Breaking Leila

by Lucy V. Morgan

Dad scowled at her. “Leave her alone, Bridge. She’s having a time of it.” He sank down beside me and patted my knee. “At least she’s not a lesbian.”

  “Maybe I am.” I rolled my eyes.

  Mind you, there’s a thought.

  “I don’t care what you are,” Mum went on, “but you don’t seem particularly happy.”

  “Dumping someone doesn’t put me in a party mood,” I grumbled. “Is it supposed to?”

  “It’s just, your father and I…we saw Matt and we thought you’d moved on, maybe.”

  “Moved on from what?” I asked, suspicious.

  She pressed her lips together. “Never mind. We were just puzzled, I suppose. I can dig out some of my old feminism papers if it’ll make you feel better about being single…”

  I squared my shoulders. “What’s wrong with being single?”

  “Nothing, love–”

  “I’m going up to get a bath.”

  “Do you want some dinner?” Mum asked.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Oh, okay. It’ll be in the microwave if you change your mind.”

  As if I was eight years old again, I lingered on the stairs to hear them talking.

  “It’s not right,” Mum hissed. “They seemed so happy on Sunday.”

  “Nothing you can do, Bridge.”

  A pause.

  “You don’t think…”

  “What, it’s to do with him? What do you suggest I do about it?”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “You should have cornered him when he still lived around here,” she said. “Everyone would have supported us.”

  “We have to let her be,” Dad cut in. “Besides–he’s paying for what he did, isn’t he?”

  Something achingly sad stirred in their voices–worry, frustration. Regret.

  Who the fuck were they talking about? There wasn’t a man who’d wronged me and even if there was, what would he have to do with Matt?

  I missed having baths. My teeny flat only afforded the space for a shower and while it was nice, pearly tiles and all, nothing quite beats a soak in hot water and blossom-scented oil. I doused my hair in one of Mum’s many conditioners and lay in the near-dark, trying to switch off.

  It would have helped if I’d done the same to my phone.

  The first time Joseph rang, I swore under my breath and ignored it. The second time, the temptation to answer was eclipsed–only just–by the shadowy guilt over Matt. The third time, I panicked that it might be important after all, and flicked open the receiver.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, hesitant.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Um…I don’t know?”

  “I’ve had Matt on the phone, telling me he’s not going to New York. Something about a family illness. What the fuck?”

  I shifted uncomfortably, bubbles coating my skin. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that unless anyone dies, he’s getting on that fucking plane. And nobody is actually ill, are they?”

  I don’t know whether he sounded annoyed, frustrated or just a little amused. It was a strange little cocktail of all three.

  “Possibly.”

  “Leila.”

  I shivered when he said my name, despite the surrounding warmth. “We broke up,” I muttered.

  “That was my first thought, but I didn’t think he was such a pussy.”

  “Don’t say that. It was awful.” Just discussing this was disloyal. Not that I was obliged to be loyal anymore. “It is awful.”

  “He needs to suck it up and get on. And you…well.” I imagined his eyes glazing, could practically hear it. “Similar.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks and I went dizzy in the steam. I splashed about a bit to wake myself up.

  “Are you in the bath, Leila?”

  “Yes.” I almost purred, couldn’t help it. Something about his tone always turned me syrupy and coy. “Why?”

  “It’s a pretty picture.” His voice dropped low, conspiratorial. “I’d like to watch you.”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’ll put it on my list for next week.”

  “You have a list?” I laughed.

  “A spreadsheet.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “No. But I like listening to that sharp little breath you take when I say it, and I like thinking about my hands under the water.”

  I bit my lip, eyelids sinking down. There are sobering ideas and there are toxic ones.

  “Are you there?” he said.

  “Yes…sorry.”

  “I’ll leave you to wash up. Good night, Leila.” He swallowed. “Sleep tight.”

  Did he really just say that?

  Oh.

  I tried to behave appropriately after that. I lounged in my room, waxed–how was that ever a good idea?–painted my nails in French pink. I watched my phone for the flicker of Matt’s name. I wanted to talk to him, to hear that he was okay.

