I'm giddy with relief I won't have to spend the night alone in this flat, and a little tipsy from the two and a half glasses of wine I've drunk in less than two hours. I'm not used to alcohol. Even when Rose and I go out for the night, it's usually me propping her up, making sure she is able to get dressed, before I leave her to sleep on the couch, in case she wakes up feeling sick in the night with the hangover from hell. At least, I used to. I doubt that will be happening much anymore, especially now she's got Jared to do it for her. I smile at the thought of him holding her hair back, as she retches into the toilet bowl. That's not something I'll miss.
Though he hasn't mentioned it, I know, at some point tonight, Joel is going to want to have sex with me. Right at this moment, with his hand in mine, as I fall back onto his chest just as the comedy show on the television begins, I want to.
Though I've tried to pretend I haven't, I have wondered what it will feel like to lie naked beside Joel, with his strong arms wrapped around me, and his warm breath blowing onto the smooth skin of my neck. I imagine what it would be like to wake up beside him in the morning, with the first bursts of sun streaming through the gap in the curtains, and onto his well-cut hair. I don't even know what to expect, because I haven't seen a hint of his body, but from the look of his muscular physique, and the way his shirts accentuate his strong bone structure, I have to admit, I'm excited to discover if the images in my head are true to life.
Sensing my body fold into his, Joel turns my head in his hand, drawing my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. I allow him to leave a delicate kiss on my lips. His touch is intoxicating, as he runs one hand down the curve of my spine, tightening his hold on my jaw with his other. His kisses become more urgent, and soon, his tongue is dancing in and out of my mouth, leaving me gasping for more.
He withdraws, stands up from the sofa, taking my hand in his, and leading me toward the bedroom.
JOEL
The sex was satisfactory. As I'd expected, she allowed me to take charge. Afterwards, we curled up beside each other, our limbs entwined. My hand rests against her chest, feeling her heartbeat.
I wait until I am sure she has fallen asleep, before leaving the double bed and tiptoeing out of the room to the blacked-out living room.
The curtains have been pulled taut, but a slither of moonlight still manages to fall along the floor, leaving a dusty blue hue against the stained beige carpet. I follow the trail of light across the floor toward the black unit, where books are piled up on one shelf, and a stack of paperwork rests against a large empty gilt photo frame in the other.
I creep over, and begin to search through the letters and bills, hoping to discover something—anything—which might tell me more about the elusive woman I have just slept with. I open the drop-down cupboard, and track the DVDs and CDs stacked to full capacity inside.
I look through the drawers beneath the coffee table next, finding a driving licence and an old university ID card. That's when I discover what I'm searching for. I only need her account number and sort code. I know everything else.
I return to the bedroom, quietly. She stirs, as I lie back on top of the duvet, watching her chest rise and fall. My mind drifts back to her panting beneath me earlier, her eyes wide, and her hands pressed hard against my chest.
I close my eyes, but don't fall asleep until it's almost time for the dawn chorus to begin beyond the window. The sound of the little birds stops my head from lolling back onto the pillow. They tweet and flutter in and out of the tree at the front of the house, which casts its shadow across the overgrown lawn. All night, my thoughts kept returning to the images of Erica's face replacing the woman in the video I watched yesterday, marking my retinas.
Unable to fall back to sleep, I eventually leave the bed, dressing quickly in the bathroom, hoping to get out of the flat as soon as possible. But, when I make my way into the kitchen, I find Erica standing in front of the kettle, waiting for it to boil.
'How did you sleep?' she says.
'Not good.'
'I know the bed's not very comfortable, but it's . . .'
All she's got?
'No, it wasn't that. I can't stop thinking about you.'
It's true, I couldn't. But, in a smutty kind of way.
'Even when I'm lying right beside you?'
'Especially then.'
She grins and shoves me in the shoulder in mock irritation. I pretend to fall backwards into the cupboard and smile back.
'I've got to get into the office. I'll call you later.'
She lifts her arms, and rests them across my shoulders, pressing the full weight of her body against me. I kiss her hard, and instantly regret not staying in bed with her.
'I'll call you later.'
Once outside the flat, I'm hit by a definite heaviness in the air. Ominous slate grey has taken over the cloudless blue sky of yesterday; I think perhaps it is a sign for things to come. I jump into the car, just as the first splatters of rain begin to fall from above.
I enter the house twenty minutes later, placing my keys down onto the coffee table in the large living area, before running upstairs to shower. Once I'm undressed and inside the cramped cubicle, with the water splashing down hard against the glass door, making an irritating drumming sound, I wonder how long it will be before Erica realises her bank account has been bled dry, and she has no money to cover next month’s rent, thanks to the Western Union money transfer I shall be making before heading into work.
ERICA
I leave the flat ten minutes late, and miss the bus into the centre. I watch as it crawls away from the kerb and shoots off down the hill, just as I catch up to it, out of breath.
When I eventually reach the office, I'm in no mood for chit-chat with Chloe, who seems intent on giving me a breakdown of the night’s plans for her twenty-first birthday meal, followed by a nightclub on Saturday.
