# 13 cruel to be kind

I. Am. Brilliant.

I stand proudly by the bar watching Grace attempt some rusty flirting techniques with the hotty I chatted up on her behalf. He’s all Ryan Gosling-esque with nice big arms and very white teeth; I think he said he played for Harlequins rugby too. I have no idea what that means but I supposed he wouldn’t have bothered dropping that in if it wasn’t mildly impressive. 

Anyway I watch Gracie twirling her hair, looking back at me for encouragement, and not so subtly shuffle her Santa dress to hike her boobs up; it appears to be working as rugby boy is now buying her a drink – SCORE GRACIE. 

I’m not sure why girls whine about men all the time; they’re really quite simple to analyse. They like a girl to appear classy but to be a secret slut, they like them to laugh at their jokes (openly and loudly), they like girls who are (or act) less intelligent, and they like a little game playing (but claim to hate it).
 

Men = uncomplicated
Women = complicated  

This is why relationships go to shit; girls need to stop being so damn needy and know that we’re the superior race and can outsmart any male on this planet if we put our minds to it and work together.

Like, get a grip. I hate seeing my friends so emotionally damaged by a cock on legs. One should always remain realistic and should never fully give wear your heart on your Prada sleeve; it almost always ends in heartache.
 
I blame movies.
 
I have yet to find a hooker that ended up with a rich silver fox.
 
I have yet to find an undercover reporter who fell in love with the high school teacher under a false alias.
 
I have yet to find a guy who wrote their first true love a letter every day for a year. 

Like, who thinks up this shit?
  
I may give motivational seminars on how to bag a man. I’ll use Stefan as my show-and-tell. If I had filmed today I’d be a bloody worldwide wonderwoman sensation; I’d be on Ellen DeGeneres and she’d be asking, “What’s your secret Yasmin?... Tell the world.”
 

Reason being the earlier events of today;

I’m busier than I’ve ever been working with the other fashion assistants pulling outfits and accessories for the beautiful supermodel Esme Connor, when who comes bursting into the studio but my crazy ex…
  
 His hair was wild and unwashed and he hadn’t shaved, and he also reeked to the heavens of bourbon; he looked like Homeless Werewolf Man.
 
The new interns were squealing in shock and Cheska dropped her sewing machine at the sight of him. I covered my face with my hands and muttered apologies to the team who were uncertain as to who this drunk intruder was, but like, doesn’t he kinda look like that famous model?
 

I walked up to him, looking as stern as I could in the face of a broken sobbing man, took him aside and begged him to leave.

He dropped to the floor and clung to my leg, wailing in Italian, and by this point a scene had begun to gather in front of me. My boss gave me the Look; the “get this the fuck under control asap” look. So I sighed, and dragged him upright and to the nearest exit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed at him.

“Baby, my baby, take me back. Please. I will change” he repeated this over and over; sobbing into my new Marc Jacobs shirt and gripping my waist with the urgency of Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice.

I removed his hands, told him to get a grip, and turned on my heel back to the studio.

 And then… oh THEN… the singing started.

“aaand you can tell everybody.. this is your SONGGG. It might sound quiteee bad but now that your gone… I hope you DON’ MIND, I HOPE YOU DON’ MIND-”

I died a thousand deaths inside as he ran back in after me, his drunken slurs echoing around the stone silent room; the girls who were originally giggling together just looked on sadly; some even closed their eyes to avoid seeing such humiliation. Elton John would have been horrified.

“THAAD I PUT DOWN IN WORRRRDS”

“STEFAN, STOP.”

I had never shouted at him before. I don’t know if I’ve actually shouted before, ever.

He stopped, and sniveled a little more, and by this point Security had been called, and I didn’t even pause to consider whether we even had Security before today, but let them lead a dejected man out slowly, whilst he mouthed lyrics to me, silently.

Yeah it didn’t feel good, but the Truth hurts sometimes. And truth is, he shouldn’t have got in so deep.

I handed the bouncer at Lenny's a print out of Stefan and warned with a grave tone that "this total nutter might turn up" and may have even eluded to him having previously rumoured to have date-raped girls from other clubs in the area.

