Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Julian

I really didn’t wantto drop by their apartment, but I hadn’t had a choice. I could have sworn I’d seen Scottie lurking outside the block this morning and I imagined he’d be trying to worm his way back in. Thankfully he wasn’t back in their living room. Maybe Beverly would keep him far away from her in future. Sometimes miracles can happen, so they say.

She and Rosie had seemed well enough, all things considered. I felt a surprising amount of relief for two women I’d met only yesterday. Especially for sweet Rosie. I couldn’t bear the idea of her getting hurt.

I lit up a cigarette at my window. I was still smoking as I heard Beverly’s laughter, loud enough that I could hear it two floors up. She was with the resident from apartment number four. A woman named Trisha, I believe. She’d been turning her nose up at me at every opportunity since I’d moved in, and she appeared to be that kind of angry, self-righteous character. Not a good mix. But maybe it was only me she regarded with such hostility.

Beverly sounded happy, still laughing as she took Trisha’s arm and they set off up the street together. It was a stark contrast to last night when she’d looked like she was on the edge of hell. She wasn’t bad looking. She shared the same fine, mousy brown hair as her daughter and her eyes were the same lovely almost pastel tone of blue, minus the cute glasses. And she was curvy as opposed to Rosie’s skinny frame, but her appearance didn’t change a thing for me. I was already feeling the apprehension of her invitation.

I didn’t want to have dinner with Beverly, and I most certainly didn’t want to have dinner with her daughter. It would be a blazing fire, too easily stoked. Christ, I was getting a hard-on just thinking about it. About her. Rosie, pushing her glasses up her nose, asking me if my Sunday roast meat was ok. Perfect, I’d reply, hiding my own bloody hard meat beneath the table. Fuck it. I needed a distraction.

I browsed through my stack of mindless ready meals in the fridge. What was it to be – pasta or pasta or pasta?

A rapping at the front door made me start. It also made my flesh tingle. I couldn’t imagine anyone else standing there other than sweet little Rosie. I didn’t exactly have a queue of visitors that came calling.

I hovered, battling with the idea of pretending I wasn’t at home, until the rapping got louder. A nasty shiver of a question rattled my senses.

What if I had seen Scottie lurking?

What if he’d hung around until Beverly left and pounced on Rosie?

What if she needed me?

More rapping on the door and I found myself smoothing down my hair and straightening my tie with my heart pounding all over again.

I opened the door to the sweetest ray of sunshine.

“Rosie, what a surprise.”

She was dressed for her shift at the pizza house, with her tight white t-shirt, and the green cap on her head. She looked so beautiful. An angelic little temptress. She just didn’t know it.

“Hey,” she said, shifting awkwardly. “I just wanted to pop up and say thanks again.”

She was lying. I could read it in the drop of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks. I was coming to know her in such a short time. I realised then, as I watched her, her glasses were too loose, that’s why she had to keep pushing them up her nose. It only added to her cuteness – and my burgeoning hard-on – as she did it again.

“You’re very welcome,” I told her, already planning to say my goodbye, but she pre-empted me. She held up one of her dainty hands with a wait.

“It’s just, um…” she began, then smiled an embarrassed smile. “I just wanted to check something with you… about my mum.”

My stomach dropped. I hoped it was nothing sinister.

“Please…” Rosie continued, chancing a glance behind me. “Can I come in for a minute? I just don’t want to share it out here. People spread rumours, you know?”

Yes, I did know. I knew it all too well.

I rarely ever saw the old couple down the corridor or the guy on crutches in the apartment opposite, but I respected her privacy all the same. Against my better judgement, I stepped aside to let her pass, breathing in her heady scent – coconut shampoo, I think.

My living room put the shoddiness of hers to shame, and that was quite a statement. I tried to clear my strewn paperwork from the coffee table as her eyes wandered around. Thank fuck it wasn’t my pile of farewell letters on view.

I’d furnished this place from charity shops and second-hand warehouses on the outskirts of the city, telling myself I wouldn’t be needing it for long, not once I mustered up the courage. Every single item was both essential and practically worthless. She looked surprised at that, which shocked me. I felt bizarrely embarrassed myself.