I settle down at my desk, deciding to buy myself a large lunch, at the expense of not having the time to eat anything this morning. After Joel left, I was too smitten to care, but now, my stomach is growling.
Later, Chloe decides to join me for lunch. We enter the same café as before, but when I head to the till to pay my debit card declines.
'Try it again.'
'Sorry,' says the sales assistant. 'It's not going through.'
I root inside my purse for the card to my savings account, and manage to pay for the sandwich, but don’t have enough for the bottle of water, which Chloe insists on paying for.
'I have to go to the bank,' I say, as soon as we leave the café.
When we reach the bank, having walked through the rain heralding the end of the British summer, I’m annoyed and worried. My anxiety increases once I'm inside the bank when the woman at the counter tells me there are no funds in my account.
'But, that's impossible. I should have almost eight hundred pounds in there. Please check again.'
The woman, obviously used to people declaring their earnings have disappeared into thin air over the weekend, turns the screen toward me to show me the nil balance on my account.
'What's that?' I say, pointing to a large withdrawal which occurred at 9:15 this morning.
'A Western Union transfer to a company in the US,' she says.
'I didn't make that payment.'
'It says you signed for it.'
'I haven't signed anything. What the hell am I supposed to do without any money for the rest of the month?'
'You can request we look into it, but with a signature, I have to warn you it's unlikely it'll be classed as fraud, I'm afraid.'
'What are you saying, I can't get my money back?'
'Even if it's found to be a case of theft, we really have no idea who stole it. You can contact Action Fraud on this number.' She writes it out on a piece of paper.
I notice her well-manicured nails are probably paid for by a good bank salary, and begin to wish I'd tried harder to fund a postgraduate conversion course.
I take the piece of paper from
her, and storm out of the bank with a heavy heart. My chest is thudding from the rising panic, which mixes with anger, as I make my way back to work, all the while wondering how something like this could happen to me, only days after having my flat almost broken into. What the hell am I supposed to do?
I enter the office, late, and land on my chair with a thump, sending a pile of paperwork from the desk to tumble onto the floor. I look up to see Chloe beside me, her face wearing concern.
'No luck?' she says.
'They said it was paid to some company in the US by credit transfer. I'm not going to be able to eat for the rest of the month. I don't know what I'm going to do.'
'I can lend you some money, but it won't be much, I'm afraid. I've just paid all my bills,' she says.
'Thank you, but I can't take your money. You barely know me.'
'I work with you. You're not going anywhere, are you?'
I shake my head. My eyes drop to my lap, where my hands have found themselves pressed together, in an attempt to still them from shaking.
'I have to find a way of getting out of this myself.'
'Don't be afraid to ask, if you change your mind,' she says.
I place my hand on her arm and mouth 'thank you,' unable to speak for fear the tears I'm holding at bay will spill down my cheeks in a flood.
I'm still feeling the warm buzz of her kindness, as I'm disrupted from my daze by the phone on my desk ringing.
'Joel.'
'How are you this fine morning?'
'Not good.'
'Oh?'
'I can't really talk right now. I'm still in the office.' I notice Chloe by the photocopier, conspicuously listening to my conversation.
'Shall I come and pick you up?'
I glance out of the window, the rain clouds overhead threatening to burst again at any moment. Realising I have little choice, I accept his offer, knowing I have barely enough cash to cover a bus ticket home anyway, and would rather not have to walk the three miles in the rain.
'Thank you.'
He tells me he's going to meet me around the corner of the office when I finish my shift. I spend the rest of the afternoon pondering what on Earth causes people to steal money from others, clock-watching until it's time to leave, and desperate for an excuse to escape early, knowing Joel will be able to put a smile on my face. He always seems to have the ability to make everything seem okay again.
At the end of the day, I hurry outside, wave goodbye to Chloe, as she makes her way to her car. With a magazine held over my head to stop the rain from spilling down onto my made-up face, I run to meet Joel.
His car is a welcome haven from the pelting rain. The bonnet glistens, as if it's newly polished. I vow not to tell him about the theft of money from my bank account, until we get inside the flat, by which time the rain has lessened. As I traipse the path, I've decided the only thing which will make the rest of the day seem less awful is a hot cup of tea.
As Joel shrugs off his coat I walk straight into the kitchen, and switch on the kettle, leaning against the counter top for support.
'Someone has stolen all the money from my account.' I don't mean to blurt it out, but I can't think of any way to make this conversation easier.
He doesn't look surprised but raises his eyebrows in curiosity. 'Have you told the police?'
'There doesn't seem to be any point. Apparently, it was a transfer to a company in the US.'
'I hate to say this, but you're right. It's unlikely you'll be able to discover who it was. This is a kind of profession to some people. I should know; I work with similar cases to this all the time, only they lose hundreds of thousands of pounds.'
'How can they take money from innocent people?'
'They pick on your vulnerabilities, your weaknesses.'
'What do you mean?'
'They'll find a slip in the chain or a hole in a security programme. In cases of fraud, you are just an account number, not a person.'