Yes, I'm a heartless wench but I almost got a written warning today thanks to him, and I'm not even for a millisecond having a Y chromo ruining my career plans thank you very much.

Now to find a substitute boyfriend for the night.

What? ... I don't want to have to fork out £40 for a cab.

# 12 V

Today has been a FANTASTIC DAY- wooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO.

I’m not going to even dwell on the shaky start (my stupid crapmobile car wouldn’t start this morning- must fix) because

 

a. my big bro is back from Oz land after like 5 years out there, FOR GOOD

b. in the words of Destiny’s Child, the party is Jumpin’ Jumpin’

I refuse to let Rory out of my sight for even a minute tonight, which is probably pissing him off a treat but I’m scared he might run out the door and disappear again. But he keeps squeezing my arm and telling me to let go of him because he’s not going anywhere this time and his face is honest and reassuring; like I once remember seeing, so I let him go and chat to Gracie.

(But I will remain a metre away at all times)

Meanwhile I have a scan round the room to see if I spot any girlfriends joke (I can count my “girlfriends” on one hand) and I spy Yasmin schmoozing with other leggy fashion girls, Eva showing the pole some love and Rebecca looking like a frigid bitch (who can make slutty Santa into Pilgrim?) and that’s when I spy him..

Jamie . Ives.

I tense up. Spotting his casual, messy-but-styled-for-hours hair above the crowd of reindeers makes me freeze mid convo with Yaz. He knocks back a pint of beer and spills a little over his well-defined jaw and for a second I think he catches my eye as he wipes his face, but he turns away just as quickly as the moment came and turns his attention back to his laddylad mates - still the same boneheads from high school.

 

Now Jamie Ives is physically an Adonis; I mean, too pretty to be my type now- anyone that takes longer than me to style their hair (and for the record it takes me less than a minute) is really too metrosexual for me, however, Teenage Me did not have the same consensus.

He was a dreamy older year who was friends with everyone, loved by teachers and had dated every pretty girl (and rumour has it a couple of teachers) in the school.. except me; not that I hadn't tried don't get me wrong, I was just a late bloomer. I had braces and moderately severe acne and until I hit 17 I dressed kinda like the guy that runs the YMCA round the corner-

 

I still had friends alright?

I had kissed boys though. I think I had a lucky break in that I preferred hanging around with the boys in my school and chose not to have a lot of girl friends (bar Gracie and Eva (begrudgingly at first) and in that sense a couple of the Y chromos took pity on me and indulged me with a cheeky stoned kiss behind the sports block. But that's as far as it went, until Jamie Ives came along with his tight buttcheeks.

 

The day Jamie first spoke to me was pretty shit.

 

It was the anniversary of my dad’s suicide and I had spent the whole day blazing up with Archibald Levine with a bong made from some tubes from the Chem lab. Archibald was telling me about how he was using the money made from harvesting his marijuana plantation (in his back garden) to create a school for intellectually gifted youngsters in an unspecified underdeveloped country and I was just about able to nod my head slowly in enthusiasm to this when Eva ran in and busted me. She gave me a lecture about drugs at school and told Archibald it was unacceptable to have dreadlocks as a Caucasian male and then dragged me (no actually dragged me) to the girls bathrooms where she told me that she had overheard Jamie telling his bonehead mate that I was “looking quite fit actually”.

Of course this perked me up massively and I forgot about being dark and down for a few hours whilst I planned my underwear for the aforementioned bonehead mate’s house party that same night.

To cut this waffling story short, I got smashed on spiced rum (straight) and it didn’t react so well with the earlier spliffs. I vomited on an antique rug and used bonehead’s mum’s designer dress to wipe myself down and later started a table dance striptease to INXS - Need You Tonight (which was cut promptly short by my brother); despite all this I looked pretty smokin’; I wore a sexy tartan mini skirt and a black lacy negligee and this was most certainly what caught Jamie’s wandering eye.

