Page 79 of Tricky Girls

I hold the bottle up, peering through the crystal clear liquid. Tilda’s face magnifies through it, making me laugh. ‘Pretty fucking hydrated if they did.’ I twist the lid off, taking a mouthful of the god-awful stuff. ‘Tastes clean to me.’

She takes it hesitantly and sips. Either she decides it’s good or the alcohol makes her not care.

‘So,’ I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’m gonna have to go back out and dance in a bit, the only safe way to burn this energy off with Tilda. ‘What’s your game here, hm?’

‘What game?’

‘With Haz and Elly.’ A scornful laugh escapes me. ‘Yeah, they’re dicks, and I know dykes are just some weird mythical creatures to you lot, but they have feelings. They’re not immune just because you are.’

‘They’re my friends. They’ve been helping me through a hard time.’

‘They’re fucking playing you as much as you’re playing them!’

She frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They have a bet going on, Tilda. A bet to see who can fuck you first.’

She’s quiet for a moment.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

I expect her to get angry, maybe sad. Perhaps even cry. I don’t expect her to laugh.

‘Fuckers.’ She looks at me, smiling. ‘That’s good to know, thanks.’

I sigh, scrubbing my face. Well, that backfired.

‘They like you,’ I admit. ‘Elly and Haz. In a real way.’

Tilda twists the bottle in her hands, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. ‘They know I’m not into girls.’

‘Aren’t you?’ I tilt my head, regarding her on the table. She’s wearing a skirt, some skintight lace thing, and a matching top. She has a jacket on, one of Elly’s. Unlike Skylar, she can reach the floor with her feet. The comparison makes me recall the last time I was in here, rocking Skylar into the table, her tiny tits bobbing with every thrust.

‘No,’ she says weakly. ‘I’m straight.’

‘Say it with a little more conviction, won’t you.’

She remains silent, staring at me with those big green eyes. So much distrust in them. It wilts me a bit, even through the frantic jumping of my heart. The last time I’d seen that look was…well, every time I spotted her alone with my father.

I toss my head, unsheathing my knife. Tilda looks at it but doesn’t cower this time.

‘God, you fuck me off,’ I groan, covering my face with a hand and spinning in a circle.

‘Why though?’

Like I’d done with Skylar, I part her legs so I can stand between them. I fit better here, the lace of her skirt caressing my trousers. I’m momentarily thrown off at the sight of the slashes on her thighs.

‘You really don’t know?’ I use the blade to tip her face to mine. It’s so pale, her foundation too many shades too light. It’s beginning to dry this late in the night, her running eye makeup giving her a just-fucked look. ‘Look at me. You really, truly don’t know?’

Instead of answering, she cups my hand, the one holding the knife, and draws it down to her thighs. Relinquishing it from me, she runs the blade neatly over her skin, adding another tally to her table.

‘Go for it,’ she says quietly, handing me back the knife. ‘Fucking atone me.’

‘Atone you for what?’ I frown, disquieted with what she’s just done, her words making something black and dark squirm within me.

‘Fucking all of it!’ she exclaims, tossing out her arms. There’re tears in those eyes now, her face splotching as she holds them back. ‘Whatever it is I’ve done to you. To fucking everybody.’ She covers her face with her hands and I hear her breathe harshly behind them.

---