Boy Parts(75)

Tesco calls to me. There’s a homeless man snoozing by the door, who I stop to assess for a moment. He is decent looking, I suppose, under the dirt and the straggly facial hair. I’m about to shake him awake when I spot the CCTV camera glaring at me from above.

I stand up straight and wave at the camera. I go into the Tesco and pick up bread, and crisps, and hummus, and croissants. I will regret having binged in the morning. I am delighted to see Eddie from Tesco, where he should be, behind the counter, smiling shyly, staring at my tits.

He’s so beautiful. Even with glass hanging out of his eye, he’s just adorable. I tell him, and he thanks me. He can’t sell me a bottle of vodka at this time of night, but he’ll give me cigarettes.

‘Aren’t you going to ID me?’

‘No?’

‘Cheeky cunt. You’re lucky you just got away with the wine bottle, really,’ I tell him.

‘What?’ The girl behind the counter blinks at me.

‘Ah. Never mind, babe. Thought you were someone else.’





Yo yo yo eddie frm tesvo

In. Lnd atm bt whe i get home we can fuck again if you promis nott to be a little bitch about it

;lol





I wake up in my clothes, on top of the sheets, in a pile of crumbs. I wake up because my phone is buzzing, insistently, by my head.

Hey babe, last night was wavey. Really intense. Sorry for bolting – i’m schizy af when Ive had a bump (or two! Started at the gallery lol) & i’m just not into knife play. Plus, I dont really bottom or sub or whatever I am very much a top.

Went to A&E to get stitches and they told me i didn’t need any lol felt like a right bellend! Appreciate you wanting to get a piece of me but watch what you’re doing with that little knife of yours ha ha ha!!! x

I really am sorry I broke your frame btw. I think i was just intimidated by this incredibly naughty older woman I wasn’t expecting to see ;)

Hope you have fun with my uncle tomorrow i know he’s into some really weird shit lol x



I actually make a few attempts at a reply: I literally wanted to kill you? I almost cut your nipples off? You went purple? What about any of that read as safe, sane or consensual?

I hope he doesn’t tell anyone. God, if he tells anyone he’ll be sorry I didn’t gut him. Older woman. Older woman. Call me that to my fucking face, you little bitch.

Lose this number. fuck off and die.



I block him, just in case.

I also have a bunch of texts from Sera, generally having a go at me for being ‘a cringey drunk bitch’. They’re long, and rambling, and sweary, and don’t exactly read like the work of a sober person.

Chill out.

You’re acting like my fucking sponsor or something

Miserable posh cunt lmfao.



I look through the photos of Remy. They lack the same interest they held for me last night. They’re bad. They’re blurry. The white balance is off; they’re overexposed or underexposed or they’re too yellow in the ugly tungsten hotel lighting. I keep only two or three. Souvenirs, I guess. He’s also not as cute as he was last night.

I have more texts. There’s one from Eddie from Tesco where he calls me a fucking reptile and asks not to contact him again. I respond with a cheerful okey dokey, and it goes through, so he obviously hasn’t blocked my number.

Scrolling up, I see that after I texted him I did send him a few photos of Remy. Oops.

I look at the photos again, the ones I didn’t delete. I look at his purple face, his bloody chin and nipple, his swollen cheeks. I wonder what the fuck I have to do for people to recognise me as a threat, you know? It’s like… am I even doing this shit? Have I even fucking done anything?

Like, do I have to snap the wine bottle inside him to get him to stop sending me sad emails? Do I have to cut his nipple off for him to realise he should probably ring the police? Do I have to cave his head in with my camera, rather than hit him the once? Do I have to crash his car? Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a fucking mark?





GLASS




I spend almost a full twenty-four hours in my hotel room. I watch telly, I eat crisps, I vomit, and I shower again. I hear bells, and glass shattering, and I hear the sound of my own teeth.

Sera apologises for being a bitch. I’m like, yeah. I remind her I don’t need her – I have private sales, and we do have galleries in the north. She just says she’s sorry again, like she’s so much bigger than me. Fuck her.

I pull myself together to leave the hotel again. It’s the day of my big date with Uncle Stephen, and I decide to go for a light, salad-based brunch, after bringing up what I can of yesterday’s carbs. My throat is raw. I don’t want to eat on my own, so I go to text a friend then realise I don’t have any of those. Sera is busy when I ask, so I’m just like… great.

I eat alone at the Breakfast Club, where I accidentally order a full English. I drown it in ketchup and brown sauce, and my stomach screams at me for filling it with carbs and grease and other hard-to-digest things, which I know are going to rip through my colon like a bullet. I feel like there’s something sharp, and crunchy, in my mouth. Something sharp; I spit it into my palm, but all I get is a chewed lump of white bacon fat.