Little Doll: Queens of Chaos 1

by L. J. Findlay

  Scowler, Jaz, kept on throwing herself at Bastien, who I was pleased to note kept his distance. Although, it would be amusing to see his reaction if he was put in the same situation as Xanthe and I, but I supposed one of us had to get a happy ending eventually. I noticed with amusement that Ludo and Damien kept well away. Lucky fuckers. Not entangled in this mess.

  The day drew to a close and I kissed Isadora goodbye. She stared at me desperately. “Are you not coming back with Jaz and I?”

  “No. I need to head back with my brothers. Much to discuss as I am sure you can imagine, dear.”

  She glared at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she stamped her foot too. She pulled me closer and hissed. “I’ll let you off this time but on Saturday I expect you to act every inch the loving husband. Okay?”

  I obediently kissed her. “Always. I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Blaise.” My father stepped forward, smug satisfaction dripping from every crease of his weathered face.

  “Father,” I responded, bowing my head in respect for a man who I held in such pitying disregard.

  He clapped me over the shoulder. “It is so good to see you getting on well with your new fiancée.” He turned to the other elders, smiling conspiratorially. “So much of an easier task than what we had to do in our day, especially when they look like Isadora.” They all chuckled like sycophantic, braying donkeys.

  I forced a smile. “For sure, Father. We’re all grateful for the last task and will do our best not to let you down.”

  “Lighten up, son! You’re treating this like a funeral instead of a moment for celebration. Maybe you’re just tired from the excitement of today.” I gritted my teeth at the patronising treatment as my father regarded me assessingly. “Off you go now, I’m sure you have much to discuss and to plan! Oh, to be young again. Your engagement party is sure to be such fun, shame those days are past us old folks.”

  “Indeed, Father. The champagne has clearly got to my head, overwhelmed by Isadora’s good looks.” I shook his and the other elders’ hands firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  I turned on my heel and stalked to the car, the others trailing behind. “Dear God, Blaise. Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we? We get it, you don’t like this but for our sakes try a bit harder next time.” Damien sighed as we approached the car.

  “I am doing my best. Isadora was trying to pimp out Bastien to her friend Jaz. Now would you, dear Delacourt, be happy with a forced arrangement?” I spat out, sick of niceties.

  He paled, his hand on the door. “Don’t drag me into this. It wasn’t in the clause that any of us had to enter an arrangement to ensure the success of the task. The discussion is pointless.”

  It would seem that I hit a nerve. The jokester of our group had gone as serious as soured milk. Fuck this. I had a witty repartee on the tip of my tongue about how he had made me fallible in his pursuit of love, but I knew that conversation would get us nowhere. For the time being I had to swallow this bitter pill and preferably with something stronger than champagne.

  Xanthe

  The rain was sluicing down in great buckets of water, just as though I had turned the shower on, and my hair was sticking to my face. Drowned rat didn’t even cover it. I had spent the day finalising the things I needed to get and even though I hadn’t managed to source the correct smoked salmon, and it had been too late to order the fois gras from the provider in France, everything was just about sorted. Needless to say, India had mentioned several times, whenever I ducked back into the office to juggle the mountain of office-based tasks I also had to complete, that this would have been completely possible had I decided to grace the office with my presence on Monday. Fuck her. Thank God Jaz wasn’t around. She would have wound me up so badly that I would have done something unforgivable.

  Anyway, the day from hell was finally over and I was struggling to get to Pimlico tube station, weighed down by bags of indulgent ingredients, desperate to get home and dry. Just as I was approaching the mouth of the tube, every cliché girl nightmare happened, and no it wasn’t my bags of overpriced luxury cascading down the steps, although that would have been equally distressing. This was far more basic.

  Xander’s messy blonde hair, darkened by the rain was a mere few paces in front of me. There was no mistaking his familiar build and the navy blazer I had given him at Christmas last year, a present to celebrate the first year of our adulting and grown-up jobs. He worked for some fancy hedge-fund so I thought it appropriate to get him a nice blazer, of course with parental help as I definitely didn’t have the funds for something that he would consider suitable.

