Score: Bad Luck Charm - Old 97's

Lydia

Mark and I are in his bed. We're both naked and his body is hovering over mine, as he moves in and out of me. There's a deep crevice between his eyebrows and the molten gold of his eyes is pouring into mine. I reach out to touch his hair.

"I'm yours, Mark..." I hear myself saying.

"No," he says, lowering his head, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

His movements speed up and I feel my core tense with unbearable force. I squirm under him, writhing like a flame in the wind. I turn my head to whisper in his ear.

"I need you, Mark..."

I need release, and I need it now.

But just as I am about to come, Mark lifts his head again. Only it's not Mark anymore.

It's Patrick.

He reaches with his hand and wraps it around my throat.

I open my mouth, wanting to scream, but his hand tightens around my throat and only hoarse, choking sounds come out of my mouth.

"Fucking whore!" He spits out and I wake up.

I've been having the same dream since I moved in four days ago.

Every. Fucking. Night.

I still can't believe I'm living with Mark now... It's been four days, but it hasn't fully sunk in yet.

I spend my days watching TV, wandering the streets, and running in the nearby park. Anything to keep me distracted. Mark's not to be seen for the majority of the day, and the night, to be honest, which is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's nice that he's giving me space and is respecting my boundaries, but, on the other, I feel like he's been avoiding me since last Saturday. Also, I would very much use a friend right now, and living with one, but not really seeing them most of the time, is kind of frustrating.

The music, blasting through my AirPods is distracting me from my thoughts about Mark, as I run the now-familiar trail across the park. It is a lovely Wednesday afternoon, and there are a lot of people walking in the park.

Chase and Status's Against All Odds is playing on my Spotify right now, calling for additional wind in my feet.

Where the hell is he going at night!? OK, I get that he might be busy during the day and that he's back for the first time in two years, and, maybe he has friends and family to catch up with, but at night? I don't think so.

I check my watch, seeing that I have almost completed my 6-mile run.

I swear, running has been the one thing, keeping me sane these days. With everything that's been going on, and the A-level results coming out soon, I've been holding on to a very thin and wobbly thread of sanity.

I pick up my pace for the final half-mile, feeling the familiar, welcome burn in my lungs and the strain in my legs. It's fucking liberating.

When I finish, I pause for a minute, doubling up, my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My face is hot and wet and I taste the salty tanginess of sweat, as I dart my tongue out to lick my lips.

I start walking back to Mark's - or, should I now say, to my place, as well, - checking my fitness stats on my phone on the way.

I exit the park and turn right on the street, walking towards the building. I walk this route every day and it has now become a part of my routine. I use it for a quick glance on social media, as well.

Like, right now I'm looking at Alex's photos from Italy. Nate's checked in from the refugee shelter he's volunteering this summer. I keep scrolling down, spying on my friends' summer vacations, until I reach a check-in notification from Cote'd'Azur, from Patrick's profile.

Of course, I sigh, the Casterlys were supposed to go on their sailing trip after our prom. An angry, hot sting pierces my chest as I look at his photos, all toothy smiles and ruffled hair. Not a hint that something's happened.

Maybe it's for the best, I tell myself, as I log off Facebook and lift my eyes from my phone, preparing to cross the street.

And I freeze.

There's a Bentley parked on the other side of the road. That's nothing unusual in this neighborhood, but what catches my eye is the man, attached to the outside of the front door of the car.

Mark.

He's leaning against the door, his head and shoulders almost popping inside. He's talking to someone inside the car. A woman. I squint my eyes to focus better.

She looks in her late twenties or early thirties and is an absolute stunner. I can't see her fully, but I can make out a platinum blonde, shoulder-length bob, red painted lips, and unnaturally white teeth that stand out even more against her bright-red lipstick. Large, square-shaped shades are covering half of her face.

What the hell?

I mean, who is that? Is it a friend of his mother's? Or a relative? A secret girlfriend?

I just stand there, looking at the scene, a thousand thoughts chasing in my head. I feel something tighten around my chest. Shit! Why am I so bad with feelings? I don't know what it is. Am I still out of breath from my run? Or am I angry? Or jealous? Why, though?

The blonde throws her head back, laughing at something Mark said. Oh. He makes jokes.

He straightens up, peeling himself off the car door, and puts his hands in his pockets, looking at the woman through the rolled-down window, smiling. He then looks up and down the street and I realize he'd see me, standing here, gaping like a creep, if he so much as shoots a glance across the street.

Shit!

I panic and start looking around for cover. I spot a coffee shop just three feet away and I quickly slip inside.

I watch through the window, as the car pulls into traffic and Mark starts walking down the street, in the direction of his flat.

"You alright, love?" I jump in my place, startled by the voice of the woman behind the counter. I look around, realizing I'm the only customer in the coffee shop.

"Um, yeah..." I mutter awkwardly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge next to the door and walking toward the counter.

"You hiding from someone, love? Do you need any help?" The lady asks, handing me my water back, after checking it.

