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Friday 10:12pm Luna
The distant sounds and music of the party echo in my ears. Fire extinguisher. This corridor reminds me of the science labs in school. Which box has my gi in it? I’ll need to find that tomorrow. This definitely isn’t the way to the kitchen. I check my phone. A little after 10pm. Funny to think what I’d normally be doing now. Did this bra shrink or did my boobs get bigger? What was that song earlier? Should have Shazamed it. I wonder what Sean’s doing now? No, don’t think about that. Think about something else. Kiwi fruit, do I like kiwi fruit? I can never decide. Photocopier room. That looks like an office. Definitely not the way to the kitchen. Oh, wait, here’s a door labelled “kitchen”. I push it open. It’s a small room, barely more than a cupboard really. Sink, small fridge, cupboards, counter, kettle, a woman.
A pretty face looks up at me from her phone screen, deep brown eyes locked on mine from behind black curtains and a heavy fringe.
My mind slams into focus, like before a bout. The white mist evaporates.
“Sorry,” I say, “didn’t mean to startle you.” Her look is wary, guarded. “I was just looking for somewhere with a kettle.”
“Oh, right,” she looks behind her, “yeah nah, there’s a jug here.”
“Cool.” My eyes take in her black mini-skirt and tight white shirt and I take a guess that she’s part of the catering crew. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your break,” I say.
“No worries.”
“Do you want one?” I ask as I tear my attention away from her long enough to fill the kettle.
“What’s that?”
“I asked if you wanted a cuppa? A brew? Or,” I say, clicking the kettle on then opening cupboards and rooting around, though I have to read all the boxes twice, “there’s coffee here if you prefer? Hot chocolate?”
There’s a tin that says “staff tea fund”, so I dig in my back pocket for some coins and drop fifty pence in.
“You didn’t want any of the stuff they are serving out front, eh?” she asks.
“The food was nice,” I say, “but I don’t drink and I really felt like something hot and, if I’m honest, a chance to escape.”
“Yeah nah, I can relate,” she says.
Her hand goes to her forehead. “Actually,” she says, “can I have a cuppa as well? Might help the headache.”
“Sure,” I say, grabbing another mug and dropping a tea bag in. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Just milk, ta.”
“Coming right up,” I say, as the kettle bubbles to a boil and shuts off. I pour, add dashes of milk, then squeeze out the tea bags, bin them and rinse the tea spoon.
“There you go.” I slide a mug gently over to her.
“Choice, ta.”
She’s got an accent. I want to say New Zealand, but I also don’t want to embarrass myself or insult her.
“You’re welcome. Look,” I say, “if you’ve got a headache, I think I can go one better.” I pull the strap of my small hand bag over my head and stick it on the counter. “I’ve got some ibuprofen here if you’d like?”
Behind her thick fringe, I think I see an eyebrow rise. “You just happen to carry pain meds around with you, eh?”
“It’s just over the counter stuff, nothing serious,” I say.
She seems suspicious. I suppose it’s probably a good idea to be cautious about what people offer you at parties.
“I do a lot of martial arts,” I say, “Jujitsu, Karate, Krav Maga, so I’m forever picking up bruises and strains. Well, not all the time, but, you know, sometimes. So it pays to have some with me.” I hand her the packet.
She looks at it carefully, clearly checking that it is actually ibuprofen, before popping out a pill. I grab a glass from the draining board, fill it from the tap and pass it to her.
“Here, the tea will be too hot still.”
“Thanks.” Our fingers brush as she takes the glass from me. An involuntary shiver runs through me.
She swallows the pill and drains the glass.
I take it from her, her fingers brushing mine again, rinse it and stand it on the draining board.
“I’m Luna, by the way,” I say, holding out a hand.
She giggles. “Really?”
“Yeah.” The softness and warmth of her palm on mine is…. something else. I’m momentarily thrown, but I’ve no time for introspection as I realise I’ve been rude and missed hers.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I say, leaning forward.
“I said you can call me Marama, eh?”
“Gosh, that’s beautiful. I’ve not heard it before,” I release her hand, noticing as I do how similar our colouring is.
“It means ‘moon’,” she says, “that’s why I giggled.”
“Right, of course! Funny coincidence,” I pick my tea up and blow over the surface. I don’t like much milk in mine so the colour is almost at one with our complexion. I decide to take a guess. “Is that Polynesian?”
