Carnage Boxset

by Jones, Lesley

  “Fuck you, arsehole. I haven’t done anything.”

  “What the fuck d’ya want then? The birds are fucking singing here and I’ve only just got to bed.”

  “I’ve got Ashley here at my place.”

  I heard him exhale, or inhale, I wasn’t sure which, but it went on for an exaggerated length of time.

  “Marls, I swear to God, if you’ve upset that girl, George, Jim, and Mother will have your balls.”

  “Mother? What the fuck has she got to do with anything?”

  “Ash works for her and Georgia.”

  Well fuck, she hadn’t mentioned that.

  “I haven’t upset her. She’s out cold on my bathroom floor right now, covered in her own spew.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Len uttered his favourite response to most things I told him. I could hear Jimmie asking who it was in the background.

  “Len, put Jim on. I need to talk to her.” The anxiety that was snaking its way up my spine was starting to bubble in my chest and I paced as I heard Len pass the phone over to Jim.

  “Please don’t fuck my friend, Marls. She’s had a tough enough life as it is, she doesn’t need you doing your usual fuck and run and breaking her heart.”

  “Jim, she’s been sick and it’s everywhere. I don’t know what to do. What if she wakes up and she thinks I touched her? They won’t believe me again, Jim. I’m not a rapist, but the papers won’t care, they’ll write shit about me again.”

  I felt like I’d been hit with a ton of bricks. The panic, hurt, and anger I’d felt at the comments made in the press and by others in our industry when Haley White made her accusations came clawing their way to the surface. I’d shrugged it all off at the time, had another drink, snorted another line, but it hurt. It fucking hurt and I didn’t want to feel like that again, not ever.

  “Marley, calm down, babe—”

  “I’m not a fucking rapist, Jim. She spewed up over her party frock so I took it off her and put it in the machine. I put her in one of my T-shirts and a pair of boxers, but she’s done it again and it’s all in her hair this time. It’s fucking everywhere, but I never touched her, Jim. I swear I never touched her.”

  I was crying like a fucking princess.

  What the fuck was that all about?

  “Marls, listen to me. You’re not a rapist, and no one thinks that. She doesn’t think that. Now calm the fuck down.”

  I took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I could actually feel my balls and dick shrivelling and being replaced with a vagina over my breakdown.

  “I love you, Marley Layton. You’re a good person, and don’t you ever forget that. Now, go run a shower, get Ash in it and wash the puke out of my friend’s hair. If you have to take her top off, try and do it in a non-pervi way.”

  “Jim, she’s out fucking cold—dead to the world. I might like things a bit kinky, but I’m not into fucking girls who are passed out, I can assure you.”

  “That’s good to hear, Marls. Now, go turn on the shower. I’ll stay on the line in case she wakes up and freaks out.”

  After putting the phone down on the side of the sink, I turned on the shower and lifted Ashley up and sat her down again in the corner to let the water run over her. She tilted her face up into it and mumbled a few things that I couldn’t understand. Leaving the boxers on, I pulled the T-shirt over her head and washed her hair, her arms, and her legs. Her tits were staring me in the face. My arm and even my hand brushed against them a couple of times. I had a hard-on the whole time and felt like the worst person on earth. She was fucking gorgeous. Even in this sorry state of hers, she did things to me.

  I wrapped her in the biggest towel I could find and carried her out to my bed and laid her down.

  “She’s clean. She woke up a bit, but wasn’t making any sense.” I told Jimmie when I got back on the phone.

  “Okay, well done. Put her in another one of your T-shirts. Give her hair a comb and tie it back if you can find an elastic band, and keep her lying on her side. She’s gonna be mortified in the morning so go easy on her, Marls. She puts on a big brave front, but she’s soft as shit and has a heart of gold under that mouthy bird she makes out to be.”

  “Jim?” I whispered quietly.

  “What Marls?”

  “I like her. I mean, like … I really like her.”

