postcard amelie 15
“Olivia likes you,” says Amelie.
“Hmm?”
You’re both selecting earrings in the same narrow mirror, crouching down to see half-faces. The casual sharing of space feels new and exciting—I’m always far more giving of space, whereas Amelie gives and takes.
She spots you looking at her in the mirror and blows you a kiss. “I agree with her taste, of course. But do you like her?”
“She looks delicious.” And she does. Tall, taller than you in fact, and possessed of a fashionable thinness that is refuted by athletic legs, thighs, and an arse that has made you lose your train of thought at least once. West Country vowels tease at the edge of her words, ameliorated by her time at the same London Uni Amelie met her.
Amelie’s cheeks are red in the mirror. Her inclined head makes her look like a bashful child. “Don’t tease.”
“I’m not teasing.” You interlock your fingers with Amelie’s hand and give it a squeeze; then place it on your belly, below the ribs, where a sawtooth rumble is felt rather than heard. “She makes me hungry.”
Your lover tosses her brown curls and flusters. “God, you’re incorrigible! Okay. I’d like to… Would you mind if I invite her up? After dinner?”
“After dinner?”
“Yes, to spend the night.”
“Just the night?”
“Ye— well, the rest of her…” Amelie groans and shakes her head again, hands gripping her hair in frustration and mortification. Through a tangle of chestnut she scowls at your grinning face. “You’re just going to make me say it, aren’t you? I would like to invite her up to your room this evening to fuck, and then I want to feed her to you. Comprends-tu?”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” you say sweetly, and laugh when she pummels your shoulder.
You settled on graceful silver half-circles, with jet inlay. They complement the raven’s skull necklace you’re wearing.
Amelie went with big yellow tassels, whose length emphasises her long neck. Her off-the-shoulder dress further draws your notice, and raises a desire to sink your teeth into her. You know the taste of her blood and can practically sense the rest of it as if it hangs in space, ready to be slurped up, independent of your lover’s body that wraps it up.
You distract yourself with Olivia instead. She is wearing skinny jeans and a brilliant white blousy top, made going-out fancy by meticulous makeup and jewelry. She is jovial and boisterous, flirting with Carl hard enough that he flusters and loses the capacity for speech. She is energetic and full of life, and your stomach speaks with the desire to feel her spend that energy in its firm, wet embrace.
The restaurant is loud enough to lose the sound, but you think maybe Amelie heard it, as she takes your hand and gives it a squeeze.
Meat arrives on your plate. The restaurant is based around a large central grill pit and circulating waiters serve its fruits from skewers. You eat without enthusiasm: the savour of the food pales in comparison to what Amelie has in store for you; fails to touch the satisfaction of Gemma, child, the market, the club. You’re starving.
Amelie picks at her meagre plate. Her young meal has mostly vacated her stomach, but her inexperienced intestines are still thick with the mush he became. Meanwhile, the brother was barely a snack for you. His remains briefly saw the light of day reflected in the ceramic bowl before slipping under the waves. Your insides were not gentle.
“They still haven’t found those kids that went missing,” Olivia is saying. Beside her, Roxy nods. Suspicious Erika looks at Amelie’s belly, and avoids eye contact with you.
“We’re in a full Madeleine McCann situation,” declares Nathan. “We’ll all be called in for questioning.”
“Let’s not talk about things like that,” says Amelie, screwing up her nose and hiding any traces of guilt with ease. “Why not tell us how you all met?”
“Uni,” say half the people in unison, and the rest laugh and agree shortly after. “How are people supposed to meet, otherwise?” asks Olivia, rhetorically.
“Through friends and coincidence,” is the answer Amelie provides, smiling at Olivia. “You’d never have met Erika except through me at uni. You’d never have met Roxy except through Raven and me sparring on that first day.”
“Yes, I really must thank my lucky stars!” The three women in a line exchange smiles and lean closer together.
“If you wanted, you could thank me and Raven, too.” Amelie’s smile is without a hint of guile but Olivia hesitates, clearly reading the hint. She leans a little straighter, away from the other two, which makes Erika scowl again.
“How could I ever repay you?”
“I’ll think of a way…”
The conversation moves on, but the seed is sown. A few more times you see Olivia speaking quietly with Amelie, a smile on her face.
Once she works her way up to adults, you think, Amelie is going to be extremely dangerous. Both Olivia and Amelie turn to give you sultry smiles. You return them with a look of such smouldering intensity that Olivia’s mouth falls open, a deer in the headlights, and Amelie physically rocks backwards.
“Um,” she says, finding her voice on the second attempt and looking for a waiter. “Could we get the bill?”