Okay so this week I was within like milliseconds of deleting this fic and then I just remembered I wrote this chapter agesssss ago, so I might as well upload it. But I might like re-write this fic or something, or I had an idea that I might like delete it and then sum the whole goddamn thing up in like one properly long chapter. I don't know though. Suggestions are greatly appreciated as I have no ideas about anything ever. Yeah. Okay. Bye.
Also, this is all like from modern day Lorraine's POV, next chapter will all be baby Lorraine.
Chapter 10
"Morning campers" I'm smiling, striding into the staffroom. Acting confident, cocky, because I'm nervous. Sian looks up, and smiles. And suddenly, my smile becomes genuine. I left her a voicemail last night, and almost instantly regretted it. And she didn't return my call. I think I cocked up, I think perhaps I made it sound like a date. It's not. It's not, it's not. I just need a plus-one. A plus-one to a swanky charity auction, all cool drinks and nice dresses and suited waiters. That's all. And I could've asked Michael. But I didn't. Because...because...(my heart hammers to even admit it to myself,) because I'd rather take Sian.
"Did you get my voicemail?" I ask her, making sure that my tone is precisely nothing but confident and friendly. I tilt my head to one side a little, acting precisely as though I don't care if she comes or doesn't. I tell myself I don't care too.
"Yes, I did. And I don't think I can make it tonight..." My eyes flicker over her. I sigh, but she's still smiling, apologetically now. Lowering her eyebrows, and I watch her as she shrugs a little. My heart sinks like a lead balloon, but my smile is still fixed to my lips.
"Oh, no go on, it'd be a right laugh! Five star hotel, a few local celebs?" I tilt my head to one side, gently persuasive. I know how to get what I want. And I want her. No. Not. Her. I want her to come to the goddamn function with me. That's. All.
"What's this?" Tom frowns, leans forwards a little, suddenly interested. Almost automatically, I lean away from him and towards Sian.
"A charity auction, tonight, I need a plus-one," and I turn back to Sian. My voice gentle and persuasive, but not wanting to take no for an answer. Maybe I'm a little too used to getting my own way."And you never know, you might bag yourself a footballer."
"What, another one?" she rolls her eyes at me. And then smiles a little. My heart leaps as she sounds less than enthusiastic.
"Please, come on" I smile. My heart flutters a little now, nervous maybe. Am I nervous? I don't know.
"You know what, go on, I might" she grins. I don't know if I've persuaded her by the allure of footballers, or by my nagging, but either way, it's worked. And I grin right back at her.
"Brilliant, I'll text you" I smile as I leave. And Michael is just entering the staffroom, just getting ready to speak to his staff in the morning. And I kiss him quickly on the cheek, leaving him hovering in the doorway, frowning. Confused. His head perhaps spinning from this rare show of affection from me.
Sitting in the back of the taxi, I straighten out my skirt a little, wriggling nervously in my seat. I glance down at myself. For what seems like the millionth time in the past hour, I'm taking apart every inch of my appearance. Blonde curls falling down over my shoulders. I'm not sure if I should wear my hair up, or leave it curling down my back. Do I look too young with my hair down in loose curls like this? Maybe I should tie it up. Maybe I don't look as though I've made enough of an effort. Maybe I look too dressed up. I don't know. I never know what to wear to events like this. My dress is black Valentino, almost knee length. Tight, thick lace, clinging to my body, cut high around my neck. Fitted black jacket thrown around my shoulders, Cavalli, of course. High shoulders, the kind of impeccable cut that only a genius could tailor. Black Alexander McQueen studded clutch bag held in my lap. I'm holding it too tight in my slightly sweaty palm. Gold knuckle-duster, black diamond skulls. My shoes, gold Oscar de la Renta heels, six, no maybe seven inches high. Already making the balls of my feet ache dully.
