Good Little Girl

She looked so young sat there. Her eyes so big and sad, and so fucking pretty with her sweet little fingers curled in her hair.

“It’s a bit rich to accuse me of hating you, don’t you think? It’s you who’s gunning for me every time I step through the door.”

“So, you do hate me.”

I smiled. “You drive me fucking mental sometimes, Aimee, but no, I don’t hate you.”

The hairs on my arms stood on end, clocking the danger in the room before I did. Aimee shifted in her seat, raising the hem of her skirt just a fraction. I soaked in the milky white perfection of her thighs. Shit.

Her eyes met mine, and there it was again, the dirty girl glint.

“Do you love Mum? Did you ever? Was it really what you both claimed it was when you came back from vacation and declared undying love?”

“I married your mother, didn’t I?”

She shrugged. “Like that means anything. I don’t think she loves you. I don’t think she ever did. You’re just another one of her possessions left on the shelf now she’s bored of you. You can join the club.”

“Thanks for that.” I feigned chest pain.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t love anyone, only herself.” She paused, bitchiness easing off just a little. “Sorry. If you do love her, I mean. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter a shit.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” I sighed. “Not for a conversation about the reality of love in modern suburbia, and definitely not with you.”

“You think I’m a silly little girl, that I’m just the spoiled little brat you see every day. You think that’s all there is to me, don’t you?”

“You make it really damn hard to see anything else, since that’s all you ever show me.”

“Maybe I don’t want anyone to see anything else. Maybe it’s easier that way.”

“Easier to be a cocky little brat than show a little common courtesy? I think that would be easier for anyone. You can take the easy route all you like, sweetheart, and I’ll suck it up. I’ve got bigger things on my plate than whether you’re being a bitch to me or not.”

Her eyes pooled with fresh tears. “See, you really do hate me after all.”

Fucking hell. I’d overstepped the mark like a prick, letting my cocky who-gives-a shit attitude speak for me.

My hand was on her knee before I’d even registered. Her skin was silky soft, warm to the touch.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re the one who’s stuck here with me, not the other way around.”

“So, it’s not about the house? You’re not staying here for the swanky pad? Yeah, right. Like that’s not your biggest concern.”

I pulled a face, genuinely shocked.

“You think I’m worried about keeping this place? I mean, sure, it’s nice, but I couldn’t give a toss whether I have a nice four-bed detached or not. The apartment is plenty enough for me.”

“Hasn’t the apartment sold already?”

“No. I could pack up and be back there in an hour if I wanted to. I could get straight on to the agent in the morning and tell her I was pulling it from sale, no big deal.”

There was silence between us as she tried to digest it. Both of us drunk and lost for words.

“I really thought you were staying here because you had to,” she said. “I didn’t think you had a choice.”

“Well, now you know, don’t you?”

Another silence as she tried to digest it, and I didn’t fill it in with pointless words.

Her breaths were shallow when she spoke next. “I don’t really hate you, Kyle, I just pretend I do. It always makes it easier to think people hate me, then it doesn’t hurt so bad when I find out it’s really true.”

I swallowed hard, trying to stay detached from her. Just enough to keep my wits and my cool.

She twirled her hair. “You know, when I was little, I thought my mum bought me things because she loved me, now I know it was because she didn’t. She’d always tell me I was a good girl and hand over presents, like they showed me she cared. She was lying, though. She never gave a shit. It was just an easy way to pretend she did. An easy form of compensation.”

I shrugged. “People show love in different ways.”

“She doesn’t show love in any way. Nobody does. I’ve been bad my whole life and nobody says a thing. Nobody stops me. Nobody cares. Mum would sigh and tell me to be good and offer me a reward if I did as I was told. She did it to shut me up, not because she gave a stuff about my behaviour. If she could shut the door on me and let me get on with being a spiteful little brat, she would do,” she paused. “She’d only buy me off when it was necessary. Usually when she had friends over or work to be doing.”