She nods at me and smiles as she blows balıkesir escort on her own tea. “Yep, spot on. Maori aye.”
“Wow, so you’re a long way from home then here in London?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “tell me about it.”
“What do you miss the most?” I ask. Then I immediately regret it as I see the sparkle of tears at the edge of her eyes. “Hey, hey,” I say, putting down my mug, “sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, you don’t need to answer… would you like a hug?”
She nods and gulps and puts down her own mug and I wrap my arms around her back as hers go around my waist.
We fit together so perfectly, I almost gasp. Our breasts practically slot together like matching pieces of a puzzle.
She clings to me, her scented hair in my face, her wet cheek next to mine.
I can feel her heartbeat.
“I won’t tell you it’ll be okay, because it might not be, but if you want to talk…” I start.
“Thanks,” she sniffs, as she pulls back. She keeps one arm on my waist as she wipes her face. She doesn’t step back, and our legs are still touching. I lower my arms, but keep one on her hip.
I realise I don’t want to let go.
My heart rate is elevated, I can tell. I don’t know why. I’m not into women. I never… well, I’ve never felt like this though, just from proximity to a person. Not with Sean, not in fights.
What is going on with me?
“You smell nice,” she says.
“Thanks!” I laugh. “You too.”
“No, seriously,” Marama says, leaning in again, our breasts brushing, and sniffing me, “you really do. I love it. What is it? Chanel? Dior?”
I laugh. “It was a 7 euro bottle of cheap perfume I picked up in a supermarket in Spain. Victorio they had the invite via their agency.”
“Are you a model then?” she asks.
I blush and shake my head, “no way, I’m not pretty enough.”
“Piss off, you’re gorgeous as, aye” she says, shaking her head.
“Well, so are you, you’re knock out.” It suddenly hits me that I mean it, mean it more than just a compliment to a female friend. She’s more than pretty I realise, her flawless skin glowing, her features perfectly proportioned. Her shirt is tight, not revealing anything, but accentuating her flat stomach, her generous, high breasts. “If I could be a model, so could you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve done some shoots but I hated them,” she grimaces, then rubs at her temples.
“Your headache still bothering you?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says.
“Here, turn around,” I gently guide her with hands on her hips, so she’s facing away from me, “I give a great head massage.”
Trailing my fingers up her sides and shoulders, I run my hands up to her head, and start to pulse my fingers across her scalp.
She seems to sag, and leans back into me.
“Oh God,” she sighs after a while, “that’s sweet as. Thanks heaps.”
“My pleasure, moon sister,” I whisper.
We stay like that for a while, her leaning back into me, pressing this delicious warmth into my front. My arms are up and around her, my fingers buried in her hair, though it feels odd, off somehow. Ignoring that, I massage her temples with firm but gentle pressure, spidering my way back along her scalp, then running the back of my nails forward to begin again, pulling purrs from her.
Her head is on my shoulder and I can see more of her face as my hands pull the hair away from it with their motion. Her eyes are closed and her lips, her plump, full lips, are parted and she looks oh so kissable… where the fuck are these thoughts coming from? I’ve never been attracted to a woman before! Enjoyed their company, thought they were beautiful, sure, but this… this…. this desire!
Never.
She straightens a little, and turns sideways to me, her thigh pressing right into the space between my legs. I’m hot all over, but especially there. Her arms go around me.
I gulp. My nose is practically brushing her ear.
“If this is your way of hitting on me,” she whispers, making my breathing and hands stop, “it’s kind of working.”
She turns to face me. “Are you?”
I swallow and try to get my tongue to work. “I don’t think so?”
“You don’t think so?”
“I’ve never… I’ve never been attracted to a woman before…”
“Before, eh?” She turns completely now to face me.
I close my eyes. I can feel her breath on my face, light, warm. Her scent is all around me, floral, sweet, intoxicating. I’d love for my brain to distract me, but for once I can’t foil its focus. I shake my head.
“Would you believe I’ve only had one partner my whole life?” I say, keeping my eyes closed. “Nine years we were together, me and Sean, from when we were fifteen. He was my first and only.” I’m proud of myself that there’s no catch in my breath.
