Page 78 of Tricky Girls

They’re full tonight, metal clanging with the force of flung bodies. People jeer; money’s exchanged. The crowd is rowdy. I have to hold Tilda by the shoulders lest she be swept up in it.

After taking it all in, she nods to the first cage. ‘Who’s that one?’

‘Blakely.’

‘I saw her the other day…’

I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t.

Turning her around, I push her into another tunnel.

The market now.

I leave her to buy myself a bag but she’s there when I turn back, eyes light with disapproval.

So fucking righteous, my lot. Even this one.

I shove it into my pocket with the knife.

‘See anything your heart desires?’ I ask, leaning close.

She fixes her eyes on mine. ‘The only thing I desire is to know why you hate me.’

‘Sorry.’ I grasp her wrist, leading her back to the cavern. ‘All out of that.’

It’s deafening in the shadow of the suspended DJ booth. The crowd surges, drawing us within. The beat thrums through me, making me dance, making me brush up against the one person I never thought I’d see again.

Tilda doesn’t move. She remains fixed, the eye of the storm as everyone contorts around her. She looks around at a world she doesn’t belong to, uncertainty swimming in her face.

It pisses me off.

Reaching out, I seize her limbs. ‘Move your fucking arms.’

She flinches away, out of my reach. ‘This is weird.’

Teeth gritted, I move into her space, giving her no choice but to mould herself against me or move away. She chooses the latter, of course, but that’s alright. Two more steps bring us to a vacant glass room. Opening the door, I push her inside.

Locking it, I head to the table and pull out my baggie.

Tilda looks at it, then back to the dance floor.

‘They can’t see us. Look.’ Pressing close to the glass, I pull up my tank and bare my tits.

Nobody looks. Nobody can see.

Dropping the tank, I turn back to Tilda who follows the movement with her eyes. My stomach clenches. There was alittle more in that look than I’d expect from a girl who says she’s straight.

My pussy’s suddenly throbbing, not great when I’m about to dose. Last thing I need is to get tangled with this one.

‘You want some?’ I bend over the table, holding aloft my little bitten off paper straw.

Tilda frowns, shaking her head.

‘Suit yourself. Might have put a smile on your face.’

After a while, Tilda comes to sit on the table. Here, the music’s just as loud as it is outside, the floor thumping. I find a half empty bottle of vodka behind the bin near the cubbyhole. I offer it to her.

‘Someone’s probably pissed in that.’

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