We danced in the living room all night, I broke out some moves I’d practiced in the mirror from Showgirl (forgive me father) and rubbed up against him until he could do no more but to beg me to go on a “drive in the woods” with him.

I smiled coyly and agreed to take ride with a boy I hadn’t spoken to before that night who had barely passed his test by 3 days and who was about 15 times over the legal limit – but young love is blind and reasonless I guess.

Gracie tucked a condom in my boot for me and Eva begged me not to “rush anything” but that was easy for them to say as they had both long lost their V to their respective boyfriends and after spending most of teenhood itching to even see a real life penis (well other than Archibald Levine’s but I’d rather not go into that); well I was already at the passenger door before he was.

 

We drove for miiiiles and miles, and ended up in a drunken, messy tangle in a field opposite a pub I’d never seen before. He didn’t ask me anything about myself but kept saying, “so why haven’t I noticed you before Anya Lucker (sic)?...” and “isn’t it cool that you’re sorta famous?” with this naughty charming glint in his eye, and I would shrug and giggle and gulp down sick gurgles whilst he kissed my neck and played with the lace on my knickers. They soon came off and he was soon enough naked from the waist down, and then I froze up a bit and the conscious me cried out to be heard from the furthest corner of my brain.

Do you really want to lose it in a field with a guy who doesn’t know your last name?

Well he sweet-talked me, and we did it, and it hurt, and I cried (silently) and thought throughout the whole thing if there is an afterlife then I hope to God that my dad is too busy playing poker with Kurt Cobain to watch me now.

 When he finished I was furious. Furious that I had been sexually frustrated for 2 whole years to have that be it. I asked him to drop me home immediately but he wouldn’t as it wasn’t on his “way home”, so he left me there, crying in a field opposite a pub I’d never seen before, howling for my dad to come back.

Of course he told everyone at school the next day that I was a “crazy slut” (how generic) and even had “I nailed Micky Lusher’s daughter” written on his sports jacket for the remainder of our time at school.

Oh Jamie, you are unlucky that this has come flooding back to me tonight; you are ruining my happy night and it’s payback baby.

#11 the article.

The party is shaping up to be quite the social affair.

I wander around the crowded, dank basement floor with a questionable substitute for a Mojito in my hand. Make that one in each hand.

I'm wearing my favourite LBD; the one that makes my boobs look like a Victoria's Secret model, well, La Senza.. maybe.. at a push... anyway.. point is I look attractive to the opposite sex. Which, really is the exACT point of tonight. Yasmin made sure that we invited everyone and anyone, and by anyone I also mean we invited random male models from the Chic "BESTosterone Top 20" shoot, we invited the cute barista from our favourite coffee place, and we also invited all of our assholes-of-the-moment. But hold on, don't think for a second that I walked round and said

"Oh Hallo there Benny old buddy, I know I walked in on you with your peen in another vagine but why don't we let bygones be bygones and have a boogie for old times sake"

Get real.

I slipped a leaflet under his door with a rather vaguely advertised
"XMAS PARTY @ LENNY'S. DRESS CODE:  HO HO HOs" - Anya had them made by a very nice guy called Byron at the Photocopy shop; I think he may have been swayed into doing it for free by her slutty Santa dress and / or lack of bra.

She bounds up to me now, tits bouncing, still no bra. All five of us have the same dress on but somehow I look like some uber creep squeezed into a toddlers dressup and she looks like Jessica Rabbit. As she rambles on about how much money I've made her tonight by getting the club so busy I can't help but notice how classy and beautiful she can look when she actually brushes her hair and dresses like a female.

"Gracie you're the absolute best- LOOK how busy this place is. Lenny's barely had seven people walk through the door last week and LOOOOOK AROUND, we're at capacity! I don't think that's ever happened!"

She hugs me hard and turns around and jumps on some hot blonde guy I don't recognise and drags him to the bar.

I walk up the stairs behind the small band stage so I can take a good look at the crowd of about 300 swaying Santas and Elves and a few Reindeers and one poor sod dressed as a Xmas Pudding is sweating profusely as he dances near a sexy elf... and then I think I spot Ben. I lean over the railings to get a closer look but the flashing lights and the blaring of The Proclaimers "500 Miles" disorientates me and as I get nearer I see that it's not Ben, and that I should probably get contact lenses as the man I mistook him for is in fact mixed race.

