Hugo. I glare at him, and he laughs.
Lilly’s smirk grows into a full blown grin. “You two are so fucking cute.” She says.
“Fuck you.” Hugo grumbles. She laughs as she dries her hands.
By the time we get back to the party, Hugo and Lilly have polished off the bottle of tequila. I made him wash his mouth out first. She’s clinging to his arm now. When it comes to drinking buddies, Hugo is always favourite. No-one parties like he does, and Lilly loves it, even though she likes to pretend she doesn’t like him, it’s all bullshit.
They go straight to the bar and order an unholy amount of vodka, and tequila slammers.
She pushes a double vodka and soda in front of me, along with three shots of tequila. “It is going to take a fuck load of the strong stuff to bleach what I just saw from my mind.” She announces. Hugo laughs. She clinks a shot glass with me, and downs the tequila like water. “Plus, this party sucks. We are going to have our own party.” She grins.
“About fucking time.” Hugo mumbles.
Shit is about to get messy.
I wake up on Sunday morning with a disgusting hang over. That party got crazy. When Lilly said she didn’t want boring, she wasn’t lying. Holy shit. I can’t remember much past the five Jeager bombs that she insisted I do with her. I vaguely recall her vomming in a plant pot somewhere, and Theo holding her hair. Someone carrying me somewhere. Shit. I try to sit up, and my head spins violently.
“Oh fuck.” I moan, pressing my hand over my eyes.
I’m mentally willing myself to just die, and get it over with, when I notice a body in the bed next to me, and I freeze. Please tell me I did not bring home some random guy. Please, please, please. I pray to the god of dirty one night stands.
I gingerly glance to my right. Oh fuck no. The only thing worse than finding a stranger in your bed…finding Hugo in your bed.
“Nooo.” I groan to myself. I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling. Why?! Why him?!
I look down at myself quickly. I’m wearing my ratty old Jack Daniels shirt, and a pair of sleep shorts. I’m not naked, but I clearly got naked, to get re-dressed at some point. Shit. I try and desperately pick through my foggy memories, until my head hurts even more.
I look back over to Hugo’s topless form. The duvet is sitting just above his hips. One arm is underneath the duvet, no doubt holding his junk, knowing Hugo. The other arm is thrown over his face, covering his eyes.
My eyes trail down over his defined chest, and his cut abs. Stop! I mentally scold myself.
Oh god, please tell me I didn’t fuck him. I mean, it’s Hugo. What is the likelihood that he managed to sleep in a bed with someone who possesses a vagina, and not fuck them? Pretty bloody unlikely. I take a deep breath and tentatively reach over to him. I take the edge of the duvet and carefully lift it, looking underneath. Boxers! He has boxers on. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You know sweetness, if you wanted a peek at Rambo, you only have to ask.” His groggy voice makes me jump. He chuckles, a low throaty sound.
I grab my chest and swat at him. “Prick.” I grumble. My voice sounds thick and raspy. I hope I don’t look as bad as I feel and sound, because that would be bad, so so bad. “I was checking you had underwear on, in case we…” I wave my hand around.
He lowers his arm from his face and cocks an eyebrow at me. “In case we fucked?” He asks. I nod. He laughs. “Sweetness, there was no fucking way I was sticking my dick anywhere near you last night. You and Lilly, you’re a fucking liability, the pair of you.” She shakes his head.
I scowl. “I resent that statement. You will stick your dick in anything. And we weren’t that bad.” I say defensively. Truth be told, I can’t remember shit. For all I know, I could have been dancing naked on the bar. That might have happened once before. I blame Lilly! This shit only happens when I’m with her.
“I will not fuck anything. I have standards, and those standards do not include vomit covered, unconscious girls.”
I put my head in my hands and groan. “Shit. There was vomiting?”
He huffs a laugh. “It’s a good fucking job I like you as much as I do, because that was fucking disgusting.” He shudders. “I had to hose you down.”
“What?!” I shriek, but then flinch. Oh, my head!
“Yeah. I mean, I think about you naked a lot babe, but you might have just ruined it for me.” He throws his arm back over his eyes, and settles back into the bed, a stupid grin on his face. Dick.
“Why did you stay?” I ask.
“Because you asked me to.” He says bluntly. Me and my big, unhinged, drunken mouth. Bloody Lilly!
“So you washed me, dressed me, and then stayed the night…and just slept.” I ask.
“Yep. Just call me the fairy fucking godmother.” He grumbles.
I frown, even as this warm feeling spreads across my chest. Hugo is easier to deal with when he’s being an arse. I mean, he’s charming even when he is an arse. A Hugo who looks after me and puts me to bed…now that is dangerous.
I drag my arse out of bed, and sway slightly as I get to my feet. I check myself for a second, before staggering to my en-suite. I pee, and brush my teeth, trying to rid myself of the taste of Jeager, and…is that cigarette? Gross!
