An Arrow To The Chest

Chapter 40

I lay awake in bed, the blanket tucked under my chin, streams of light from the window illuminating the room so that I can't fall back asleep. I'm not the type to procrastinate in the mornings, usually bouncing out of bed and into the shower the minute I open my eyes. If I wasn't in such an awful mood I'd already have a cup of coffee in my hand, humming to myself as I pour a quick bowl of Lucky charms.

Instead, I stare at the ceiling, remembering the three-am giggles, two sets of feet stumbling into the room opposite, the door slamming with such force that I felt the vibrations through the bed frame. The noise was loud enough to wake the corridor up, and I had buried my head beneath a pillow to avoid hearing the thumping of his bed against the wall. The pillow may have muffled the thumps, but not her loud unapologetic moans that belonged in a porno.

Fuck them both.

I was seething with ugly jealousy overtaking my thoughts, not being able to think of anything but what the skank might look like. Did Arrow have a type, bringing a girl back that looked like either Carmen or Sam? Would she be a complete stranger in a bar or a friend of a friend that he had heard of before? Would he look at her with lust in his eyes or a hungry hatred that caused the ecstatic moans to fall off her lips for the whole accommodation to hear?

Either way, she clearly had fun last night.

A small growl from my stomach triggers me to prop myself up on my elbows; a half-hearted attempt at getting up and making myself some breakfast. A quick glance at my phone confirms its already almost midday, and I can't just mope in my room forever. Only, the dread of seeing either one of them (or worse, both) stops me from getting up any further.

I certainly couldn't look Arrow in the eye and not picture his body slamming into hers again, and again and again. Just the thought makes my brain feel cloudy, and I can imagine my skin turning green with envy right in front of him. When I face him, I must make sure It doesn't look like I care in the slightest. He seems to get off on the idea of riling me up, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction that last night's antics bothered me. They were not allowed to bother me; I have no hold over him whatsoever.

And then there's the absolute dread that she hasn't left yet. I can imagine her perched on the countertop, or stood by the wall-height windows, sipping on some black coffee as the sun shines against her skin in an angelic beam. I hate how she, a complete stranger, gets to have him for a guilt-free night of glory, and I wonder whether she planned on waking up in someone else's bed or if this was spontaneous behaviour for her. Either way, those moans were in no way innocent, and she must have been trying to put on a show for the rest of us to see.

What A whore

The more I let my mind mull over it, the angrier I get. It was completely unacceptable to be so loud and disruptive on a weekday, surely. I hate the idea that she's sat in my kitchen, probably drinking out of one of my mugs (seeing as Arrow isn't capable of washing the coffee stains out of his own), thinking she owns the place. If I avoid the kitchen purely because I'm worried about bumping into them, then I've lost.

I force myself to roll out of bed, splashing some cold water and applying some moisturiser on my dried skin. Damn it, is that a new spot? I bend sideways so I can see the tiny bead that has emerged on my temple, cursing my skin at its inability to stay clear. I dab a little mascara on my eyelashes and rub Vaseline against my lips- hoping that from a distance it appears I've rolled straight out of bed, waking up fresh and dandy.

When I see two figures in the kitchen the courage and sass I had only a moment ago vanished, and I stop walking. It's almost twelve-o'clock, why hasn't she left yet?

I'm tempted to turn back and hide in my room until I hear her leave, not wanting to acknowledge them together, but I remind myself that this is my territory and not hers. If anything, she should be the intimidated one, and how dare she show her face after her actions last night?

I needed a game plan.

I will stroll in, grab some coffee without acknowledging either of them, then stroll out.

No, I can't do that. If I don't acknowledge Arrow then he'll know I'm pissed, and he'll assume it's because he's slept with someone, and then he'll think I'm obsessed with him. He'd probably also remind me I have a boyfriend and to concentrate my attention on him instead, which will rile me up even more.

Instead, I'll act like everything's normal, but not acknowledge the girl at all. Hopefully, she'll feel uncomfortable enough to leave and not come back. There's nothing worse than not feeling welcome.

Walk-in, say good morning, make coffee, ignore girl, evacuate immediately. A solid plan.

"Good morning," I say, casually strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge door without looking at either of them. I can feel both their eyes shift towards me, watching as I grab the milk and pour some into my favourite mug. I eye the shelf to check whether any of my mugs are missing, and feel relieved when I see they're all in place, lined up like soldiers.

"Morning Eloise. Sleep well?"

My neck whips up at his comment- he's sat at the dining table facing me with an infuriating smirk on his lips as he waits for my reaction.

Surely he must be taking the piss. 'Sleep well'. Are you kidding me? He's never once asked me if I've slept well- usually grunting a response like 'morning' or 'hi'- anything that doesn't keep a conversation going. He picks today to ask me if I've slept well?

He's fucking with me on purpose, he must be. I wish I had enough willpower not to take the bait, but I can't help it. My original plan of making a coffee then evacuating the kitchen as quickly as possible flies out the window, and I let the spitefulness get the better of me.

"No I slept horrendously thanks, but surely you already know that with how loud you were last night. What were you watching, Scream? Or maybe Animal Farm with the number of squeals I heard?"

I realise too late that I've just compared the girl to a pig, which is far crueller than I'd ever wish to be, but it's too late to backtrack. I finally allow myself to look at her, putting a face to the voice, and I'm surprised at how different she looks than what I imagined.

She's gone a deep shade of red, but otherwise, her skin is ivory pale, dotted with light freckles around the nose and cheeks. A blonde curtain of hair is tucked behind her ears, and I watch as she squirms in her seat, shrinking her shoulders to take up as little room as possible. I can't help but glare with narrowed eyes, wanting to roll my eyes at her sudden shyness. Where was her pride when she had been screaming the flat down at three-am? Where had all that confidence gone?

She turns to face Arrow, begging him to smooth this all over or defend her in some way.

Clearly, she doesn't know him at all.

"I don't know why that's aimed at me; I wasn't the one screaming. If you've got a problem, say it to her," his words come out so calmly you'd think he was reciting poetry, and the girl beside him gasps in shock. Her reactions a bit dramatic, but if I slept with someone and they spoke of me like that I'd probably gasp too.

"That's unfair. You weren't complaining last night!"

"I'm not complaining, Eloise over here is complaining, and I'm merely suggesting she complain to you and not me."

The girl is doing whatever she can to avoid my eyesight, clearly mortified at the situation.

"I'm sorry, I-I was drunk. I didn't mean to wake you," she stutters, giving in and looking up at me.

I'm tempted to apologise or to tell her it's all fine and that I was sorry for being so rude. But I don't want her to stay, and I don't want her to spend the day with Arrow, and so I keep my mouth shut and sip my coffee.

There's an awkward silence before she finally stands up.

"I should go. Arrow, I have my phone in your room."

"The doors open."

"Can you come with me?"

"You don't need babysitting, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Right, okay. I'll see you soon then?"

He doesn't respond, and all three of us know she won't be back.