Yasmin glides through the crowd, easily spotting me as she's about 2 feet taller than anyone else here; looking as stylish and sleek as ever, even in a santa dress.

"So this is good turn out hmm?" she smiles and sips delicately on a glass of pink cava, "I see SO many potentials for your article"

This brings me to "the article", and a meeting with my boss that could and probably will drastically change the course of my life. 
(O_O) cripes.

This morning I went into work with a lot less gusto than normal; a combination of a broken heart and a hangover. I tried Berocca. I tried painkillers. Nothing could fight off my aura of sadness. Michelle (a.k.a Boss from somewhere-worse-than-Hell) sniffed this out like a depression bloodhound and called me into her office before I'd even had time to sit down at my desk and mope.

It went a little something like this:

Michelle: What's wrong Grace? And don't lie to me I'm your boss

Me: Nothing (sweet smile)

Michelle: Don't be absurd, look at you. You hair is flatter than my bald father and you have mascara stains on the sleeve of a very questionable cardigan

Me: (discarding cardigan) No honestly Michelle, just a little problem with my personal life but I promise I'll just, put it to the back of my mind, or something... I'm a professional
(fake work smile)

Michelle: Now I'm glad you said that Grace. Because I have a new work assignment for you. You're off agony aunt.

Me: Wait, what?? Michelle please don't fire me. I can do so much better, I know I can be a bit sarcastic in tone but I'll totally work on that-

Michelle: Oh please. Stop being such a beg. I'm taking you off agony aunt, and you're getting your own column.

Me: omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg

Michelle: (cutting me off) You're going to be our Anonymous Dater

(my smile fading)

Michelle: You're going to be a sort of, girl hero, you're going to date men as if you were one.

Me: Um, Michelle I'm not sure I get it... You want me to hand out dating advice? I don't really think I'm the best around-

Michelle: Of course you're not, look at you, you're a pathetic romantic and my husband has been with more men then you

(pause to absorb this)

Michelle: But that's what our reader is.  You are bringing hope to every sad shmuck out there who gets dumped after they put out, who gets overlooked for their hotter and more secure friend... need I go on? We.are.going.to.SHAKE.THINGS.UP

I could continue this recap of the conversation but it would only be me protesting repeatedly, being threatened with the sack and an eventual sell-out of my soul. What Michelle wants me to do is write a monthly article on a date (or several dates) with a different man; but it has to end with me blowing him off in humilating and ego-shattering ways. Think How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days but more R rated and with an enivitably terrible ending. The only bonus being that I get to remain anonymous.

Cue back to Yasmin fishing out guys for me happily; this job assignment couldn't have come at a better time to help encourage her slightly Nazi-like S.LU.T pact, but I gotta say, a small teeny part of me is quite excited about having a reason to throw myself back in the game. And this time I don't lose the game.

"Come on, Anya's always surrounded by men... She can surely spare you one", Yasmin takes my arm and sweeps through the crowds who part for her like the Red Sea for Moses, and we hover next to Anya and her throng of male gatherers. She doesn't seem particularly interested in any of the horny Reindeers ogling her; in fact, she still seems really enthralled by the hot blonde from earlier.

Shame she got there first... He's gorgeous.

We move a little closer to her and I can't take my eyes off her blonde boy, and he turns round as she laughs hysterically and meets my eyes, half smiling. Or at least I think he did. No, he totally did.

I whisper to Yasmin, "Jeez. Me and Any never fancy the same guys, wish I'd got in there first"

Yasmin turns to me with an expression of mild horror.

"Grace. That's her brother."

My jaw drops to my vagina.

"RORY?" I ask out loud, to myself I think.

He hears and turns round.

"I was wondering why you were being so rude doofy, don't you recognise him?" Anya asks nonchalantly; as if Rory Lusher, who I have known for 15 years, is this gorgeous tall, tanned, sparkly eyed ManGod in front of me.