Nude lips, smoky eyes. My nails natural, coated in clear polish. Are they too short? I look down, inspecting my hands. Impossibly relieved that they're not shaking. My perfume is Calvin Klein. No jewellery. And I'm nervous. I look out of the window, watching the bright lights fly past.
And I reach into my bag, fumbling for my phone. Glancing at the screen. I'm going to be late. Because I spent too long choosing an outfit. And then getting changed. And then changing again. Leaving clothes in abandoned, screwed up piles all over my bedroom floor, as though I were a teenager again. And I feel like a teenager too. I feel hot, nervous. And I don't know why. Because we'll have a nice evening.
She's standing alone, hovering near the bar. The ceiling is high, white, towering above us like a cathedral reaching to heaven. The highly-polished parquet floor and the champagne glasses on each table are already glistening in the light from white crystal chandeliers. There are tables dotted around the huge circular room, all white tablecloths and high-backed chairs, collecting around a raised stage at the opposite end of the hall. A few years ago, this would've been miles out of my comfort zone. Tonight, this is just another evening.
"Hey, sorry, am I late?" I smile at her, leaning forwards to kiss her cheek. My lips collide softly with her cheekbone. I inhale her perfume. Soft, somehow spicy. I like it. She looks pretty too, her dress very nearly white, knee-length and clinging tight to her body. And I pull away, smiling confidently. She smiles back, and shakes her head. I know I'm a little late, but I was hoping that she'd be later, or wouldn't notice. And I'm late because I spent too long hovering indecisively in my walk-in wardrobe, choosing between gold sequinned McQueen and black lace Valentino. I chose the Valentino.
"No, it's fine, I just haven't got the hang of this 'fashionably late' thing yet" she smiles. She looks so pretty. All glossy, wet-look smoky eyes and matt lipstick. I make a mental note to ask her what lipstick she's wearing, where she bought it, how it would taste-
"Here, let me get you a drink" I glance away from her, towards a waist-coated young waiter. I raise one eyebrow, nodding to him and indicating him to refill her glass.
"Thanks" she smiles. Genuinely. And then smiles a little wider as the waiter seemingly floats towards her and refills her glass. I suppose he's good looking, in a way. Dark eyes and a razor sharp jawline and a carefully pressed white shirt.
"Well, this is a bit better than looking after year 11 and their chemistry coursework" she's smiling, beginning to relax a little.
"Who did you leave doing it?" I say, leading her over to a table as the room quickly begins to fill up around us. She sits next to me, champagne flute in hand, crossing her legs and looking away from me, up to the stage, the glossy wood criss-crossed with thick black wires.
"Michael volunteered, said he wasn't doing anything else. Did he not want to come to this?" She's still not looking at me, glancing around the room instead, her dark eyes taking absolutely everything in. Absolutely everything, apart from me.
"It's hardly really his thing is it? I'm sure he'd prefer to...inspire a new generation" I shrug it off, making her laugh. Taking a quick sip of my drink as I feel sweat just begin to spring to my palms. I'm lying, because in reality I hadn't even asked him. "So, come on, spotted any hot footballers yet?" I raise my eyebrows, and adeptly change the subject. She looks at me for a second in silence, her eyes dancing in the glittering chandelier light, before glancing around the room.
"Not yet" she pretends to pout, and then rolls her eyes at me. The young waiter tops up her glass, and mine too. I smile at him as he leaves, the briefest moment of eye-contact before his dark gaze flits just once over my body. I think my skin crawls. She sips her drink, and watches someone at the other side of the room. I want to know who she's watching. "But do you really think I want another footballer?" She continues as she rolls her eyes.
"You don't? What little girl doesn't grow up dreaming of being a WAG?" I laugh.
"God, no" she shakes her head, smiling a little, sadly maybe. I smile back. And then she continues "I wanted to be a cat, then an explorer, then a princess, never a footballer's wife."
"Well, cheers to that" I joke, and raise my glass, and she laughs. And drinks.