I didn’t offer Rosie a cup of tea, or even a seat as she stood there. Her fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of her, and she looked so beautifully tongue-tied.

I decided to break the ice for her. “Is that idiot still hounding your mother?”

“No, no. Not yet,” she said. “I mean, he will, but not yet. He’ll leave it least a few days before he tries. Unless she tries him first, which she won’t do. She definitely won’t do.”

I loved her adoring ramble.

“That’s a relief to hear. What was it you wanted to check?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose yet again, one finger, right on the bridge, looking so nervous it made me smile. “The thing is, my mum is amazing, and I just wanted to tell you that she means it, about the dinner. She’d really like to cook you a meal to show her thanks.”

Of course. Yes. Rosie was matchmaking.

My smile soon dropped.

“I appreciate that, and I’m sure it would be lovely, but unfortunately, I meant it, too. I have meals lined up already, and I’m always very busy with office paperwork.”

“I see,” she said, and she did. She could read the meaning behind my words.

“It’s nothing against your mother in the slightest,” I told her. “I’m sure she’s a wonderful woman. She seems very nice.”

“She is. She’s brilliant! She’s so funny, and she loves being social, and she’s a great dancer. She’s probably out dancing right now.”

The poor girl sounded like she was presenting a dating site profile.

“I’m sure she is all of those things,” I said. “But I am very busy this month, and you really must have to go to work now.”

I walked along and opened the door, trying to coax her out, but she dithered, walking slowly. She paused when she got up next to me, and I caught her coconut scent again. She was so close it made my mouth water. I imagined licking her face. Christ, she needed to go before I did something stupid.

“The thing is–” she began, and this time I opted for honesty. I had to.

“I’m sorry that I have to make things this plain, but I’m not interested in dating your mother. I apologise for that, but I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. Neither mine, nor hers.”

Rosie’s eyes widened. I thought she might be about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s no reflection on her, I assure you.”

The sweet little angel before me looked so disappointed that it stabbed me in the heart. I expected her to accept defeat and leave it at that, but she did neither. She stood in position in my doorway and looked me straight in the eye.

“I know Mum didn’t seem brilliant last night, being so upset from Scottie, but really, she’s great. Please give her a chance. At least one little chance to get to know you.”

She could have had her hands in the prayer position from her tone. It was terrible to have to tear the faith from her, but my silence spoke louder than words. I stayed quiet but solid, imagining her dropping to her knees and begging for more while I waited, but still, she didn’t let it go. Her efforts on her mother’s behalf were respect worthy.

“Please,” she said again. “She’s so happy you were so nice to her, and she’ll show it. She really wants to get to know you, and you’ll like her. Definitely. And if you don’t, that’s cool, just give her a chance.”

I wished I could have responded with a yes, but I couldn’t. I’d only be feeding her lies.

“Julian,” she carried on, and her use of my name was so meek, so endearing, that it stoked a further flame in me. “Really, I need to tell you that Mum likes you, because she does. That’s why she was going out tonight. She wanted to see you.”

I had to put out the fire and stomp it dead, so I lowered my voice.

“I don’t want your mother. She really isn’t my type.”

That startled her, which was no surprise, since her mother was an attractive woman.

“I know she might seem a little young for you,” she said, “but don’t let that put you off. Age doesn’t matter.”

I almost laughed at those words. If only she knew.

“Oh, it does,” I said. “Listen, please, because I’m going to be honest with you. I have absolutely no interest in your mother, and big age gaps don’t turn me off, in fact. They turn me on. Which is exactly why I’m warning you now.” I paused. “Go to work, and forget we had this conversation. And please, unless in an emergency, stay away from me.”

Her pretty blue eyes went so wide behind her glasses.

“Stay away from you? Why?”

I folded my arms, the temptation to reach out and grab her almost too much to bear.

“Because my restraint is poor at best, and this could be a difficult situation. It wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

She looked at me blankly, seemingly unable to fathom what I was saying, so Christ alive, I had to spell it out more clearly. I couldn’t help myself.