  Anyway, the sight of him caused me to trip and stumble down memory lane rather than do something productive about avoiding him because, as mentioned, every cliché girl nightmare is to run into their ex, especially when rocking the drowned rat look. I wanted to see him when I was at my most bad-ass bitch rather than when I was the actual bitch, carting around shopping bags. Fuck life.

  I attempted to veer right, to hide behind the corner and wait until Xander had entered the tube but no such luck. As if some kind of sixth sense was guiding him, he paused and turned around, his eyes lighting up in recognition at me.

  “Xanthe,” he greeted me in exhaustion.

  “Hey, Xander,” I replied, cursing the shopping bags that were hindering any chance of escape.

  “For God’s sake you’re soaked, let’s get on the tube and have a chat, yeah?”

  I considered. It wasn’t ideal to be trapped in a metal tube with him with no escape options but I figured, as it was the tail-end of rush hour at 7.30 p.m, there should be enough witnesses to stop him from creating a scene, attacking me or even kidnapping me. No, I was not being dramatic and yes that would 100% be sanctioned by the families. It was also really cold and the shopping bags were really heavy so I caved, as usual, and meekly followed him into the station. I noted bitterly that he didn’t even offer to carry one of the bags, clearly he didn’t think he needed to grovel. Arrogant bastard.

  The guard smiled at me sympathetically as I struggled through the turnstile. “Are you okay with all that?”

  Xander answered for me curtly. “She’s fine, thanks.”

  The guard frowned and I smiled weakly. Now was not the time for a scene. I followed behind Xander who had started walking down the escalator but fuck that and no thank you. I positioned my bags on the right-hand side and ignored Xander’s shout. “Xanthe, come on!” So much for not creating a scene.

  He waited for me at the foot of the escalator, tapping his foot impatiently. “It’s not like I could have gone any quicker, if you were so keen to go on we didn’t need to talk. To be honest, not really sure what more there is to say. I broke up with you because you are a manipulative, controlling bastard who couldn’t understand the meaning of the word no in any context. Morning sex. Engagement. No always meant yes to you.”

  “I was waiting for you because you are my girlfriend and to be honest with you, I’m not quite sure why I’m so patient.” He paused as we approached the edge of the platform, turning to face me and continued. “Do you know how many girls would fall over themselves to be with me?”

  “And clearly arrogance needs to be added in too,” I muttered under my breath.

  His features contorted into rage and he gripped me so hard by the tops of my arms, I was sure it would bruise. Guess I would have to wear long sleeves tomorrow to avoid any catty comments, I thought, trying to quell the panic bubbling up inside me. We were so fucking close to the platform and the train was only a minute away. He wouldn’t throw me in front of the train, would he? To be fair, I probably had pissed him off so much it was a high possibility and I couldn’t keep the panic off my face. I had never pushed him so far before.

  Recognition of this dawned into a lustful smirk on Xander’s face and he ran one hand up my shoulder to grasp me by my throat, squeezing the fluttering pulse like a sadist would manhandle a caged bird. “I fucking own you Xanthe… don’t forget that. R
emember, meus ad infinitum?” The train roared its approach from the tunnel as he gazed at me with merciless cruelty, all the while stroking that damn tattoo that branded me as his. Meus ad infinitum to the end it would seem...he dipped me into a low embrace over the train tracks as if we were in some lethal dance. My heart rate pounded as hard as the thud of the approaching train. If he couldn’t have me, he would kill me. Why the fuck did I decide to hear him out? Hindsight was indeed a marvellous thing. What a shame I didn’t have the sense to possess even a gram of it. Just before the train approached, he pulled me back and held me tight, gazing down at me with a remorseless and unforgiving gaze. “See? I own you.” He brushed my furiously beating pulse. “I am the one who decides whether you live or die. We are meant to be together and you just need to see that.”

