Page 5 of Hired Help

I used to tease Brooke about not being able to walk around naked. The moment she left the bed, she would drag on some clothing, but there’s no sign of that inherent shyness on display.

Oh, no. For the dude setting up the camera, she’s a fucking exhibitionist, happy to display all the things she liked to keep covered when I was with her.

There are other notable differences. The first being how easily the man now crawling into the shot can make her orgasm.

I think that’s why I have the bitter taste in my mouth. It’s certainly how I feel watching her writhe in ecstasy.

The bitterness of failure.

No wonder she sought comfort outside our bed.

With a gasp of pain, I snap my phone shut and tuck it away. Not that it makes any difference; I’ve watched the footage so many times it’s scored onto my retinas like the afterglow following an explosion. Seared into my corneas with expert precision, ready for repeat viewing at the flick of a switch.

The worst part is, she knew. Brookeknewhow thoughts of a partner cheating disgusted me. How I loathed my father for having put Mum through it, eviscerating her trust, her love.

I punch the wall, full force, my fist digging deep into the weak plasterboard. Pain engulfs my arm; each knuckle burns like a white-hot flare. There’s a crunching feel to my bones as I tug my hand free, splits across two of my knuckles already swelling with dark crimson drops of blood.

The ache in my chest recedes, overtaken by the physical pain of injury. I know it won’t last but for the moment, I revel in the freedom. The ability to draw a full breath.

I want to cry, but it’s been so long I can’t remember how. The fury, the hurt, the devastation swirls inside me, pushing to be released, but there’s nowhere for them to go.

A hundred times a day, I’ll break into a sweat for no reason. My chest will ache like someone’s cracking apart my sternum, my lungs seizing so badly that I’ve dropped from the rugby team, though it was only for friendlies.

Even for fun, I no longer have the stamina for a ninety-minute game.

Fuck this.

A burst of anger erupts, and I leave the room before it can dissipate, using it as a propellant to get to the cafeteria, joining the queue midway along when Everett waves me into the line.

Of all my friends here, he’s the one I give a damn about. His dad knows my stepfather, so we’d met a few times before I came down here to school and naturally drifted towards each other, only finding out later how much we shared in common.

“You’re meant to smile at the people behind you when you jump queue,” he says with an elbow nudge. “Not glare at them.”

“Sorry.” I force a smile onto my face with no idea of whether it looks anything like it should, giving a wave to the students behind me.

Most of them couldn’t care less or hadn’t noticed, but at least when I turn back to my friend, he gives me a look of approval.

“Valerie’s giving you the eye,” he says, not bothering to adjust his volume any and the girl at the nearby table turns a sharp gaze his way.

“Don’t be a dick, Everett,” she snaps. “I was looking for the butter, not ogling you or your mate.”

I grab two single-serve packets and step out of line to pass them to her. Despite her protestation, she blushes as our fingers touch. It brings her prettiness into sharper focus, but I turn my gaze back to the food.

Valerie’s attractive, but she’s not who my heart hungers for.

“I’ve sworn off women,” I tell my friend, filling a tray with morsels I probably won’t eat, before following him to our usual table. A few other guys are already in place, grunting hello with a Monday morning lack of enthusiasm as I take a seat.

“Are you sure?” Everett points to a perky blonde near the door who’s also giving me the eye. “Because they sure as hell haven’t sworn off you.”

“You should fuck your way through the entire senior year,” another mate, Joseph, tells me with the wise expression of an old prophet. “That’ll get you over her.”

“Sounds like drinking your way to sobriety,” I mutter, picking up a spoon to feed myself a bite of fruit and yoghurt that might as well be wet sawdust to my striking tastebuds.

Everett stiffens and I don’t have to turn to know Brooke hovers nearby. Since our breakup, I’ve been oddly attuned to her presence. I could hear a pin drop a mile away if she were the one letting it fall.

I eat another bite, chewing savagely, though the preserved peaches hardly require the effort. I should have heaped my plate full of meat instead. The idea of tearing flesh apart with my teeth is far more compelling.

With a grimace, I push my leftovers away, gripping the sides of my chair and forcing my feet flat on the floor to stop my legs jiggling. Brooke’s friend Floss whispers to her, and she trills with laughter. Of the two of us, I’m sure everyone’s thinking I was the one who was dumped.

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