Trust No Bitch: Part 2

Alice Jenkins: Wednesday, 10th December, 2015

"Alice, what those pictures implied...they put us in a very difficult position. Really, I should've taken them to the police, but I don't want to do that. I know you. You are a fiercely intelligent, incredibly hardworking, sensible young woman but this...considering the circumstances-"

Alice pressed 7 to delete the voicemail and hung up. She didn't want to hear the rest and probably wouldn't be able to process it anyway; she was having trouble even processing what had happened the night before. She remembered buying cocaine from Luca Stone, doing lines in the Chaos toilets, getting up to dance on a podium. It was mortifying and if that wasn't bad enough, her mind was already back on cocaine, limbs too heavy to lift from her bed and heart removed from her chest, stitched into her head where it throbbed violently. It felt like that, at least. The only reassuring thing was that she had ended the night in her own bed rather than a strangers and had a real deep sleep for the first time in months. That fact, however, couldn't allay the ever increasing perturbation that she felt as she held her phone above her face, glancing at the the victory text from the Supplier she'd received that morning.

I wonder if I'll get a thank you?

After all, I was just doing you a favour.

Just like you, now they know exactly who they're dealing with.

Poor, little Al. 

When I said I'd take everything from you, I meant it.

You really should have realised sooner.

She deleted the text as swiftly as she'd deleted the voicemail, moving onto her next text, one from Lilly inviting her, along with Gemma and Clara, round to hers for lunch. How could she do lunch when she couldn't even move? How could she even begin to really do anything? There had only ever been one solution from the second that she regained consciousness, the second that her eyes flickered open. Raising her dishevelled head from her pillow, Alice dug her hand into her handbag and drew back out of it the baggie of white powder from the night before in a claw-like hand. She poured some of it onto the table and propping herself up with one elbow, snorted it up.

Better.

The sensation was virtually instantaneous. Maybe she could get out of bed after all. Maybe that migraine wasn't as unendurable as she'd first thought. Maybe she didn't care about the ever growing shadows under her eyes, dark like the hood of the Supplier. But even on a high, she wasn't an idiot. She couldn't drive and she needed to be at Lilly's. She'd have to text Louis, her boyfriend, who had yet to finish for Christmas. Of course, neither had Sasha or Tim but she had a neither would be all too fond to the idea of sharing a potentially 2 hour long car journey with her. Hitting the send button on her laconic lift enquiry to Louis, Alice shoved her phone back into her bag and swung her legs off the bed, running a hand through her knotted hair. Normally, the feel of knotted clumps of it collecting beneath her fingers would alarm her, a voice in her head screeching like an irascible parent that it needed brushing, the same one that told her to daub concealer beneath her eyes until she didn't resemble a cadaver. But the voice after that line? She didn't even notice it wasn't there, stepping into the shower, brushing her teeth, doing all the usual things without the usual ardour, make up chucked aside, hair curlers pushed under the bed like the forgotten toy that the child grew out of. All that stayed the same were her clothes, the final part of the costume, which just stopped the whole thing from being that little bit too drastic, stopped Louis from noticing how much of a mess she looked as she opened the front door for him, a garish bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"Oh...Louis, you really shouldn't have." She said quietly, closing the door behind him and walking away so as not to look him in the eye.

"A thank you would be great." He replied, placing the flowers on the worktop.

"I didn't get the job."

"You didn't get the job? You could've told me! I wouldn't have-"

"I didn't really feel like it, Louis." She interrupted. "And I'll give you the money back for the bloody flowers if you want. Put them on your mantlepiece."

"That's a Tesco limited edition bouquet!" Louis said indignantly. "You could at least pretend to be grateful." The impulse Alice felt to roll her eyes at his comment was equivalent to the itch of an insect bite. Picking her bag up off the floor, she looked at him with all the sincerity she could summon.

"I'm sorry, Louis." She said, slinging the bag onto her shoulder. "The flowers are-" She tried not to hesitate, a particularly gaudy gerbera staring at her from behind Louis, "-really beautiful and I should've told you I didn't get the job. I just didn't feel like talking to anybody about it."

"You look trashed, anyway." Said Louis, ignoring what she'd said. Charming, Alice thought to herself. It was true but were boyfriends supposed to say that kind of thing?

She certainly didn't think so.

"Did you go out last night?" He asked, Alice taking her turn to ignore him as she scooped her keys up off the worktop in her fist and dropped them into her bag. "Did you go out?" Louis repeated more loudly.

"So what if I did?"

"Who did you go with?" He asked, clasping onto her arm, his grip steely, fingers locking round her with a machine-like efficiency. "Alice, who did you go with?" Again. He shook his head, as she stared silently, resolutely up at him and proceeded to move onto something else for the time being; after all, they had a 2 hour car journey together. Plenty of time to question her about the more important things then, she thought to herself bitterly. "Why didn't you get the job?" He questioned, Alice still trying to wrest her arm from his clench.

"Careful, Louis. You wouldn't want anyone to think you actually gave a shit." She murmured, able to wriggle her arm out, only for Louis to grab her again as she opened the front door.

"I do...what happened? Why didn't you get it?"

"Let's just go to your car."

"Alice-" Louis tried but she finally yanked her arm way and began striding down the corridor.

"Let's just go to your car." She repeated over her shoulder, not even noticing the smile or the faltering hello of the girl who lived in the flat opposite, who was in the process of locking her front door. She was usually the first to witness Alice Jenkins' opening performance of the day. The chirrupy "Hi!"s and the unrelenting grins. That day, however, she was to be sorely disappointed.