“It’s not your mother I’m going to be wanting, Rosie, it’s you.”

The hitch of her breath and the shock on her face made my cock swell.

‘Me,’ she mouthed, no sound escaping. She swallowed, took a step back.

“Yes, Rosie. You. So please, get yourself to work, stay the hell away from me, and endeavour to quell your mother’s enthusiasm as soon as possible.”

The girl virtually stumbled backwards. Her cheeks were burning bright when she straightened her cap and pushed her glasses up her nose one more time.

“I might not to be able to do that…” she said. “I think she might visit you first.”

“Really? What makes you think–”

Ah. Of course. I sighed, tracking the train of events.

“You mean after the pub tonight, with your neighbour. Trisha, is it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. They can get a little bit…”

“Trashed, yes. I imagine so.” I put the conversation to bed. “I won’t answer the door.”

“Ok, fine,” she said, with a twist of emotions on her face I just couldn’t read.

“Goodbye, Rosie.”

She stepped out backwards, her wide eyes not leaving mine.

I closed the door on her, and pressed my back to it, waiting for her footfalls as she walked away. It took a few seconds before I heard them.

My microwave meal could get fucked tonight. Instead, I opted for whisky, downing a decent swig straight from the bottle. I sat down on my sofa, got my cock out and jerked off over the thought of Rosie’s shocked face with her coconut scent still fresh in the air. Jerked off to the thought of licking her pale flesh. Jerked off to the thought of imagining her stripping naked. Jerked off until my fist was soaked with cum. Why fight a beast that can’t be tamed?

That seemed to quell my urges for a short time at least, and through the rest of my pointless evening I watched mindless crap on TV, drinking myself through every second as I tried to ease myself into numbness. How my life had plunged to the depths.

Once upon a time, I’d have had my laptop out, crafting out words like a wannabe Mervin Helville – inspired by Moby Dick rather than possessed by my own dick. But no. Here I was in front of reality TV nonsense with a whisky bottle in my hand and cum-soaked tissues on the coffee table. Contrast didn’t even come close.

I’d almost managed to drink myself into a sleeping stupor by the time the knocks on my door started up at just gone eleven. I turned the TV down and stayed silent, wishing I’d had the foresight to turn it off.

The knocks kept on coming, louder and louder. Drunk hands are always so much more confident.

“Julian?” Beverly’s voice said loudly from outside. “Are you in there? I want to talk to you. To say thanks.”

I ignored her, but she kept on going.

“Julian? It’s Bev. I want to say thanks!”

At this rate, she’d have the guy with crutches out there along with her, wondering what the hell was going on. So, I sucked it up.

I opened the door, and my eyes shot straight to Beverly’s chest. She was wearing the same, deliciously tight purple dress she’d been wearing earlier, only this time there was a lot more cleavage on show. That made her smile, drunk confidence showing. She twisted her fingers in her hair, biting her lip like she was in a porn movie. Most men would have been all over her like a rash.

“I appreciate your thanks,” I told her.

“I can show you my thanks, if you like,” she said, then held up a bottle of wine in a grandiose gesture. She dared to take a step forward, but I closed the door just enough to get my point across.

“It’s late, Beverly. I’m sorry, but I need to get to bed.”

As it turned out, I didn’t have to say anything more. She must have been uncomfortably familiar with rejection.

She started, upright, her eyes sharpening through her drunken haze.

“Shit, sorry. I should’ve known, I just…” She shrugged with a sigh. “I’ll fuck off and leave you to it. Sorry for knocking.”

Christ, I felt like a cunt as I bid her goodnight and closed the door. Felt like a cunt as I wished it had been her daughter standing there in that tight purple dress. Felt like a cunt as I sat back on the sofa and took my cock out again. Felt like a cunt as I imagined Rosie in that dress, kneeling, tongue out, looking up at me through her glasses, just before I scrawled SLUT across her cheek and spurted cum all over her pretty face.

And then I felt like a cunt as I came all over my fist again.