"Grace," he smiles warmly, "Long, long time. No see" He goes to embrace me and I mutter some sort of greeting under my breath and can't help but feel how hard his back muscles have become, and I feel even more embarrassed and pull away sharply.

No way is this Rory. The last time I saw him admittedly was 4 years ago before he moved to Australia, but he used to be so lanky. Not that I'm a shallow bitch or anything, Rory's always been cute but we grew up together. He was the one I had to beg to go and buy me sani pads when I started my period round his house. He was Rory who used to be 1/3 of the rock band I formed with Anya at 13 (we split due to creative differences...)

And now... Wow.

But it didn't feel okay. We make silent eye contact for a moment longer than required whilst Yasmin and Anya yap on about the party, and I think back to the quiet, withdrawn Rory I was accustomed to from aged 15, after his dad killed himself. I didn't see him a lot over the years leading up to him leaving the country; he flunked school, he was on every drug under the sun and generally headed for the same fate as his father.

I felt all warm and fuzzy seeing him in front of me, more alive than I've ever seen him look.

I poke his cheek.

"You got facial hair. That's why I didn't recognise you"

He smiles again and pokes me in the chest (which was totally painful but I didn't let on), "Hey, you got tits."

We laugh and tease each other and laugh some more until Yasmin creeps up behind me and squeezes my waist.

"I've found the perfect guy for you to take home tonight... And, oh, you are welcome for me laying the ground the work already."

#10 Anya- The Pact

 I cant quite work out what's going on. The girls have huddled closer together resembling some kind of creepy little cult meeting. I must be drifting in and out of sleep as I can only really hear mutterings and the occasional enthusiastic "Amen!" or "Preach it!" from Eva.

I can't quite fully slip into unconciousness as Rebecca's monotone drawl of a voice is like a distant drilling on my skull, but the semi-dreams I am having are dark and intense with contorted figures floating about my mind like the bloody cirque du soleil; I keep jerking awake and wondering who the shady character gatecrashing my sleep is, it doesn't feel like Harley.

Too much gin. Gin baaad.

I finally snap straight out of my sleepy haze when I hear "Christmas party?" uttered by Grace.

"When are we having a party?" I ask rubbing my puffy, sore cheek and shuffling closer to the crazy lady cult.

Yasmin looks pleased with herself, "Tomorrow night. At Lenny's if you can persuade Danny?"

They look at me expectantly, like wide-eyed labrador puppies.

"Um... Sure?"

I love a party as much as the next slut, and it might only be the 1st of December but Tuesdays are pretty dead at the club so a xmas party could be just what everyone needs.

Yasmin jumps up and hugs me and the others squeal like 12-year-olds at a school disco.

"Okay, we invite EVERYONE we know. Work colleagues, Facebook friends, one-night-stands, family- if you want. This has to be huge. And totally rife for SLUT sabotage"

I screw up my face as Yasmin makes wild hand gestures listing the people we could invite to the party, "Did I miss something?"

Eva jumps in, "Yes. You did. We are having the ultimate WE'RE SINGLE night and celebrating our..." she looks over uncertainly at Yasmin for a cue, "essential... feminine independence and prowess?"

Yasmin nods proudly.

Grace sits quietly in the corner, looking at the chest of drawyers where sat a picture of her and Assmunch cuddling.

"And after the party... You'll help me break Ben's heart?" she asks quietly, her eyes fixated.

I shrug off my sleep, "No"

As I say this, Rebecca simultaneously says "Of COURSE" and for a moment our eyes meet, and I maintain it can only be comparable to how it felt looking into Medusa's eyes.

I scowl at Medusa and wrap my arms round Grace's shoulders.

"Gracie this is stupid"

As I say this the others look at me like I'm Josef fricken Fritzl or something, I pull her head to look at me, "I know he has really hurt you. But he's a moronic jerk and he will regret this for the rest of his life. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he doesn't deserve a fist to the nose, oh BOY does he, but don't get fixated on this... You'll go... crazy"

I think this is probably the most logical and profound I've ever been; and who'd have thought it only took some liquor and a blow to the skull.