I glance in the mirror, and holy shit, that is so not pretty. I have make up all down my face. My eyes are blood shot and squinty, and my hair…It looks like it’s been washed, towel dried and slept on. Which it has. I find a hair tie next to my sink and scrape it into a messy bun. I then find my make-up wipes, and remove the layer of black that is making it’s descent down my cheeks.
God, I need water, but I don’t think I can make it to the kitchen. I feel like I’m going to hurl. I bend over and drink straight from the tap.
When I get back into my bedroom, Hugo hasn’t moved. I sit on the end of my bed, deliberating what to do with myself. A glance at the clock on my bedside table tells me it’s gone ten. God, I should get up and do
something.
“Just fucking get back in bed.” Hugo mutters.
I turn, facing him. I can’t see his face, as his arm is still covering it. “What?”
“I know you’re freaking out, because it’s Sunday and you should do something.” He says in a mocking voice.
“Yeah, well some of us actually work in the week.” I retort.
He snorts. “Sweetness, you did more than enough last night. Now, you recover. If you’re desperate to do something, I’ll take you later.” His voice is still thick with sleep.
“Don’t you need to go home?” I ask. “What about Gary?”
“Maria’s in this morning. She’ll let him out. She’ll be pretty happy she doesn’t have to clean up after me this morning.” Maria is Hugo and Theo’s house keeper. Neither of them need a full time house keeper, so they share her. She goes to Hugo’s Friday through Sunday, and cleans up after his parties, and with some of the shit that goes down at those parties, I can only assume she is paid very, very well. “Come on.” He says, pulling back the duvet on my side.
Bed does sound so appealing right now. I feel as though my brain is trying to escape through my nose. I climb in and relax into my fluffy pillows. Hugo opens his arms, and pulls me tight to his side. I stiffen for a moment.
He doesn’t even open his eyes. “Relax Molly, I’m not going to jump you. I just like sleeping with you. You’re comfy. I wasn’t going to come near you last night in case you threw up on me.” He smiles.
“Careful.” I mumble. “Keep saying shit like that, and you might grow a vagina.”
“You’re right. In fact my junk may have just shrunk a little.” He shoves his hand under the duvet, groping himself.
“Will you stop?!” I hiss. “I do not need you touching your peen right next to me. Gross.”
He laughs, the deep rumble vibrating his chest under my ear. It relaxes my tense muscles, and the warmth of his body filters through my shirt. My bare legs press against his hairy ones, and a feeling of familiarity, of safety, washes over me. Whatever Hugo and I are or were, he’s always been somewhat comforting to me. That may be strange, but it’s true. I rest my head on his shoulder and inhale the fresh scent of him. Even laced with tequila and cigarettes, he still manages to smell, clean and refreshing. I fall asleep to his slow breathes, with his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.
I’m dying on the sofa when the door buzzer goes. It’s mid-afternoon, and I don’t really feel any better. I’ve managed to make it from my bed to the sofa, but that’s it. I even still have my duvet. Hugo stays with me, watching TV and trying to feed me, which isn’t going over so well. Mostly though, he just takes the piss out of me. Hugo doesn’t get up early enough to experience hang overs, he sleeps right through them. Not to mention the fact that his alcohol tolerance must be through the roof.
He gets up to answer the door. A few minutes later and Theo and Lilly appear. Lilly has on a hoody, with the hood pulled up, and a massive pair of sunglasses. She kicks her shoes off and immediately crawls under my duvet on the sofa with me. She tucks herself between me and the back of the sofa, and wraps her arms around me, spooning me. Our sofa is easily as wide as a single bed.
“I think I’m dying.” She whines.
“Me, too.” I groan.
“Can tequila induce a stroke? I can’t feel my face. Call Alex. Ask him.” She mumbles into my hair.
Laughter, that’s all I hear from Hugo and Theo. Bastards.
“Next time you’re hung over, I’m going to start blasting rock music around the house.” Lilly promises.
“Sugar, I don’t get hung over. At least not like you do. I mean, you just don’t hold back babe. You are a balls to the wall fucking mess.” Theo tells her.
“Hey, I had to hose her down.” Hugo says pointing at me. “Shit doesn’t get much more disgusting than that.”
“Piss off!” I say as loudly as my pounding head will allow. They both laugh like the smug bastards they are.
“Dude, she tried to jump me, whilst still covered in her own vomit.” Theo says through his laughter. “I mean, I’ve seen her in some states, and never said no, but that was whole new levels.”
“Fuck you.” Lilly mumbles, her face buried in my back somewhere. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”
They do eventually leave us to our pitiful states, going out to do some man shit. Apparently Theo is organising, as he and Lilly are leaving for a month long business trip in two days. He has offices in Paris and Rome. She’s going as his legal aid, but well, we all know why she’s really going. He can’t be without her for a whole month. It’s so cute. Right now though, Lilly couldn’t care less what is happening.