  That, of course, would not happen. He must have been worse than I thought if bailing on Joseph seemed a better option than spending a week in my company. Ugh.

  I considered calling Clemmie or Aidan to moan, but I didn’t feel justified. I’d done that thing Aidan described with the badger and the pit, or whatever.

  I hadn’t expected Matt to fall in love. How could I? He adored me one second and hated me the next. It was said so desperately, too, as if love was never unrequited–just unobserved.

  At least I’d taken Matt out to the cottages instead of my room. The memory would have been a little too hard to bear tonight.

  The only boy who had been in this bed–and he was a boy, really–was Elliot. I lost my virginity to him on my seventeenth birthday right beneath the throw. He was my first serious boyfriend, but by no means the first attempt. I had blindly fawned over his best friend for months. When I’d been rejected, Eliot drove me home and told me awful jokes, told me what a tosser his friend was to turn down such a gorgeous girl. He blatantly took advantage–but no, I didn’t mind. He did it well.

  He found himself in my bed a few weeks later and he didn’t do that too badly, either.

  I closed my eyes, my fingers drifting beneath the throw to sticky, swollen flesh that was all the more sensitive for being smooth. I shoved Matt and the carnage of the day from my mind, and dove into memories of Eliot: the weekends his parents went away when we tried to make the headboard dent the wall, the hours spent kissing and petting, slick and moaning just from his eager mouth on my nipples, the way I’d taught him to make me come, and tasting myself on the cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

  I panted through my orgasm, trying to stay quiet. That voice–the voice in my dreams–permeated each peak and every wordless contraction. My hips bucked as if I fucked a ghost, as if I offered myself up to the cool air.

  Afterward, I lay trembling, unsure that I was alone. Unsure that I wanted to be.

  Elliot, if you’re reading this: I’m sorry for dumping you in the Nemesis queue at Alton Towers.

  I’m also sorry that I got seduced by my boss behind your back. He–

  Fuck. Fuck.

  My parents had been talking about Charlie.

  * * * *

  Mum made a fuss of me at breakfast, a huge stack of pancakes offered in reconciliation. I did my best with them, but soon muttered an excuse about New York nerves.

  “You know we just want to see you happy,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “We’re worried, that’s all.”

  I wondered how much of that worry stemmed from the guilt of having only one child. It wasn’t something they’d have chosen, if they could–I knew that much. Still, all they had to worry over these days was me, and all because of my hard, er...work.

  God, I wished sometimes that they’d fucked up. Hurt me. That they were the excuse for the strange use of flesh I’d become. I needed the money for them, yes...but there were other ways to get money. Ways that broke wallets and not hearts.

  “Mum, I’ll get ove
r it. I’ve got enough on my plate the next week as it is. I’ll call you as soon as I get there, okay?”

  “You better.”

  Dad was unusually quiet on the drive to Heathrow. Last night’s realization coiled and hissed inside. They knew about Charlie. They’d always known. It was meant to be a secret; how the hell had they found out and why didn’t they say something? How much did they know? They evidently thought I still saw him. Like that.

  Christ…imagine if they knew he was Matt’s stepfather.

  “This thing with Matt,” Dad said finally. “Not anything to do with your other job?”

  I blinked at him absently–I hoped.

  “That secretarial thing you took on. You know. For us,” he added, clearing his throat in discomfort.

  Oh, thank God for that. Just another lie I’d all but forgotten–the evening work. “What do you mean?”

  “Well…between that and everything else, maybe it didn’t leave you a lot of time.”

  I gave a slow nod. “It didn’t. Doesn’t, I mean. But seriously, Dad–it’s nothing to do with it.”

  “We wouldn’t mind if you stopped, you know. You’ve done enough already.” Something mellowed his stoic features. Shame?

  “I’ll stop when it’s all paid off,” I said firmly. “Seems silly to bail now.”

  He smiled. “We’re having your name put on the deeds, you know. Seemed right.”