  My mouth felt as dry as a nuns mildred as I tried to get the words out. (Sorry God, nuns, and all you religious types, but you get what I’m saying here, right?)

  “I know, Marls. I knew it as soon as I saw the way you looked at her in the club. Don’t fuck this up. Now go sort her out and get some sleep. Love ya.” She hung up before I said any more.

  I went and found a comb and combed her long blonde hair as best I could, then dressed her once again in a T-shirt and boxers of mine.

  I laid her on her side, facing me, and watched her sleep as my thoughts raced, my stomach churned, and my heart? My heart did not have a clue what had just hit it.

  The little blonde thing had gotten to me. I’d looked after her, washed and dried her, made sure she was safe, and I wanted nothing more in return, other than to get to spend more time with her.

  And that scared the shit outta me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  1989

  I was dragged back into consciousness by the sound of someone throwing up.

  Where the fuck did we go last night for Maca to have drunk enough to be in this state?

  I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head, and realised in an instant that the sound was coming from my bathroom, not Maca’s.

  Shit.

  Ashley.

  I jumped out of bed and ran to my bathroom, stopping in the doorway as I watched her arch over my toilet as she sat on her knees in front of it. All the while, she was trying to hold her hair back and I remembered that Jimmie told me I should tie her hair in an elastic band.

  I ran to the kitchen and pulled open the junk drawer. You know, that one that every house has, filled with elastic bands, Blu-Tack, paper clips, batteries, pens, and condoms? I rifled through it all until I found an elastic band big enough to hold all her hair, then I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before rushing back to my bathroom.

  Her elbows were propped on the toilet seat, her arms crossed, and her head rested on top of them. Without saying a word, I pulled her hair back and attempted to wrap the elastic band around it. I didn’t miss the fact that she stiffened as soon as I touched her. I rubbed her back a few times.

  “There’s a bottle of water there. Thought you might need it.” She turned her head and looked at me kneeling next to her.

  “Oh God,” she groaned.

  “Almost.” I said as I winked and held my hand out, as if to shake hers. “Most call me Marley. They save the God title for when I’m making their toes curl.”

  She blinked those big blue-brown eyes at me before rolling them. “You’re such a dick, Rock Star.”

  Yeah, I had to agree. Why the fuck did I just make that toe curl comment?

  She unscrewed the cap on the water bottle, tilted her head back and swallowed. I couldn’t take my eyes from her throat. The way it moved as she swallowed each mouthful, the way her lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle …

  I’m kneeling in front of her, in just a pair of boxers, and I have a big fat chub going on and no way to hide it.

  I’m fucked. Totally and utterly fucked.

  “I’m probably one of the few people in the world that actually wished this was all a dream, and I hadn’t really woken up in Marley Layton’s bed.”

  Her voice brought me back from imagining all the ways I’d like to see her swallow and I thanked the God of hard-ons … Erectimus? I think that was his name, or was that a transformer? Erectimus Prime? Anyway, I thanked him, the God of hard-ons, that rather than making eye contact with me, she still had her head tilted back and was staring up at the ceiling.

  “Well, cheers,” I told her, feeling a little hurt. Who th
e fuck doesn’t wanna wake up in my bed? Is she still drunk? I wonder, does she know exactly who I am?

  She moved her head and her eyes and met mine. I’m not sure if they were glassy from her puke fest, or if she was actually about to cry and once again, I was hit with that unnerving need to make sure she was okay.

  “Please tell me we didn’t fuck?”

  “Wow, are you for fucking real right now?” That hurt, and I hated that it was obvious in my tone. I fucking hated that what she just asked bothered me so much.

  “You’re Marley Layton. I’m not a part of your world. I work for your mum and your sister, who also happens to be one of my best friends, the other being Jimmie, your future sister-in-law. I don’t want to be the dinner table conversation next time you all get together, and I don’t want you all talking about how easy I was and what a slut I am. Despite what people think they know about me, I’m not that type of girl.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and I couldn’t stay put. “C’mere,” I whispered and pulled her into my lap. I rested my back against the bath and pulled her into my chest, stroking her back and her hair as she cried.