She looks at me, her pretty green eyes sparkly with tears, but doesn't say anything. If I know Grace Griffiths, her mind is made up. Who am I kidding; the crazy always defeats the rational.

The girls look smug and Yasmin sits me down, grasping my hand; I feel like I'm meeting with the guidance councillor again. She looks at me like she can see into my soul, how does she do that? I swear she can hear my thoughts right now. Stop thinking Anya.

Grace, Eva and Medusa are topping up their drinks and discussing party outfits, Yasmin picks up the ice bag I threw on the floor when I arrived and dabs my cheek gently.

I don't flinch, she has an incredibly soothing character, kind of like a witch doctor or something. She's so beautiful too; these incredible hazel eyes and velvety chocolate skin, if she wasn't my friend I'd probably try and sleep with her.

"Anny, I know you didn't get that from a thrown bottle..."

This throws me. Fuck I must be a shit liar.

"Sure I did.. I already told you that bitch from Lenny's-"

She stops me with a look. Crap, she really must be a mind reader.

I look away from her, I feel awkward, like I'm 16 and right back in the principle's office again.

"Yas, would you- um, would you not tell the others? Especially Gracie... She'd tell my brother and-"

She takes the ice pack away and looks troubled, "I won't tell anyone. But you should think again about what I said. We might sound a little mental... But I'm sick of seeing my friends screwed about by men. Why shouldn't we take pleasure in a little pain? To forgive is divine; to revenge is human"

I'm not an English graduate, or even an avid reader of quotes, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't an accurate one.

She continues, "Think about it at least. You know we all have your back...even Rebecca."

#9 Rebecca- The Pact

"I propose we make a change to this S.L.U.T attitude" Yasmin states boldly, "Grace, where are your glasses? We're toasting"

At the mention of a drink I jump up and offer to get glasses, after all, I did bring a sparkly Moet in an attempt to cheer up Gracie; not that I want to share it with everyone but I'd do anything to perk up the somber mood of the night, and I'm interested to see where Yasmin is going with this SLUT talk. 

I rifle through Grace’s cupboards and salvage 3 different sized glasses and 2 mugs, one clean and one not so clean (Anya can have that one). After everyone has had a glass poured we sit and wait for Yasmin to continue. 

I notice that Anya has already downed her glass of super expensive champagne and thrown it to the floor- I bite my lip to stop myself commenting.  

“If you don’t mind me asking” I say coolly, “what do we have to toast to?”

Yasmin leaps towards me excitedly, seemingly she has worked herself up to give us an inspirational pep talk. 

“To being SINGLE and in CONTROL. We are 5 attractive, intelligent and confident women and listen to us winging and moaning about a few pathetic XY chromosomes- what I propose is that we show the opposite sex who really rule this world” 

God, if pitching this idea as a Beyonce song is her plan she best change tactics.

The girls laugh nervously, probably also afraid that Yasmin may burst into song; her eyes look wild and I’ve never seen her quite so animated- except the time she got sent free Isabel Marant boots. 

“Don’t laugh” she snaps, “Rebecca- how did you feel when Will dumped you for that rich sloane?”

“Um… not…good?” I answer hesitantly.

“Right.” She continues, “And Eva- Anya- aren’t you sick of being sex dolls to be used at will?”

“I like being used for sex…” Anya mutters, whilst Eva nods dejectedly.

“And Gracie…” she softens her tone, “do you want Ben to regret fucking up the best thing that ever happened to him?”

She nods sadly, “Yeah but that’s not gonna happen; he hasn’t even come over to try and beg for forgiveness. Men dial out emotion like robots. I don’t think they’re born with the ability to care”

Yasmin bounds up again, sloshing that super expensive champagne over herself, “And THAT is why we are going to get our own back. Reverse the roles. Avenge our fellow S.L.U.T sisters. Break some hearts.”

 Now we’re all a bit tired, and also a bit tipsy, but I’m not really understanding Yasmin’s wavelength here.