'I don't know what I'm going to do. That was all the money I had.'
'You can stay with me, until it all gets sorted out.'
'Joel, you know I can't.'
'At least let me help you, somehow. I take it you haven't got any money elsewhere?' he says.
I shake my head.
'I'll order you some food online, and have it delivered.'
I latch my arms around his neck and thank him for saving me in my hour of need. I imagine he is my real-life knight, cloaked in polished armour, riding on a stallion, coming to whisk me away to live happily ever after.
JOEL
I step inside the flat behind Erica. The hallway is a mess. The meter cupboard is open, and a pile of sheets, duvet covers, pillow cases, and towels have been left in a pile to be cleared up later. Only I haven't seen any evidence yet Erica tidies away anything. If she does decide to move in with me, that will have to change. I can't live in disorder.
As we enter the living room, the stale air hits me like a punch in the face. It smells worse than it had the night before. I scrunch my nose up for effect, and she drops her gaze to the floor, obviously embarrassed I've noticed.
'Would you like a drink?'
Not wanting to press my lips against any cup from this house, I decline her offer, and make myself handy, clearing away dishes and wiping surfaces.
I stand back to admire my work, when she enters the living room.
'Oh, you didn't have to do that.'
'I did.'
She doesn't argue with me. She knows the place needs a damn good tidy.
'I'd better get home for a shower, and I've got some paperwork to file for the morning.'
'You're not staying for a drink?'
I wouldn't dare.
I wouldn't dare. 'I have things to do, Erica. Not least of all to order some food to be sent to you.'
She drops her gaze at this, and when she looks up, she sees me flicking through twenty-pound notes in my wallet.
'Here, take this,' I say.
'I can't take your money.'
'Yes, you can. I insist.'
She's speechless, as I press the notes into her palm.
She hugs me tight, and stands on tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek. I turn my head, and leave a lingering kiss on her lips. She is almost begging for more, as I turn toward the door. Without looking for confirmation, I can feel her gaze on the back of my head, as I leave the rotten flat.
I drive home with the image of Erica's body lingering on my retinas. The thoughts I find difficult to contain circle and spin around my skull, like a dark shadow, casting itself over every minute I spend with her.
Once inside the house, I switch on the lamp and nestle back against the soft leather sofa before opening up the laptop, which sits on my legs, ordering Erica a carefully selected array of vegetarian cuisine, all of which requires cooking from scratch. She could do with the practice, if she's going to be moving in with me.
Once I've returned to the Google search box, I'm tempted toward the hidden darkness of the internet, where there are no boundaries. It is my only weakness. The website I was strolling through yesterday has disappeared. It's probably been banned, so I have to search for some time to find something even remotely similar: films depicting rape and torture—otherwise termed as BDSM—are listed down the page. In due course, I find something which catches my eye.
The woman who's face I'm drawn to, not merely because she shares the same pained expression Erica wears in my fantasies, is tied to the bed, lying on her back, while the man above her holds his hands around her throat. He releases his grip only enough for her to catch her breath. As he does, her face resumes a normal hue, but it isn't long before he begins to strangle her again, whilst fucking her hard.
I shouldn't be aroused. I shouldn't even be thinking the thoughts, which are testing themselves against my internal moral compass, but I am. And Erica's face has once again replaced the dark-haired woman’s in front of me, who writhes about in feigned pleasure, her face contorted in fear.
> I'm not sure when these images became so arousing, or what has twisted them into some kind of game I hope to one day play out, but it seems everything I've ever done, sexual or otherwise, is made entirely meaningless, when I'm watching something as erotically taboo as this. The dark, twisted re-enactments of the scenes will play on a loop in my head for days afterwards.
I can't imagine Erica ever letting me do these things to her. Though she is a bit of a slut in the bedroom, I can't honestly see her wanting to relinquish her control to me in that way, which is a shame really, because I would immensely enjoy it.
ERICA
A knock on the front door startles me from quiet contemplation. I've been seething over the fact I haven't been able to find anything in the cupboards to eat, and I haven't heard from Joel about the food delivery he promised. Only when I rise up from the chair to answer the door, I find a well-dressed man standing beside several carrier bags, filled to burst with shopping.
I shake my head and smile at all the well-chosen food, as I begin to put it away in the cupboards. I make myself some toast, with a thin layer of low-fat, unsalted butter—not my usual choice—just as my mobile phone rings from the bedroom. I run through the hall to answer, making it just before it cuts to voicemail.
'Rose. It's so good to hear from you.'
'I didn't want to bother you so soon after moving out, I was worried we'd both start blubbering over the phone,' she says.
'That's okay. How is everything going?'
'Jared is so lucky to have me. He has no idea what I have to put up with.'
'What do you mean?'
'You think our flat was a mess. Hell, this is something else entirely.'
'It's not a mess!'
'Don't kid yourself; we're slobs,' she says, laughing.
But, I'm not sure I get the joke. The flat is clean and tidy. Though, I have to admit, it's mainly thanks to Joel.
Beautiful Liar Page 9