  “Nothing happened last night, and even if it did, I would never talk about it with my family.” Although that could’ve actually been a bit of a lie. We did tend to share in my family.

  “So how come I’m wearing your clothes?”

  Ah shit. And it was all going so well.

  “Well, here’s the thing. You sorta threw up everywhere, and I do mean everywhere; in the back of the car, over your posh party frock, over me―”

  “Oh fuck,” she cried, burying her face in my chest.

  “Again, feel free to just call me Marley.” That earned me a dig in the ribs from her dainty little fist.

  “So, did you undress me? Please tell me you called Jimmie or George to do that.”

  “I called Jim.” I reassured her and felt her relax against me instantly, but I know it’s not gonna last.

  “Thank fuck for that,” she sighed out the words in relief.

  “And she stayed on the line while I stripped you off, showered you, washed your hair, and dressed you again for the second time.”

  She made a loud, over-exaggerated sobbing noises. “Noooo, noooo. Why did I get in such a state? What happened? The last thing I remember is us dancing.”

  “Yeah, and then you told me to get you drunk and that you might think about letting me shag ya.”

  “Well whoo hoo, go you. You get top marks for getting me drunk, Rock Star.” She said sarcastically, her face still buried against my chest.

  “Thanks,” I told her. She held up her hand for me to high five her and I did. Then I did something that I’d never, ever done with a girl before. I laced my fingers through hers and held her hand.

  My dick stirred and I cringed. “Ash?”

  “What?”

  “My arse is going numb and my back hurts. You ready to go back to bed? I’ll make you a cup of tea or coffee, and some toast if you feel up to it.”

  “The thought of making me breakfast is what’s making your dick hard right now, Rock Star?”

  Busted!

  My mouth dried up again, and I decided to try an untested concept of total honesty with a girl.

  “No, I’ve got a hard-on because you’re sitting in my lap with your tits pushed against me and your arse pressing against my dick. And also because you’re fucking gorgeous.”

  “I’m also not fucking stupid,” she mumbled from my chest.

  “What? I can’t understand what you’re saying with your face down there. Although, if you were to dip lower, I’d understand perfectly―every fucking word.”

  “Omit eth,” is what I thought she’d said.

  “Nd, er a king ervert.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re saying down there, baby, but if you’re feeling a bit better, I’m gonna stand you on your feet. You should drink the rest of that water, and feel free to use my toothbrush. Then either come find me while I make us some breakfast, or wait in bed and I’ll bring it up to you.”

  I stood her up on her feet, thanking that Erectimus bloke again that she just stared down at the tiled floor, her arms wrapped around her.

  “Why the fuck won’t you look at me?” I asked her.

  “Vomit breath,” she said more clearly.

  “Ah, that’s what you were saying. What was the second part that I didn’t quite catch?” I asked, now fully aware of what it was she’d called me.

  “I said, ‘And you’re a fucking pervert.’” I smiled, as I could imagine her blushing, and I really wanted to see that. Her skin looked so pale this morning that it’d be good to see some colour on her cheeks, like, really good … and I was starting to get hard again. Fuck you, dick gods.

  “Well, I think the fact that I showered you and changed you into clean clothes, twice, I might fucking add, without once touching you inappropriately, just goes to prove that I’m not a pervert.”

  She finally looked up at me, her blue-brown eyes still glassy.

  “I’m sorry. Thank you for looking after me. I wasn’t talking about any of that. In fact, I’m trying really hard to forget that Marley Layton has seen my tits right now.”

  “Then why am I a pervert? I don’t understand?”

  “Because you’re you and I’m just me; a puke smelling, crazy haired lady, pasty faced nobody who obviously has no self-respect for herself because I came home with you last night, after only just meeting you.”

  Tears clung to her bottom lashes and my heart missed a beat, then seemed to rush around in my chest, trying to find its missing action.