After the auction. Some back room somewhere. It's dark in here, the lights turned down a little too low. The air smells of alcohol and expensive perfumes and aftershaves blending messily together. And I'm a little drunk. Drunk enough not to mind a man's hand on the small of my back. His palm hot against my bare skin. His sticky touch doesn't make my skin crawl. Because I've got a glass of champagne in one hand, poker chips in the other. My head just comfortably fuzzy, I'm drunk enough to notice, but not to care. My black dress is tight, skimming over my thighs. Making it almost hard for me to breathe. I feel lightheaded, a little dizzy. But that's okay. I lean across the table, collecting up a small stack of the glossy plastic chips, and I almost smile. The man across the poker table wolf-whistles under his breath, his eyes everywhere, but I ignore him. I just sip a little more champagne, and feel the bubbles fizz and burst, exploding just behind my nose.
"Winning streak" the man beside me smiles, with just the corner of his mouth moving, a lazy, sneering grin. Cocky, confident. As though he's the hottest thing alive and he knows it. He is...hot. Not attractive though. His dark hair is cropped short, stubble lining his angular jawline, his greenish eyes a little bloodshot. His aftershave is nice, cool, a little salty maybe. His palm is soft on my back. And his eyes skirt over my body. I pretend that I haven't noticed him looking at me, and spin a poker chip between my fingers.
"I'm multi-talented" I say, my face serious, my voice light. He laughs, his hand on my back tightening a little. Possessively. My heart flips, not in a hot, fluttery way, but instead like a heavy, sickening way. Making hot bile jump to the back of my throat. God. Control. I have to be in control. And I need a bit more to drink. I tip my head back, and finish the now-lukewarm champagne. I can't help but wonder where Sian is. I'm not worried exactly, but my skin crawls a little at the thought of some sleazy, drunk man touching her, talking to her like this.
"Someone get the lady another drink" he laughs, holding his hand up and clicking carelessly for a waiter, who begins to slowly work his way through the crowd towards us. He turns back towards me. "So Miss Donnegan-" He starts to speak confidently, but I cut him off too quickly. My voice cold, drenched in cool surprise.
"You know my name?" I say, starting in slightly, moving away from him a little. My eyes widening as I look at him, trying desperately to recognise him. I don't. There's no kick of recognition. Nothing. I have no idea who he is. I wonder where I met him before.
"We all know your name." He smiles, as though it's a compliment. Maybe it is. I don't know. He's got a nice smile. Almost too nice. All expensive dental work and teeth whitening and not drinking too much coffee.
"Oh." I suppose they all did. I wonder who exactly 'we' was. But I don't really care. I look up at him. "I don't know yours." It's not a question, because I honestly didn't care what his name was. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and rose-tinted with alcohol, and wondered how inoffensive he would be in bed. I wanted to know if he'd insist on kissing me, or if I could close my eyes and think of-
No.
"Lorraine!"
That's her.
"Excuse us" She's suddenly beside me, smiling at the man beside me, before grabbing my hand and leading me a little further away from the poker table. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't find you anywhere, I think I should get home now, I've got work tomorrow-" She keeps her voice low, aware that the man I was drinking with earlier is still watching me, his eyes hot on my body. And she's still holding my hand. Still. Holding. My. Hand.
I'm not sure why, but I think my heart stops.
And somehow, miraculously, I can still speak.
"No, come on, stay a bit longer, I've hardly seen you all night." I'm shocked by the cool, persuasive tone in my voice. Perfectly controlled. Because it feels as though everything inside me is quickly becoming unravelled. Spinning out of control.
"I don't want to be too hungover and tired tomorrow" she blinks, and smiles rather apologetically. And I don't think I've never met someone so young and so pretty and yet so resolutely sensible before. And then she drops my hand, looking down and then away.
And now we're waiting on the kerb together, waiting for her taxi. The night is cool, but the booze still pumping through my veins keeps me warm. I look up to the sky, the glowing haze on the horizon that's either the rising sun or Glasgow and I'm not sure which. There's a scattered spectrum of silver and gold light spread across the wet pavement. The faint click of my heels as I take the tiniest step towards her. And then my eyes are almost magnetically drawn to her. And she brushes her hair out of her face. And she's smiling. God help me.