“Shit, nine bartın escort years?” I feel her pulling back from me, but her hands still rest on my hips. “Wow! What happened?”
“Nothing. That’s it, nothing happened. Just one day he told me he’d been thinking about how to ask me to marry him and he realised he didn’t want to marry me.”
“Fucking idiot.”
I half laugh, half sob. It’s still raw.
“Yeah, so I moved out. Moved into my aunt and uncle’s place, then a flatshare, threw myself into training and competitions and work and just… yeah… I haven’t and… and…”
I feel her pulling me closer and I tense, thinking, is this it? Is she going to kiss me?
But then she’s tucking my head into the side of her neck and her posture straightens and now she’s the one holding me as hot tears course down my cheeks.
I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
“The stupid thing is…. He was right….” I sob, “I mean, I hated it, and I miss him, but it was just a habit. I didn’t even especially like him at first, he just… grew on me. In the end we were just together to not be alone.”
“There are worse reasons,” she says.
“True,” I sob. I clutch her tighter, shaking in her arms. She squeezes me back, pressing me into her so our smells and hair mingle.
“But it was such a waste of my time.”
“Did you love him?”
“Well…. Yeah.”
“Then it wasn’t a waste of time. Love never is.”
But as I stand here in her arms, I feel so much more than I ever did with Sean and I feel that waste more now than ever.
“What about you?” I ask, my voice laced with a hope I can’t believe has been kindled so quickly, “have you ever been attracted to a woman?”
“Before?” she asks.
The word sparks hope and heat in me, such as I’ve never known.
I nod into her neck, not daring to look at her.
“No. Nothing real. Only faked. I’ve had to do a few scenes, but it was only for the camera.”
I stiffen in her arms then immediately regret it. So she’s done porn? So what?
“Where are you, you little tart?!” a man’s voice, loud and angry, comes from the corridor.
“Shit!” she mutters into my hair, then pulls back from me to look at the door. The pressure easing on my chest as she releases me feels like grief.
“Problem?” I whisper back.
“Reality intruding,” she sighs, “my life isn’t my own.”
The door is shoved open, and I spin her away to stop her being smacked by it. The emptiness of my arms hits my heart.
“There you are, you stupid bitch!”
A man in his forties, flushed, red-nosed, is staring at me. “Harvey was expecting you upstairs half an hour ago you silly bint. Now get up there or you’re dead,” he growls and grabs for me.
His hand never lands on me. I grab his wrist, pull him forward off balance and kick him, lightly, just inside the knee, as I simultaneously twist my hand to cover his and push his wrist back towards his biceps. As her pimp drops to his knees with a yell, I place my other hand under his chin and flick up, hard and sudden.
His yell is cut off as he slumps forward and drops the phone he was holding in his other hand. I grab his head and gently lower him to the floor, placing him in the recovery position. He may be a cunt, but I don’t want him to die.
I look up at Marama, who is pressed up against the wall opposite, open mouthed.
“Sorry,” I say, “I hope that didn’t scare you. But I don’t care who he is or who you are, nobody is going to speak to you like that when I’m around.” I’m shocked at how much I mean it.
“Fuck, that was hard out…” she gasps. “He’s my…” her pretty face twists into a sneer and she almost spits out the word, “agent.”
“You don’t need to use euphemisms with me,” I say, standing up and taking her hand, warmth flooding me at her touch, “call a pimp a pimp.”
She gasps, shocked, her eyes widening.
“I guess Harvey, whoever he is, is going to have to go without,” I say.
She looks down at the man slumped on the floor, then back at me, horror written over her face.
“Listen, Marama, I’m not judging at all. I really don’t care. But I think we should get you out of here.”
“But you don’t know who I am?”
“Who you are is wonderful and kind and caring, I know that much,” I say, taking her other hand, “and you deserve better than whatever shit he’s made you do. Come on.” I tip away our teas and rinse the mugs quickly.
Then I lead her out of the kitchen, into the corridor, using my free hand to message Helen, my cousin, to say I’m leaving.
“Does your… what was his name?”
“Um… Matt.”
“Right, would Matt have muscle about? Would this Harvey?”
“It’s Harvey’s party: security will answer to him.”
“Alright. Can they batman escort track your phone?”
“Shit, bugger, yeah.”
“Right, best turn it off for now then, yeah?”