“We’re going to lay here and die for a bit, and then we’re going to order pizza.” She mumbles into my back, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
I close my eyes against the pounding in my head. I don’t think I’ve ever had a hang over this brutal.
I still don’t feel great on Monday morning. I had totally forgotten that Alex was supposed to be coming over last night. I had to cancel last minute for fear that he might take one look at me and run away screaming. So now, I’m sitting at my desk, pretending to look at my computer as my vision blurs a little. My boss is in mega bitch mode today, which is not helping. I work for a fashion magazine, and as cliché as The Devil Wears Prada is, my life isn’t dissimilar. I swear the woman just knows how much I hate this materialistic, shallow bullshit, so she rams it down my throat even more.
I got this job because I have an impressive CV and what she called a ‘bullet proof’ attitude. Looking at the other people who work here, that’s not hard. I once saw Sarah, the receptionist actually cry because one of the editorial assistants said she looked like she had put on weight. Seriously? This is the shit I have to put up with. I just need to keep my head down, make editor within a few years, and then bugger off and get a proper editor’s position, for a magazine that writes something useful.
“Molly!” Diane’s voice screeches from her office. Her voice is like nails being dragged down a chalk board. I steel myself and get up from my desk which is stationed in a small entry office, just off hers.
“Yes.” I say through gritted teeth. She looks up from her desk, watching me over the rims of her glasses, which are perched on the end of her nose. She has a severe black bob, with a fringe that sits just above her eyebrows. She always wears bright red lipstick, and a sharp suit, usually with a pencil skirt, and she would never ever leave her house without a pair of six inch heels on. She’s the definition of fashionista.
“Well come in child, don’t just stand there.” She barks. It used to annoy me that she called me child. I mean, she can’t be much older than forty herself, although I have no doubt the woman is a hard core Botox junky. Or maybe she just doesn’t smile…or frown. Who knows? Now though, I’m used to it.
She has some photos arranged in front of her. “Jean Luc is going to be here this afternoon.” She says without looking up at me. “This is his new collection.” She makes a sweeping gesture across the photos. All I can see is a lot of bright colours and weird materials. I mean really? A bright yellow pleather dress. This cannot be the cutting edge of fashion. It reminds me of those stupid abstract paintings that people pay millions for. It’s not cool in its simplicity, or pioneering and innovative. The artist isn’t before their time. A five year old could have painted it.
Well, quite frankly, a builder who knows shit all about fashion could have designed that dress. Clearly I know nothing.
“Melanie can’t make it for the demo, so you’ll be replacing her.” Again, she doesn’t even look up at me. Melanie Dohl is a model.
“You want me to model?”
“Yes.” She finally looks up at me. “You’re a little broad, but you’re not too far off. You’ll do for today. I just need to see what the collection looks like, and what pieces we want to feature in this month’s edition.” I know what she’s doing, but seriously, she wants me to model?
“I’m not very good with things like that.” I say awkwardly. She tilts her head forward, giving me the full on bitch look.
“It wasn’t a request.” She looks back down at the pictures in front of her. “You can go.” She dismisses me.
I go back to my desk and rest my forehead on it. I’m pretty sure that the term ‘human Barbie doll’ is not in my job description. If I refuse though, then she will fire me. This isn’t the first time she’s made me do something like this.
I think my life just hit new lows. I’m standing here in the bloody yellow dress. The pleather, yellow dress. It’s so short, my vagina is in danger of making an appearance, and I’m pretty sure it’s a size four. I’m a size eight! My organs are so compressed, I may spring a hernia any minute.
“Isn’t it stunning?” Jean Luc is all of five and a half foot. He’s dressed in a purple shirt and dark grey trousers. His hair is quite long and pulled back in a ponytail, and he has this ridiculous French accent to match his oh so European look. He’s a walking bloody cliche if ever I saw one.
“It’s slutty chic.” Diane muses. No, just slutty. Funny that if this dress cost fifty quid it would be slutty, but as soon as it costs five hundred quid, it’s chic.
“Okay, next.” She barks. Elena is another model that I often see coming in and out of here. She’s the other model for the day, except she doesn’t mind it, because it’s her job. We both turn and step out of the room. My office has been fashioned into a small dressing room. I’ve been at fittings before, and seen models literally just get naked in front of whoever. Like I say, it’s their job, they don’t care. I however, refuse to get naked in front of the tiny Frenchman…or Diane for that matter. I can only imagine what she’d say about my flat stomach. Surely it should be concaved. I’m pretty sure she wants liver definition in there.
“That dress really is awful.” Elena whispers in her American accent, giggling.
“Thank god it’s not just me. I thought I was just not ‘getting it’.” I cock an eyebrow.