Capricorns and Devil Horns

You Look Like Hell

Hannah's birthday was exactly 2 months after Morgan moved in. Despite Hannah's drunken insults upon their first meeting, the two had been getting on well. Morgan and Hannah were two different types of out-going, but when then the two came together, a fun time ensued.

A half-drunken game of Would You Rather? kicked off the celebration in the living-room. Hannah's party wasn't planned until the following Saturday, so we'd arranged for her to stay the night on her actual birthday. We found out some stuff about each-other in the hour- how Hannah would rather marry me than Morgan, how Morgan would rather bang George Clooney than Matt Damon in a bee costume and I would rather be a munchkin than an oompa loompa. By 11pm, we'd turned to mindless chatter and fits of giggles.

"So, me and Viv turn up to this restaurant, open the door and the waiter is stark bollock na-" Morgan paused mid-sentence for no apparent reason.

Hannah and I exchanged confused glances as he slowly rose to his feet and held out his hand to us, his grin gleaming in contrast to his salt and pepper stubble. I cocked an eyebrow, before the confused silence allowed me to hear the tune playing in the background. Take On Me.

"Care for a dance, Ladies?"

"Dance with the birthday girl!" I laughed.

A look of disappointment crept upon his face, but he quickly wiped it and turned to Hannah, who looked more than charmed.

She reached for his extended hand, but he jerked away as if her hand was scolding hot. I furrowed my eyebrow and Hannah looked more insulted than concerned.

"Morgan, you okay? You look like Hell." I questioned.

"Fine, Dear." He said, stepping back from Hannah, though not drawing his eyes from her, "Say, Hannah, Darling, when did you say your birthday was?"

"Today..."

"Yes, but what time?"

"11:03pm." She answered, hastily.

He quickly glanced at his watch. The colour seemed to drain from his face.

"Well then..." He breathed, "Happy Birthday, Love. Nora, can I see you in the kitchen a minute?"

We shuffled into the kitchen, leaving a confused and somewhat grumpy Hannah on the sofa.

"What was that all about?" I questioned, slightly sharper than I'd intended.

"She has to go!" He snapped.

"What? No! I'm not throwing Hannah out on her birthday because she gave you and electric shock! What the fuck?"

"No! No you don't understand. She's... She's... She's..."

"She's what?"

"She's... She's not supposed to be here okay? Please, Nora!"

"What do you expect me to say? "Sorry, you have to leave because my room-mate's having a meltdown"? I think fucking not!"

"I don't care what you say! Just get her out of this flat before she does something you won't expect!"

"Morgan, I'm not saying a word to Hannah until you tell me what your problem is!"

"Fine! Fucking fine. Fuck! You wanna know what my fucking problem is with your slutty little friend? Fuck!" He took a breath, seeming to calm himself as the rage bubbled deeper within me, "She's my daughter."