Chim - Sleeping With A Broken Heart

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6

The big, gleaming BMW drew to a halt and the engine stuttered, groaning. I looked at the back of the driver’s head, and Cheryl opened the door and jumped out. I did the same. I wobbled for a moment, drunk and tried, looking around as the BMW turned in a tight circle and drove back towards the gates. The sky was dark and starless and the house was huge, immaculate and shadowy. I listened to her walking away, her footsteps crunching on the gravel of the driveway, I then I followed her through a huge wooden door and into an entrance hall. I paused, taking in what I saw. 

The floor was white marble, as were the stairs, with intricately carved banisters that seemed to glow, ghostlike, through the darkness. The walls were painted a deep plum colour, dark and rich, and were completely bare save for a single canvas print that showed row upon row of terraced houses and high rise flats, and in the background, the curve of the Tyne Bridge. Newcastle. I smiled.

There was no furniture in the room except a sideboard made of mirrored wood. On the top there was a photo frame, but as I walked towards it I realised that the glass was cracked and there was no photo in it, only the black velvet backing. Cheryl had already left the room, going through another door to the right. 

I followed her. There was something about that room, with its gleaming floor and empty photo frame that made me feel uncomfortable, scared almost. The next room was a kitchen, again whit a white marble floor, shining like diamonds. The worktops were black granite, showing up every scruff and fingerprint. The cooker looked so clean that I doubted that it had ever been used, I almost expected to see the plastic covers still on the electric hobs. It made me feel very cheap and dirty just to stand in that room. In the corner there was a huge American style gunmetal grey fridge. This room was brightly lit by spotlights in the ceiling, bathing the room in an unforgiving white glow. Cheryl had kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a jumble in a corner, the red soles glistening. 

“You’re very clean, aren’t you?” I said, and she laughed

“I’m not much of a chef, can’t do it to save us life. Do you want anything to drink pet?” Her words were slurred. How much had she drank already? She was opening the fridge, and I saw that it was empty of everything except alcohol, bottles of wine and cans of beer. 

“Is that all you drink?” I ask her as she found wine glasses, pouring it and slopping it all over the shiny worktop. It looked like a pool of blood.

“No, I have one of those coffee machines” she said, pointing to an expensive coffee maker “but I don’t know how to work it. I don’t want to break it, you know? I’m not very good at stuff like that.” She held the wine glass out to me, and I took it and drank some. It was strong and left a bitter taste in the back of my mouth. “Are you okay?” She asked me.

“Yeah. This is all just a bit weird.” I am in Cheryl Cole’s ACTUAL house. Drinking her wine. I can’t believe it.

“Weird like what?” 

“I don’t know, just weird. Are you sure you want me to stay, I can go if you want?”

“Do you say that to everyone who you go home with? And babe, it’s-” she checks the time on her phone “nearly two in the morning. Where the fcuk you going to go?” She grins at me and pours herself another glass of wine. “You look tired” she says

“I don’t get much sleep. I look after Diana all day, and work most of the night.”I kick off my shoes, leaving them next to hers.  

“Oh babe” she pulls me into a hug. She’s very thin, and I can feel her hipbones. I remember her empty fridge, and can’t help but worry about her. “Come on...” she shrugs of her jacket and leaves it in a pile on the kitchen floor, finishing her wine in one gulp. How much has she drunk? I try and remember, but she takes my hand and leads me out of the room, the feel of her skin on mine instantly making me forget everything. 

Her hand is hot and dry, and she grips onto me hard, leading me up the stairs. I think about telling her that I’ll sleep on the sofa, then remember that she’s paying me. ‘It doesn’t matter who she is, I’m still the whore’ I remind myself, as she leads me to the landing, our bare feet pattering on the floorboards. Through half open doors I catch glimpses of gleaming bathrooms and a huge study. She pulled me through a door at the far end, into her bedroom. I knew at once that it was her bedroom because it was the only room in the house that I’d seen any sort of personal touch. 

Again the floor was bare floorboards and the walls were all plain white, the bed was a massive four poster, all made of metal, with a wrought iron headboard and curled, carved feet. The sheets were white and spotless and a couple of cushions were scattered over it, made out of smoky grey silk. The curtains were draped over the posts were soft, almost transparent white silk and were tied to the posts by a beaded grey tie-backs, and it reminded me of the video for ‘California King Bed’. On each side of the bed there was a small grey cupboard. One was bare except for a small wad of bank notes. But the other had three photo frames and three rings, as well as a small stack of newspapers. 

Behind me I heard the door being closed softly, and I felt a familiar fear start of eat away inside of me. I was trapped, and I knew it. I thought about the money, how much I needed it. I stood still and quiet in the middle of the room, watching as she walked to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down and gently touching the rings on the table. Something about her seemed to hypnotise me, and I couldn’t say, do, anything. 

I took a deep breath, and let it out, and she turned to look at me, eyes surprised as if she’d only just remembered I was there. “sh!t Kimberley, don’t look so scared!” she patted beside her on the bed, and I crossed the room and sat next to her. Raising a hand, she brushed my hair out of my face. “What the hell have they done to you?” she said quietly. I didn’t reply. I could feel her breath, hot and alcohol scented, on my face. Suddenly she turned away from me, picking a vest top from the floor, and gave it to me. “Put it on.” She got up and, turning away, stripped off her top and pulled off her jeans. I turned away too, taking off my see through vest and sequined bra and pulling on the vest top she’d given to me. When I turned back to her, she was sitting on the bed, wearing a Chelsea shirt with a number 3 on and tiny black shorts.

“That’s-”

“His, yeah”

“Oh...I’m sorry...”

She reached out to me, and pulled me down beside her on the bed. Cheryl looked at me, eyes slightly out of focus and quickly filling with tears. “Cheryl, don’t cry” I said, almost pleading with her. I tried to wipe her tears away, but a moment later she was sobbing in my arms, her head on my chest and her legs wrapped around mine. “What the fcuk am I doing Kimberley? How the fcuk did we get here?” she muttered 

“I don’t know. I don’t know- I should go-”

“NO!” she shouted, breaking down into sobs. “I can’t sleep alone! Kimberley please, I can’t-”

“Okay, okay. Cheryl, if you want me to stay, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.” She lay down, her fingers wrapped in my hair, my arms around her tiny body.

“Thank you,” she whispered “and I’m sorry”

“What for?”

“Bringing you here.”

I think before whispering “I’ve done worse.” I feel her tears drip onto my neck, I smell her hot, fiery scent, and then I fall asleep, my arms still wrapped around her.