  I stormed onto the train, lugging the bags with me and thanking whatever gods there were that they hadn’t disappeared beneath the train because I did not have either the funds or the time to source them again before tomorrow. Turning on my heel, I poked Xander in the chest and shouted, “Fuck you. You just can’t get it, can you? We broke up and you can’t take it, can you? What, did it wound your pride? Well get this, we don’t live in the fucking olden days anymore where a woman doesn’t have any independence. And guess what, I’ve got a fuckton of independence and I will not submit myself to be your fucking little caged doll, okay?” My rant echoed in the semi-full carriage but my near brush with death made me uncaring of causing a scene, something I was always taught to avoid but this week had made me so sick of all the fucking bullshit I had to put up with and now I was not going to acquiesce like a good little girl. I was going to stand up for myself and do what I thought was right for the first time in my twenty-three years, and damn, it felt good.

  I sat down, my chest heaving, and glared at Xander who leant against the opposite door, considering me with barely masked fury. I shivered.

  Quietly, he stalked forward to sit next to me and turned to me, placing his hand possessively on my leg. I could feel the avid gaze of the other passengers and tried to tune them out so as to focus on what Xander was saying. “Do not act like some spoilt toddler. I would never throw you under a tube, that is unless you disobey me so repeatedly and so flagrantly that I am left with no other option.” He smirked mercilessly and in that instance the boy I had fallen in love had gone. Morphed like some sweet caterpillar into a sadistic butterfly with wings dripping with corrosive poison. My body shook like a leaf, the adrenaline still coursing around my veins. “I would punish you for your little escapade but I am a modern man, so how about I grant you leniency… take the time to understand? To help guide you through this tricky period?”

  I recoiled under his sick words but smiled. No scenes from me, what a gold-star pupil I was. “Do you not understand that we’ve broken up, Xander?”

  “I understand this as a period of difficulty for you and I will do my best to help you. We were made for each other, Xanthe, and as I remember correctly, it was you who made the first move.” Human grief flashed across his face resurrecting the boy who I had fallen in love. Maybe he was redeemable? We had grown up as children together before eventually falling in love and it was at moments like these, I couldn’t face the idea of losing Xander as a lover or as a friend. I had hoped that our breakup would have been amicable but apparently it would never be amicable unless I was his little doll.

  “We are now approaching Vauxhall…” the tube voice announced monotonously, breaking the spell around us. I jerked back, startled. I glanced around the tube and saw that the other passengers had grown bored of us, immersed in their phones, Evening Standards, and some were packing their bags to disembark the train. How I wished I could follow but Xander knew full well that my station was Brixton. Thank God he needed to change at the next station. Only two to three minutes or thereabouts. Surely, he couldn’t hurt me too badly in that time frame.

  “Xanthe,” Xander said, cupping my cheek and drawing me back into his sphere of attention.

  “Hm?” I responded breathlessly, trying to mask my revulsion at his inappropriately affectionate touch.

  “Still easily distracted, I see,” he chuckled coldly. “As I was saying, I will help you through this. Our families are deeply concerned by this. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  I refrained from scowling. The more I learnt about the familial investment in our relationship, the more answers were needed. After the break-up, I knew they would be disappointed but I hadn’t realised just how much or how Xander would twist that to his advantage.

  He pursed his lips in irritation at my lack of response. “Anyway, as I was saying. We just want to help, Xan. Okay?” The train announced its approach to Stockwell. I breathed a sigh of relief; he would be going soon. He would not follow me home only to face the wrath from Noelle. I wished I was as terrifying as she was. He pulled a card out, navy blue and embossed with gold writing. “Anyway, I met this guy at a party a couple of weeks ago and he’s opened this bar, underground, super exclusive and private. If you’re sensible, meet me here tomorrow at 7.30 p.m. Anyway, I know how much you like those places. You won’t be able to resist.” He smiled at me conspiratorially before kissing my cheek and disembarking the train.