"Thanks Lorraine, I've had a great evening." She's smiling, looking down at her feet. And then glancing up at me. Knocking all the breath from my chest. I dig my fingernails into my palms.
"Better than, what was it again, GCSE revision?" My accent sounds somehow faulty out here. Laughable. Too far out of place. My knuckles white.
"Coursework, and yeah, just a little better"
"Maybe we should do it again some time?" I suggest it quietly. Shocking even myself. And she looks up at me sharply, raising one eyebrow sceptically. There's a moment of crushing, all-consuming tension, when I can hardly breathe. And then she smiles.
"How many of these event...event things do you get invited to?" She laughs. That's when I realise just how close she is. I can feel her hot breath. On my skin. I can feel my heart racing. Pumping out any coherent thought. The rest is a long, drawn out blur.
I think I mumble something. And I think I shrug.
It's like standing on the edge of a cliff. That first leap is the worst. The rest is just like flying. That's what I tell myself. What the vodka and champagne are telling me. That's what I think as I lean towards her.
And the second my lips collide with hers, I know it's a big mistake.
There's one moment. One breathtaking moment. When her lips are as soft as high heaven and send burning chills through my body sent straight from blistering hell.
And then it's over. And it's all gone wrong.
Left splintered on the light-strewn pavement.
Because she breathes in. Gasps maybe. In shock. Her breath against my lips. And then she pulls away from me. Too quickly. Her eyes flying far too clearly over my face. She's way, way too sober. Stone cold sober. And I feel cold too, cold and sick.
"L-Lorraine-" She breathes out. Frowning. I can hear confusion threading through her voice. Cold confusion.
"God, god, I'm sorry" I gasp. My hand flying to cover my mouth. As though I could somehow take back what had just happened."I'm so sorry"
"W-what the hell?" she frowns. Frowning, confused. The hot confusion in her voice making her tongue suddenly sharper. Blurring away her normal gentle tone. Leaving something raw, shocked. Something I've never heard before. Her eyes fixed on mine. Flickering slightly as she tries to read my thoughts on my face. I know I'm blushing violently. I can feel the blood leaping to my cheeks. And I'm glad that it's dark.
"I'm so sorry-" I repeat those words, as if they would change anything. As if apologising will take back what has just happened. And then I just look at her. Silence stretching out between us. And for one crazy, mad moment, I think that she might lean forwards again, and kiss me. Her eyes are focusing on my eyes. I wish she'd look at my lips. And lean forwards towards me again.
But she just frowns, her lips parting. Shaping soundless words through the night air. And I quickly turn away from her, hair flying over my shoulders. My breathing sharp, hot tears prickling at my eyes.
"No, no, Lorraine." She suddenly speaks as she reaches out towards me. I shrink away from her touch. "I...I..." She's stammering. And I have no idea what to say either.
"Too much to drink" I whisper. "God, I'm sorry Sian"
"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...I mean, I'm not-"
"I should go" I murmur.
"No-"
"I'll see you tomorrow" I move away, and she's biting down on her bottom lip. I can't turn away fast enough. My eyes trained down, already heavy with hot tears. Tears that I won't let her see. Tears that I can't let her see.
"Lorraine, for god's sake at least let me call you a cab!" She calls after me. I don't look at her.
"I'm fine" I shrug over my shoulder. Already there's several meters of thick night air between us. My voice sounds oddly muffled. By tears? Because I think I might be crying, but can't feel a damn thing. Numb. Oh god Lorraine, pull yourself together.
And I'm crossing my arms across my chest. And I pull my Cavalli jacket closer around my body, sighing. It's so cold I can see my breath smoking in front of my face. I can feel the freezing
And I toss my hair over my shoulders and stop my daemons from consuming me whole.