  “Oh.” Something wrenched in my belly, partly because I now owned a chunk of gorgeousness, and partly because I wished they hadn’t spent the money. “Dad, you didn’t need to–”

  “Stop beating yourself up, Leila. You’ve worked harder than we could ever have asked.” He paused to change gear. “You two might make it up this week, spending all that time together.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just don’t go bringing any Yanks home. I have some standards, you know,” he grumbled.

  I poked him in the belly and he rolled his eyes at me.

  “I’m going to find a nice Democrat husband now, just to spite you.” I giggled.

  Dad waved me off in the parking bay and I dragged my suitcase into the massive foyer. I scanned the screens for a clock, loudspeaker ringing in my ears. Ugh, it was too early for all of this.

  “Leila!” Poppy waved at me from a nest of sofas.

  The sun poured through the glass wall and I squinted as I made my way over.

  “Our desk hasn’t opened yet,” she said, gesturing behind to Upper Class, where Sadie already chatted to an assistant. “Gorgeous morning for it, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I said, blinking. “Right.” The new bag was heavy in my lap.

  “Have you finished your pitch?”

  “I’ve barely started it, to be honest. You?”

  “Almost. Just need to sort out how I’m presenting it, really.” She gestured to a chunk of files on the coffee table and inadequacy pointed at me with a lewd little snigger.

  “Get you, huh?”

  There was a thick pause.

  “We’re all right, aren’t we, Leila?” Her tone wavered as she spoke.

  “Of course we are, Pops.”

  “It’s just that you seem a little…off.” She leaned around to look me in the eye and I pretended to ignore her.

  “It’s not you.” I chewed my bottom lip. “Matt and I broke up yesterday. It’s all a bit awkward.”

  “Oh. Oh. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to ask what had happened; it pulled at the edges of her mouth. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Actually…would you mind terribly if we swap seats on the plane?”

  “No, that’d be fine.” She brushed my arm. “I’m sure you’re better off without him.”

  “I was the one who ended it.”

  “Oh. Right.” A frown made her glasses bob. “Well, at least he hasn’t got to worry about impressing anyone this week. Since he’s not staying on.”

  “True.”

  If he even turned up.

  “Good morning, children.” Joseph stood over us, his shadow potent as ever in the sunshine. It was the first time I’d seen him in something other than formal clothes–besides no clothes, of course. The fine-knit jumper and chinos didn’t lessen his authority. They suited him, too. He looked young.

  Yves appeared at his side, clutching the FT and a laptop bag. The hangover turned his skin a sallow shade of grey.

  “Morning.” Poppy smiled, edging up the sofa a little. “Are you…”

  “No, not joining you. But thanks for the offer.” Joseph eyed me over Poppy’s shoulder, his mouth twitching in a faint smile.

  I found myself wishing I’d worn something a little more elegant than flat boots.

  “The desk just opened–I’ll see you in the lounge.” He glanced about. “No sign of Gordon yet?”

  “No,” I mumbled.

  “He’d better show up sharpish.”

  I waited for Poppy to gather her copious–and pretty–paperwork, and we followed them to the check-in desk. More sofas beckoned in the departure lounge. We spread ourselves over them, bags tossed wantonly and files splayed like lovers.

  “Can we get away with drinking, do you think?” I asked hopefully.

  “Leila.” Poppy peered down her nose. “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “Bah.” God, I could kill a gin and tonic. What had happened to the days when I could so easily turn down alcohol?

  I sloped off to the Duty Free and called Aidan.

  “Is it even daylight yet?” he grunted.

  “Have you heard from Matt?”

  “He’s right beside me,” he said smugly.

  What? “No, he isn’t. Is he…?”

  “Well….no.” He yawned. “But it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Isn’t he at the airport?”

  I heaped Clinique products into a basket. “No. Neither are you, actually. I thought you were coming?”

  “I am. Couldn’t get on your flight. I’m going later tonight. New York–oh my God!” Bed clothes rustled as he bounced. “Why are you panicking about Matt-Matt, anyway? You don’t leave for a while yet.”