  “Well, you know what, sweetheart? If getting a fat on over the most beautiful, puke smelling, crazy haired, pasty faced nobody I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing makes me a pervert, then I’m guilty as fucking charged.”

  A small smile pulled at the corner of her perfect mouth and I finally got to see that blush spread up her neck and over her cheeks. She swung her shoulders from side to side in the most girliest of gestures. I closed my eyes and thought of chords, notes, frets. I tried to write a tune in my head, anything to calm my boner down.

  “I really wanna kiss the fuck outta you right now.” The blood supply that usually inhabited my brain had obviously sunk south to my dick because I never, at any stage, intended to say that out loud.

  “I stink of puke,” she whispered.

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  She looked over my face for a few seconds and I thought that she was gonna take a step forward, then something, I’ve no clue what, must’ve crossed her mind and her whole stance, even the look in her eyes, changed.

  “I’ll pass on the kiss, thanks. I’ll just clean my teeth and meet you in the kitchen.” She gave me a small smile, but I still felt the sting of her rejection. I nodded my head and left the bathroom, pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt and headed to my kitchen.

  Fuck this for a game of soldiers. That―that right there, women and their unpredictability—were the reasons I didn’t do relationships. They were a complete mystery to me and that was exactly the way I wanted it to stay.

  Fuck her and her blue-brown, brown-blue, or whatever the fuck eye colour she has.

  Fuck her pink cheeks.

  Fuck her perfect tits that I never looked at … much. Maybe a little bit, or a few times, but whatever. Fuck them anyway.

  Fuck everything about her and the way she made me feel so off balance.

  I’d make her coffee and some toast, then call Dave to come pick her up, seeing as Maca seemed to have decided that Milo was for he and my sister’s own personal use. So, fuck them too. They could all go fuck themselves.

  * * *

  “Why’ve you been so nice to me?”

  I jumped at the sound of Ashley’s voice as she leaned against the doorway, watching me pour hot water from the kettle into the coffee mugs I’d set out.

  Yeah, me. I was making a girl coffee after a night of not even getting a shag, or a
blowie, or even a hand job. You couldn’t make this shit up. Un-fucking-believable!

  “What?” My response came out a little harsher than I intended, and I hated that she flinched at my tone. She was still wearing my T-shirt and boxers, and had her hair up in what looked like a birds nest on top of her head. It was the sexiest fucking birds nest I’d ever seen.

  I slid my hands into the pockets of my joggers and held onto my hardening dick so that she couldn’t see it. “Ew, are you playing with your dick through your pocket?”

  This girl seriously had no filter.

  I blushed. I actually felt my cheeks burn as she stood there with a sexy as fuck smirk on her face. I’m Marley Layton. I don’t fucking blush.

  Ever.

  “What? No. I was, I just … my dick fucking likes you, all right. It has a mind of its own when you’re around,” I admitted while standing there, glowing like the Ready Brek kid.

  “And playing with it helps?” she asked.

  “I’m not playing with my fucking dick. I was trying to hold it down so that you wouldn’t see that I’ve got a big fat boner going on.”

  I watched as she folded her arms across her chest.

  Her perfect, perfect tits moved under my T-shirt and my disobedient dick twitched in my hand. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and tried not to think about how they looked when I showered her earlier this morning.

  I failed. They were all I could picture.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said quietly.

  I opened my eyes and watched as she moved toward and then past me. She went to the fridge and pulled out the milk.

  “What question?” I asked as she put the milk down on the work top and started opening cupboard doors. “What are you looking for?”

  “The sugar,” she replied in a tone that implied I should know that.

  “Here.” I opened the cupboard above the kettle and got it down for her.

  “Tupperware? Oh, Rock Star, that bit of info would do your bad boy reputation no good if it were to get out. Did you go to a party yourself to buy it?” she asked while putting two heaped spoonful’s of the golden granules into her cup, offering one up to me.