‘You’ve got my number,’ she said, as she was pulled away from the club. ‘Text me.’
As the cab door closed behind her, she watched the man dig into his pockets and pull out his phone.
CHAPTER TWO
Even in a deep sleep, she looks beautiful. Gentle, elegant, angelic. Her eyelids flutter softly as her eyes move beneath them, the only sign of life in her otherwise lifeless body. Even her chest movements are barely noticeable beneath her skin-tight black dress.
I crouch down beside her onto my knees, my feet flat against the surface, so my knees are at a forty-five-degree angle, tucking my elbows into my hips, leaning forward, hovering my ear over her mouth and nose, listening to the faintest whispers of breath as they caress my cheek. Then I run the pad of my index finger over her neck, moving from the side opposite all the way towards me, feeling the cartilage and bones move underneath. I stop when I feel the pulse, the only thing keeping her alive, moving the blood from one part of her body to the next. Weak, yet steady, rhythmic. In the silence, it’s amplified, drowning out the sound of my breathing, the sound of the street below.
Dum-dum.
Dum-dum.
Dum-dum.
All it would take is one nick of the blade, one deep laceration into the vein, into the tunnel of life, to send all that beautiful, perfect blood spilling from her body.
But not yet. There are things I must do first. Things I must experience. Before I progress to the next stage in our time together, I want to take in a final mental image of her in this state. Dirty, filthy, unclean – whorish. That will all have to change. I must return her to her angelic state.
I lift myself away from her body and roll her onto her front. The back of her dress is fastened with a zip, the hem cutting into her flesh. But there’s hardly any body fat on her so it doesn’t spill out of the sides. Slowly, I lower the dress all the way to the small of her back until it becomes loose enough to free her from it. Delicate, gentle movements are required. Nothing too rash, too drastic. Time, more than anything, is the most important. I want to enjoy this, revel in it, remember it for the rest of my life.
Once I’ve carefully removed the dress from her body, neatly folding it into a small square and placing it next to her high-heeled shoes, I look at her figure. Tonight she has chosen not to wear a bra and has let them all hang out. But I’m pleased to see she is still wearing underwear – thin, lacy, almost nothing to it – that she has saved some dignity at least. I remove what’s left of her clothing and place it beside the dress. Now she’s completely naked, glowing beneath the lights. I bathe in the sight of her petite figure, fully formed and proportionate in all the right places. Her breasts list to one side and now I can see the rise and fall of her chest. Everything about her is perfect. Her toenails, her feet, her thin calves, her thin thighs, her vulva, the two poles of her hip bones sticking out, her small, neatly tucked belly button, all the way up to her visible ribcage and collar bones. It’s all on show. And it’s all for me.
But it’s not perfect-perfect.
There are a few niggles, a few minor defects. Like the two-day stubble on her legs and armpits. Like the small patch of hair on her pubic bone. The thick black hair on her forearms that she’s always been self-conscious about. All the way up to the thin white hairs that have formed on her neck and top lip. The chipped finger- and toenail varnish that desperately needs replacing. The lazily applied mascara that needs to be removed. These are all just blemishes and irritants that diminish her beauty.
There is still a lot of work to be done until she can become the angel she was always meant to be.
Fortunately, there’s plenty of time.
CHAPTER THREE
Tomek nursed his second pint of the evening, snapping his mouth open and closed to savour the taste. Tonight he was trying a new beer. Some IPA, hipster, fruity-flavoured bullshit made with love and an admirable yet naïve company ethos that planted a tree with every order. But despite his snobbish attitude towards anything that wasn’t a pint of Heineken or Guinness, he found he quite liked it. He’d broadened his horizons slightly, and he was enjoying it. Though he didn’t want to get ahead of himself and try everything on the menu; he’d only tried the planet-saving beer because Abigail had recommended it. Tonight was her special night, and he didn’t want to upset her. So much so that he’d booked the venue she’d asked for, drunk the beer she’d recommended, and worn the outfit she’d chosen for him. His original plan had comprised a smart, blue-and-pink striped shirt with a pair of cream chinos, to which she’d said, ‘You’re not fucking going out looking like that.’ Much to his dismay; it wasn’t like he hadn’t bought the outfit especially, like he had put no thought into it. There was a half an hour in M&S he would never get back.
In the end, she had selected a plain white T-shirt beneath a high-collared jumper for him. It was horrendous and itchy, and he felt like a twat – an uber twat – sitting there in the middle of the restaurant, looking like he’d come directly from the eighties. But it was her special night, and he didn’t want to say anything.
As he set the beer on the table, he rubbed the itch on his neck with his finger, and turned his attention to Kasia. Tonight she’d put on her nicest pair of jeans and a small satin shirt, accompanied by a full layer of make-up. She was in the middle of texting someone, a friend presumably, and had been lost in the device for the past ten minutes.
‘How was school today, Kash?’ he asked.
‘All right.’
As always. Either that or it was “fine”. The vernacular of a teenager going through a turbulent and tumultuous time. Tomek thought he had probably been as opaque as her at that age.
‘What classes d’you have?’
‘The usual.’
‘Great. Which ones?’
She finished sending the text message – or Snapchat, or Facebook, or Instagram, or TikTok; whatever it was she was using – before giving him her full attention.
‘Erm… maths, chemistry, biology, physics and PE.’
‘Wow. That’s a full-on day. Especially with all those boring subjects.’
Now he understood why she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.
‘Yep.’
Tomek sensed he wasn’t going to get anything else out of her no matter how much more he tried, and so he left it. Abigail, his girlfriend of four weeks, decided it was her time to weigh in.
‘Your dad tells me you’d like to own a coffee shop one day.’
Kasia returned her attention to her phone. ‘Yeah. One day. Maybe.’
‘Well, I think that’s a great idea. But it’s a lot of work. Do you think you’re up to the challenge?’
More monosyllabic answers. More staring at her phone.
‘I think you’ve got it in you,’ Abigail continued, holding the stem of her wineglass in her fingers, spinning the base of the glass with her other hand. ‘If you ever need someone to help you write a business plan, I’m your gal!’
Kasia slowly raised her head. Tomek could see on her face what she was thinking – “You might not be around by the time I get to that point in my life” – but fortunately she didn’t say it. Instead, she replied with a stunted response: ‘Yeah. Okay. Maybe.’ Then she turned her attention back to the black mirror in her hand.
Before Tomek could intervene, the food arrived. Lamb shank with plum sauce, sautéed potatoes, and fried veg for him. Beef wellington served with onion and truffle in a red wine jus for Abigail. And a chicken burger and chips for Kasia. The staple of any teenager who was going through their fussy stage. Tomek didn’t remember going through his, but he’d heard stories from Nick about his three children going through similar phases. Refusing to eat because they weren’t hungry, detesting the sight, smell and taste of anything healthy, always going for the greasiest and most calorific thing on the menu, resorting to frozen chicken nuggets and chips every meal of the week. At that age, though, as was the case with Kasia, it didn’t affect them; thanks to their hypersonic metabolisms and constant movement at school and extra-curricular activities outside it, they were constantly moving, constantly doing something, burning off the fat. Even so, Tomek had decided to keep a keen eye on it in the background. The concern with her was that it might develop into an eating disorder, a complex. She had been through so much in the past few months that he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about the societal pressures she was being placed under at school. And because she wouldn’t open up to him about it, all he could do was let his thoughts run wild with one another.
But this wasn’t about Kasia. This was about Abigail, about her big night, her cause for celebration.