 "You sound like Miss. Habbingsham” laughs Anya.

 “You mean Miss. Haversham,” Yasmin shrugs off casually, “And I’m glad you paid attention to GCSE English.”

Eva sits up straight, "Yasmin out with it please, what are you suggesting? Because I'm really not into being one of those weird aggressive feminist cock-haters"

"No, but what I'm saying is that we make a pact to never let ourselves lose our heads over a man again. We get our revenge, and we refuse to let our hearts lead our heads. I don't know about you guys, but it seems one person in a relationship is always made the fool, and I sure as hell don't wanna be that shmuck"

Her words slowly formulate a shred a sense in my head. I mean she's still absolutely lost the plot of course but I'll let that slide. We silently soak up her words. Even Anya looks like she's paying attention which is something I don't believe I've ever witnessed.

"It's time for us to be a bit selfish, get ours and that. It's about time we evened out this playing field..."

"I guess I do like the idea of using guys for sex." Anya perks up.

"I wouldn't mind showing Dr. Stewart that he messed with the wrong chica" Eva adds heatedly.

"Yeh," Grace looks nervous about speaking up, "I guess I'd feel better knowing that Ben was torturing himself over me"

I pretend I'm not really listening but I definitely am down with this; William Arnold III you are going to pay for finishing with me 2 months before Christmas. And I mean literally pay; I'm gonna bleed the bastard dry.

#8 Eva- The Pact

I share my story to the attentive girl audience; Grace and Anya sigh sympathetically, Yasmin nods pensively, and well, Rebecca looks plain horrified but that's to be expected. She's probably the most straight-laced girl I've ever met but I honestly love and respect her for it. She kind of reminds me of Audrey Hepburn, except less friendly looking.

"So wait, rewind" she says with a puzzled expression, "Did you meet this older man """dancing"""?"

"Okay, Becca, you don't have to keep referring to stripping with air quotes" I laugh it off, "and no, he's my professor, keep up"

This doesn't comfort her in the slightest. She uncrosses her legs and then crosses them again and smooths down her pencil skirt.

Yasmin cuts in, "Okay Eva, this guy is a Grade 1 jerk. Aside from him breaking the LAW, if you're going to embark on an illicit relationship then the first thing you do is lay down the serious stuff. I can't believe he didn't think you would work out he's an MWC"

Anya, struggling to keep her eyes open, and rubbing her cheek adds "If the sex is good, why does it matter?"

Rebecca scoffs.

I consider this for a moment; the sex is fantastic. But I can't bear liars. If he'd have been straight with me all along I might have been a little less pissed. Since my dad lied to my mum and, in fact, the entire family about his affair for 3 years, I've taken male mistruths rather personally.

Still, I can't help but feel massively duped by Professor Player. His web of lies is pretty much an insult to my intelligence and ego; it scares me that people can deceive others so easily. I think back to one particular night where we lay in post-coital bliss, and I told him about my dad coming back to town and the whole family escapade, and how anxious I was about seeing someone who caused so much grief to me and my family. I nestled my head into Dr. Stewart's chest furrow, that lovely space that all men have between pec and armpit, and he stroked my hair and whispered in the darkness "I could never hurt you Eva"

The thought of this makes me ball up my fists to stop myself crying.

"Fucking hell, this really is the Sad Ladies United Together Society"

Grace laughs between tears and outstretches her arms to beckon me into sofa snuggles. I curl up next to Anya and Grace strokes both of our heads in that same comforting way she always used to at school; the restorer of the calm. She looks over at Rebecca, who is now alone on the sofa opposite, still pressing her skirt down to remove non-existant creases.

"Becca, it's been what like three weeks since you and William, does it get any better?"

Rebecca looks up, almost alarmed to have been brought into the Sad Ladies United Together conversation, "Yes of course it does. All I want to do now is make him regret finishing with me for that fat toff"

She covers her mouth after she angrily blurts this out as if she has revealed some awful secret, and then restores her calm expression, "I mean whatever, it is what it is. There are plenty of other eligible batchelors left in London right? Is Prince Harry single yet?"