  “Because I did that thing with the badger.” I sighed.

  “Eh?”

  “I dumped him, Aid,” I wailed.

  A woman in a red suit nearly knocked over a Dior display as she glared over in horror.

  “Already? Jesus, Lei-Lei. You’re going to be so made of stone soon that I’ll be able to chisel you a hard-on.”

  “Thanks for that.” I pretended to study a bottle of shampoo. “Seriously, it’s not funny. He was trying to get out of the trip last night.”

  “I’m not fucking surprised, you harpy.”

  “Really, any time you want to kick in with the support, that’d be great.”

  “Oh, bugger that.” He laughed. “How upset was he? On a vulnerability scale of one to ten, one being Nikolai pre-mojito and ten being Nikolai after seven mojitos.”

  “Is there an eleven? A non-gay eleven.”

  “He doesn’t need to be gay. He could just be unconscious.”

  My bank card grated against the till assistant’s nails. “I think they call that rape.”

  “A technicality, Lei-Lei. A technicality.” He yawned again. “Do you want me to give him a ring? He might answer to me.”

  I punched in my pin number, wincing slightly at the amount on the screen. “Not yet. I’ll let you know in a bit if he’s still not here.”

  “Okay. I should probably do some packing. That involves getting out of bed…meh. Can you come and do it for me?”

  “No.” I laughed. “Besides, your packing probably consists of a bridle, Durex and a few poseur vest tops.”

  “Don’t forget the leather trousers,” he chirped. “And the horse tranquilizers.”

  “I’ll see you on the other side of the world.” I grinned.

  “Hell yes, Lei-Lei. Don’t get too drunk on the flight.”

  “As if I would!”

  I picked up some magazines and bottled water in the next stor
e, then headed back to the lounge. A great shiver of relief sailed through me as I spied Matt in one corner, being talked at by a still disgruntled Yves. Matt’s hair stuck up all over the place and his rugby shirt was creased, and when he glanced up at me, his whole face darkened at my weak smile. It seemed instinctive to rush over and hug him, to soothe it all away. I had to bite my lip and restrain it.

  I spent the next half an hour reorganizing my hand luggage and trying to seem busy. I flicked through The Lawyer, munched mints, checked the boarding screens every few minutes. Eventually, my phone began to vibrate with a text.

  Stop looking so fucking miserable. J

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. When I looked up, he eyed me from his sofa, arms folded and legs spread. Predatory and slick. They say all whores are victims, and that may well be true, but I never thought of myself like that. Never thought I was prey.

  Matt’s razor-edge eyes cut my smile away. Joseph had noticed him watching us too, and he raised an eyebrow at Matt. How is this your business?

  I shifted about and put my phone away.

  Mercifully, it was time to board. Sadie walked down the queue, handing us all copies of various New York newspapers and Time magazine.

  “Good for making conversation with the clients. I’m sure you’re already up to date with current affairs.” She paused to smile ruefully. “But you might find some of these interesting.”

  “Cheers.” It was good to have another excuse to be quiet on the flight–one that wasn’t alcohol.

  She slid another envelope into my hand. “Those are the details of the pick-up at the other end. There are a couple of cars. Just have a read-through in your own time.”

  Sadie was always so harmlessly sweet–but not vapid, so I couldn’t dislike that about her either. Why I looked to hate other women that morning, I don’t know. Besides, I needed only to look in the mirror at Charlotte’s smirking mug.

  Poppy grimaced at Time. “They ought to rename this Propaganda. Ugh. You forget about the nutcases they hide in America…even in parliament.”

  The majority of experience I’d had with Americans was as clients, and they had all been perfectly nice. Of course, we hadn’t talked much about religion or politics, unless shouting God! a lot counted for anything.

  Poppy switched her seat with mine in the cabin, leaving her in the centre pair with Matt and me alone on the left. I felt a little lonely on my aisle of one, until I noticed Joseph on his at the other side. He drank me in quite shamelessly. Not long now.