Trust No Bitch: Part 2

Neil Blyton: Friday, 13th June, 2015

Your mates are going to be so fucking jealous when they hear about this, was all Neil Blyton kept thinking, sneaking a final sideways glance at the girl who sat in the passenger seat next to him. True, she's just a client and true, the 45 minute drive is coming to an end without any mention of exchanging numbers but she's undeniably the fittest bird you've ever had in this taxi and it seems like she's into you, he told himself. Why else all the tinkly laughter at the jokes he knew full well to be absolutely pathetic? Why else all that tossing of the silvery blonde hair? Why else would she look at him like that with those cat-like eyes as she drew on her cigarette? She wanted to fuck, obviously.

"Thanks for the ride, Neil. How much?" She asked as they pulled up outside her house. If you could call it a house. It was nearing on the size of a mansion. Shit! He thought to himself. Rich as well! "And I'll give you the fare from earlier, if you want. We should've paid." She added.

"Nah. You and your friends are nice girls. It's free." He said, feeling his cheeks heat up like the shy kid who just got picked on in class.

"No, honestly, I want to pay. How much?" The girl said, running a soft hand along his arm, hairs standing up to match his mantling face. Refusing to make eye contact with her, out of fear it'd cause him to go even redder still, he turned to inspect the meter and cleared his throat.

"£72.97 for this journey and then we'll just go with £2 for earlier. Is that okay?" He asked, the girl nodding with a kittenish smile and foraging through her expensive looking purse, eventually producing from it two £50 notes.

"Just take these." She said, physically taking his hand and placing the 2 notes into it. "It's for not being an arsehole." And then, picking her clutch up off the dirty taxi floor, of which he suddenly felt embarrassed, she climbed out. Dipping her head down to look into the taxi where Neil sat, one hand holding the top of the car door, hair swinging in the breeze, she grinned again. "My name's Cleo King, by the way." She said. "Never forget it." And then, as if the whole motion and utterance before it had been orchestrated by some adulated movie director, she slammed the taxi door shut behind her, the whole thing falling in time to a rhythm Neil could not hear nor elucidate. Awestruck, he watched her go, take the path up to her front door like it was some kind of runway, only she didn't make it to the front door. Her path was cut across by a man slightly older than herself appearing out from the side of the house and staggering across the driveway to one of the bins, empty cider bottle in hand, probably in his late 20s or early 30s. His only distinguishing feature was facial hair and an air of general shabbiness, made acceptable only by the fact that he was good looking. He was the kind of man that 50 year old women would probably say had a "rugged charm" about him, however, Cleo appeared revolted by the sight of him.

"You!" She spat, all the sweetness that Neil had just witnessed in her, gone. "You absolute piece of steaming hot shit." The man, however, just gazed back at her blankly, as if she'd spoken some abstruse foreign language which, unusually, caused her to squawk with harsh, derisive laughter. "I should have known." She continued. "You're hammered, again. Is that all you do around here? Scrounge off my mother, drink all our bevvies and stick that pathetic little cock of yours into girls who don't want it anywhere near them? God, I am going to end you, I swear." And then she raised 2 hands to his chest and shoved him, shoved him again, kept shoving him, all the while yelling "Come on! Come on! Don't you have anything to say for yourself? Don't you know what you did?".

"What are you talking about?" The man slurred in reply, with a panicked look to the open window above him, throwing a hand against the garage door to keep him upright.

"I spoke to Clara, arsehole. I know what you did. That's why I'm back here." Cleo sneered but he shook his head vehemently, mouth opening and closing like he was gasping for air.