  I slumped back, drained and deflated, the card hanging limp in my hand. I watched Xander swagger away down the platform and breathed a sigh of relief. That would be the last I saw of him. Even if it meant ostracising myself from my family, I would not get back into a relationship with him. Regardless of my family gunning for me to stay with him, I would not. I slicked on my matte, deep mauve lipstick and fluffed out my hair, channelling every ounce of confidence I had.

  Clearly, I hadn’t convinced everyone. A mousy looking woman in a black suit leant forward, her features sympathetic. “Are you okay?”

  I smiled back, trying to exude the London air of general unconcern. “Of course, sorry that was my ex,” I laughed weakly. “Clearly can’t take no for an answer, but don’t worry I’ve blocked him and everything.”

  Her beady blue eyes zeroed in on the card in my hand and I crushed it defensively. “Blocking is good but it doesn’t always stop them.”

  “How would you know? Honestly, I’m fine and I can handle myself.”

  “I work for social services and I’ve seen a lot of women in abusive relationships who claim that they’re fine but they just don’t know how deep their abuser’s claws are…” She trailed off at the look of undisguised shock on my face. How dare she pry? Weren’t Londoners meant to keep themselves to themselves? I get that it was coming from a place of concern but it was so uncalled for. That jarring encounter and the slow realisation to the nature of our relationship, had made me realise it was coercive, if not abusive, but I wasn’t ready to deal with that realisation just yet. It would surely be impossible for him to lock me up in his doll’s house. “Anyway,” she continued nervously, packing her things up as the train drew to a stop. “I was just worried and if you ever need it call this number. Obviously, I could have just misinterpreted everything.”

  She handed me a tatty, cream card with the words ‘Brixton Women’s Refuge’ embossed across the top with an address and number underneath. I looked up at her, at a loss for words. Surely the altercation couldn’t have looked that serious?

  “It really isn’t my place but this is a refuge I volunteer at and it would just make me feel better if I knew you had the option. Name’s Annalise Smith by the way…” she flustered, clearly out of her depth. I felt slightly bad, I was just blindsided because it had never crossed my mind that it was so obvious. I felt stupid that I had been so naïve until recently.

  “It’s honestly okay, thank you,” I said, trying to sound genuine.

  It must have worked because relief shone across her features. She ducked her head. “It’s nothing. Hope you’re okay.”

  She hurried up the platform, leaving me in a deep state of confusion. I needed to get the shopping home with no more drama and preferably a large gin
and tonic to wash away the day. Thanks to the rain that was still bucketing down mercilessly, I hurried home as quick as I could and jammed my key in the door, relieved for this day to finally be over. This was quickly quashed by Noelle’s nervous appearance at the door. She jumped, startled at my entrance, and bit her lip, her eyes darting to the kitchen.

  “Noelle, what’s up?”

  “Not much, babe. How’s your day been?” she responded in a weak attempt at deflection.

  Now truly concerned, I attempted to push past her into the flat but she blocked me. “Noelle?”

  “Have you checked your phone?” she asked.

  “No? Xander hasn’t come here has he? I was literally on the tube with him a second ago.”

  “We will revisit that because I do not like the sound of it.” I leaned my head back against the door in despair. Now she would be after it like a dog who had caught a scent. Fuck’s sake. I just needed a gin and tonic and some dry clothes. “Anyway,” she hurried on, sensing my impatience. “Have you checked your phone at all?”

  “No, babe. You know that I’ve been doing bitch-work all today,” I responded, too tired to think of a cutting response.

  “Anyway, it might have warned you about…”

  “Hey, Noelle? Everything okay?”

  My spine stiffened at the familiar warm cadence of the voice, my mind joining up the dots of why Noelle was so distressed. Of course. Bastien was here because, unlike Blaise and I, he and Gemma had a blossoming romance. And that was beautiful. It was lovely. But in the sense that a sharp knife was lovely as it impaled you slowly through the stomach.

  He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, looking as handsome as ever in a white shirt in contrast to his dark skin, and piercing arctic eyes that zeroed in on pathetic old me, slumped against the door. I was so fucking done with today.