We’ve reached the end of the corridor, a T junction, and the thump of the bass is heavier here. I’d really like a fire exit, to be honest. I turn us away from the music and pull her after me as she tucks her phone into her pocket.
“Look, I’d say you could crash at mine, but, well, I’m sleeping on my cousin’s sofa at the minute until I start a new job on Monday, so I can’t really offer that,” I say.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to…” she begins.
“No,” I stop and turn and look her in the eye, “no, I’m not having that. I’m not walking away from you and letting Matt take control of you again.”
She gasps and I step closer.
“So, I’m thinking we’ll find a hotel and I’ll pay for a room for you for a couple of nights, okay?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. That and more.” I realise that I mean it. I met her like twenty minutes ago, and I already think I’d take a bullet for her. “My aunt and uncle are coming up on Sunday for lunch. They live out in Slough. They’re good people. If you want, I can ask them to take you in. I know they’ll say yes.”
She laughs, with relief I think.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, hard out.” She smiles at me.
“Right. Right,” I say again, “okay. So let’s get out of here, grab a taxi, find a hotel, get you safe, okay?”
She nods and, her hand held in mine like a promise I’d walk through fire to keep, I lead us down the corridor again. Another turn, down some stairs, and I find what I’m looking for: a fire exit.
“Here. Shit it’s alarmed.”
Voices behind us in the corridor.
“Fuck it. Get ready to run,” I say.
I shove the door open with my shoulder and we take off, hand in hand, as the alarm blares.
We sprint a few paces, when I hear a voice to our right yell, “Oi! Stop there!”
Two black clad security guards in high vis jackets are sprinting towards us.
“Keep going,” I yell as we run down the street away from the venue.
“Stop there!”
Marama’s keeping up with me, just about, though I’m not at full sprint. Meanwhile, the lead security guy has opened up a gap between him and his mate. Perfect.
“Try to flag down a taxi,” I yell to her, then push her past me, “I’ll be right behind.”
I slow up, just in front of an open dumpster behind a restaurant back door as the sound of pounding feet nears.
“Right you…”
As his hands reach for me, I grab his wrists on top and jump backwards, placing my feet on his hips and bending my knees. As my weight and his momentum take us over, I straighten my legs in a hard, fluid, upwards movement and shove him up with my arms for added measure.
With a yell and flurry of flailing arms, he flips into the open bin, landing with a woof of air on his back. Sounds like he got a soft, if smelly, landing.
My momentum rolls me back to my feet, in time to grab the other security guard’s wild swing at me, pull him off balance, pivot him on my hip and bounce him off the edge into the same open wheelie bin as his mate. That’ll have hurt a bit, but can’t be helped.
As they curse and groan, I sprint forward again and catch up with Marama. The street at the end is dead, no taxis in sight, but there’s the sound of crowds coming from the junction to the right.
Grabbing her hand, feeling an alien completeness as I do, I jog us towards the crowds. I can’t hear running feet.
We turn the corner and I see crowds of smokers on the pavement, queues outside a club and…Teddy!
He’s at the head of a short queue for a club, all women, by the velvet rope. Pulling Marama with me, I march up to him.
“Hey Teddy, no time to chat, we’ve got people chasing us, so let us in yeah?”
He looks at me and smiles, then at who is holding my hand and his eyes go wide. Yeah, well I guess this is going to be the reaction I get from lots of people now.
“Not a word, yeah?” I say as he unclips the rope and stands aside and girls in the queue protest.
“Of course, Luna! Welcome to-“
Marama holds her finger to her lips. “Thanks heaps. Don’t tell anyone, please?”
“You got it,” he says.
We push through the door.
Normally this place would be a nightmare for me. Flashing lights, moving bodies, pounding music. So much to distract.
But my entire focus is on the girl holding my hand and now stepping up close behind me to pass her arms around.
“Are you okay?” Marama gasps in my ear.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, as I turn in her arms, “how about you?”
She nods, but I can feel her shaking. I can hear her panting.
Pulling her to a corner just by the entrance, I place my left hand on her upper chest, which is heaving. “Here,” I say, “breathe with me. It’s okay.”
I follow her breaths with my hand, but slowly, gently push back, making her hold each breath a little longer. Her eyes are locked on mine. “Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. In, out, breathe, easy,” I murmur to her.
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