Page 2 of Such A Filthy Girl

‘Oh, Estella, my little star. You’ve no idea the things you do to me,’ I mumbled.

She had no idea the amount of evenings we spent together. I spoke to her as I cooked, and told her about my wins and losses. Her soft snores surrounded me as I slept. When Graham fucked her, I closed my eyes and imagined her moans were directed at me.

Soon they would be.

The door opened on screen and Graham came into shot. Big, burly, gleaming-teethed Graham. If you told me he’d walked straight out of a golfing advert, I’d have believed you. Despicably wholesome. Honestly, enough to rot your teeth.

No matter how long I watched them together, the horrible tarry feeling that his appearance garnered never changed. His lips grazed my girls. I wanted to reach through the screen and pop his stupid, handsome face from his thick, tanned neck.

How my step-sister had chosen him, I’d never understand.

He wasnothinglike me.

Stooping to murder may be a little below me, but within a week, his girl would be mine.

Only a week, darling.

One week.

Until you’re mine.

TWO

ESTELLA

Slushy grey sleet wet the toes of my boots, chilling my feet with each soggy step through the city streets.

At least I had two glorious weeks off of work. It’s funny how quickly your dream job can become a daily grind. Years of studying and cramming, painful interviews, and what do I end up with? Long dreary days and a lacklustre pay-check.

Cars nudged along the street, nose to tail, like a giant trail of angry ants. I slid sideways between bumpers, the man behind the windscreen scowling out into the masses. Twinkling Christmas lights reflected on the glass, a candle and holly design making it look like he had a glittering dick on his forehead. I couldn’t help but smile as I dodged through the traffic until I reached the other sidewalk.

A quick diversion into the noodle shop below myapartment sorted dinner, and I unlocked the front gate, juggling the paper bag containing my steaming, deliciously spicy-smelling noodles.

The cloying scent of cinnamon greeted me as I made it up the three flights of grime-covered stairs and into my apartment. My solace amongst the intensity of the city. A quiet, cozy den where I could escape from the deafening din outside. I’d failed to appreciate the quiet in the suburbs where I grew up. The city had its benefits. Being more than a stones-throw from delicious food was a rarity, bustling bars and all the entertainment I could wish for on tap. Excitement had driven me for the first few years, but lately the sheen had faded. Beyond the glittering facade, which attracted people to the city like moths to a flame, the city was dirty.Tired.

A city filled with drones, dashing through a haze of exhaustion as they went from one ring of their alarm clock, to crashing back into bed, drained. Always striving. Playing the game. Fighting to climb the ladders and hoping they wouldn’t buckle under the pressure.

It’s all I’d ever wanted.

Well,almost.

Kicking off my shoes, I collapsed onto the sofa and tucked into my dinner. Nothing back home could compare to the flavour-bomb from the tiny restaurant below my home. Not Mom’s chef, nor the hoity-toity restaurants she’d favoured after marrying Jack Whitney. Her tastes had escalated after marrying into the Whitneyfamily, but mine had never quite caught up. Give me grease soaked food doused with oodles of spice any day.

Buzzing had me raking in my bag for my phone, casting wanton glances at my half eaten tub of noodles.

‘Hey,’ I said, pressing my cell phone between my shoulder and my ear and picking back up the carton. Graham could suffer through my munching if he insisted on calling me the minute I got home from work.

‘Hey, babe. That’s me just leaving work. Are you excited for Christmas?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ I responded. Was I looking forward to Christmas with his parents? Not particularly. Graham was a good guy. Solid. Sensible. And so were his folks. Dependable. Boring. Christmas with them would be fine. I didn’t doubt the ham would be cooked to perfection and the gifts ever so useful, but I doubted there would be an ounce of frivolity. No silly games or jokey gifts. Then again, this was what I’d wanted. To date a grown-up man who would make a reliable partner.

‘I picked up a new tool for dad, you can use it to get the exact…’ Graham went into minute detail about the utilitarian presents he’d purchased and I zoned out, focusing on my food.

Eventually, he finished the detailed monologue.

‘Wow, they are going to love those,’ I said, trying to give my most enthusiastic tone that avoided tipping into the wrong side of patronising.

‘Are you coming over tonight? I can send a cab?’ Graham asked.

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