I laugh at the sincerity of the comment and turn to Anya who is drifting into a sleepy haze by my side. The bruise is spreading from her cheekbone and her under-eye is turning into a dark purple; I've seen the aftermath of Anya's catfights enough times to be desensitised to any war injuries she has, but something about the mascara streaks and the overnight bag in the hallway doesn't add up.

"How's dickhead An?"

She doesn't open her eyes, and instead shrugs and purs languidly, "Dunno Ev, I haven't fucked him in like two weeks"

The answer is vague enough to be interrogated but assertive enough to leave well enough alone; emotions are so high tonight it would be precarious to press her further. Hey, perhaps we're all getting our periods.

We lay silently soaking up the events of the night, and occasionally one of us offers a "FUCK MEN" type of outburst to which we all nod to, that is until Yasmin stands up abruptly:

"Right. I've had enough of this. Sad Ladies United Together no longer. I will not have my friends turn into pathetic, self-pitying losers"

Grace frowns, "Jeez Yaz, can we not be losers together for just one night?"

"No. We cannot. Now listen to me"

I almost try to offer a protest but I'm exhausted from being so angry all day so I lay back and turn my attention to Yasmin.

#7 Yasmin- The Pact

 "Oh he will" I say firmly, so assertively I start to sound a little scary.

Grace wipes her snotty nose on my shoulder; I'm wearing a brand new Acne dress but that's by the by. She looks up at me, Anya looks at me, both sets of eyes pleading with me for some good methodical wisdom, but for once I don't have the answer. Ben was a bit of a knobber but Grace honestly thought she was gonna marry the guy; he was her first longterm relationship and love of her life and I know the standard lines

You can do better

I bet he's kicking himself

are just not gonna cut it tonight. I'll change the subject.

"So I broke up with Stefan tonight and he stalked me all the way to your station."

The girls look at me momentarily to judge how to react and I guess from my nonchalant vibe they gathered I wasn't too broken up, and then they cracked up.

"Oh Yaz, the poor fella, I bet he didn't see that coming at all" Eva laughs.

"Good riddance" Rebecca scoffs, "He wasn't intelligent enough for you anyway"

Anya perks up at the mention of Stefan, "Yaz he was hot, would you mind if I shagged him?"

I laugh; genuinely. I don't think I would even care if he had a gangbang with the four of them in front of me, what I do feel is a weight lifted and I'm not sure why. He was certainly a good boyfriend, if a little intense; he doted on me with gifts, we had great sex and even though I have more testosterone than him we had a perfectly enjoyable year together.

Grace perks up a little with this news, "God. This has been a bit of a shit day for us hey"

Rebecca kicks off her heels and lounges back in the chair,  "Um. Welcome to the club bitches. I was dumped 2 weeks ago and being single isn't exactly a rave, whatever Beyonce may claim."

Anya giggles lazily, "Well maybe you need to get laid more"

Rebecca shoots her a look and purses her lips, debating a response but deciding to instead recline back and bite her tongue.

I've yet to fully understand the beef between these two to the full extent. Anya, Eva and Grace have known each other since first school and I think when Rebecca and I came on to the scene there has been a battle between her and Anya for Grace's full affection. As I was the last of the girl crew on the scene I only witness the cold exchanges and occasional catfight between the two of them, but Eva tells me they used to get on well a few years back and that the animosity between them seemed to arrive out of nowhere. Strange, but not worth dwelling on as it's not too often the five of us are together at the same time.

Grace and I see each other daily thanks to our shared workplace at Chic; it's rare to see Eva as she's either working on her dissertation or, ahem, stripping; until two weeks ago Rebecca spent every waking moment with that creep ex of hers, and Anya, well only the Lord himself can predict her schedule.

"It's nice, us all being together again I mean" says Eva, "It's been like...months"

"I'm sorry it had to take adultery for me to pick up the phone and get us together again" Grace says wistfully.

"Well, while we're sharing, my day has been pretty terrible too" adds Eva, draping herself over the sofa arm and dangling her long, shiny black hair over it.