"No," I smile, realizing how stupid I must look. "Thank you, though."

I exit the coffee shop and head back to the flat, feeling on edge.

I find Mark in the kitchen, making tea.

"You alright?" He asks me, as I walk in.

"Fine, you?" I retort, opening the fridge and taking another water bottle out.

"Yeah, me too."

"What have you been up to?" I ask, trying to nudge him, to see whether he'll tell me about the woman in the Bentley.

"Not much." He only shrugs his shoulders, not even looking at me.

"Okay, Mark, what happened?" I ask, folding my arms in front of my chest. I'm tired of skirting around the subject, and of spending my days and nights here alone. I want some answers.

"What do you mean?" His shoulders tense visibly and he turns around to look at me, mug in hand.

"Well, first of all, I barely see you these days," I say. He lifts an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. "Second, you go from hot to cold in 0.5 seconds."

"What does that mean?" He asks, frowning.

"It means..." It means that I felt your hands and lips on my body, and I'm dying to feel them again, but you haven't even looked at me since I got here. But of course, I cannot tell him that. "It means I'd love to have a friend around, whom I can talk to."

His frown deepens at my mention of the word "friend". Or maybe I'm just imagining things.

"And I would like to know where you are off to at night." I sound like a jealous girlfriend, I realize suddenly, and then I add: "I worry about you."

Mark leaves his mug on the counter and stalks toward me, amusement lighting up his eyes. I look up, as he stops merely a foot away from me, staring into my eyes.

"You really are nosy, aren't you?" He asks, lifting his hand to put a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Why do you want to know all this stuff? I am a free man." He lowers his head towards mine until his lips are level with my ear. "I can do whatever the hell I want." He whispers in my ear and shivers run down my spine.

He yanks his head back up, looking down at my face, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"But if you want to know so much," he says, "I spent Saturday night at my dad's. Figured you'd like to be left alone." He shrugs his shoulders. "Seems like I was wrong. Then Sunday night I was busy..."

"Doing what?" The question leaves my mouth, completely on its own.

Ever had the feeling that your mouth and your brain were disconnected at birth? Story of my fucking life...

"You wanna know?" He says, brushing his fingers over the bare skin of my arms. "How about I show you?"

I frown, not sure what he means.

"Would you like to come with me tonight?" He asks, taking one of my hands in his.

"Where?"

"You'll see." His lips curve upwards. "Do you have something nice to wear?"

"Tell me where we're going and I'll tell you if I have anything appropriate..."

"I'm not telling you." He lets go of my hand. "Dress code's formal. We leave at eight. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go get some rest. Or, is this something you'd rather I don't do, either?"

I smile awkwardly and shake my head.

"Great. Now, go figure out your outfit. I'll be waiting for you in the hallway at five to." His smile deepens.

I rush out of the kitchen and go straight back to my room. I need to look through my stuff to pick out an outfit...for what, though?

Is it a black-tie event? Is it a cocktail party? A gallery opening? Though Mark said he'd been at the same place Sunday night and there are only so many gallery openings.

Maybe, it's a party at his dad's? Something wedding-related, I guess...But then why bring me there?

So many questions, my mind is reeling right now.

I open the wardrobe in my room, where I have arranged my stuff, and I look through the dresses I took from my closet. I don't find anything interesting there, so I move on to my mum's stuff instead.

There. Better. Always better. I pick out a black Victoria Beckham piece that looks both elegant and edgy, and a pair of Valentino heels. I lay my outfit on the bed and jump in the shower.

After I shower and blow-dry my hair, I put on some make-up. I take a red lip out of my make-up bag and an image of the woman in the Bentley from this afternoon comes up in my mind. Who is she? What does she have to do with Mark?

I shake my head, uncapping the lipstick and smearing a thick layer over my lips. I look in the mirror, acknowledging what Gloria said once.

Everything's better, when you put a red lip on.

I get dressed quickly, pulling the black dress over my black knickers and bra, and I then slip on the shoes, grab the purse I took for prom, and leave the room.

As I walk down the hallway to the front door, where Mark's waiting for me, my breath catches in my throat. Mark is standing by the door, wearing black jeans, a fitted white shirt, and a dress jacket, thrown over his shoulder. His hair is still wet, from his shower, I suppose, and pushed back. As I approach him, I can smell the cologne he's been wearing in the air between us, and my mouth instantly waters.

His eyes are glued to my body and he's looking me up and down, like an animal, waiting to pounce.

And I want him to do it.

"Not bad." He lifts a brow and cocks his head to the side.

"Is that all? "Not bad?" I say, teasing him.

"Yes. That's all." He says, shooting me a smile. "Shall we?" He pulls the front door open and motions me to get out.

We leave the building under the scrutinizing stare of the concierge. The Discovery is parked on the street. Mark opens the passenger door for me, holding it, as I climb into the seat. As I pass him by on my way to my seat, he grabs a lock of my hair and puts it to his nose, closing his eyes, as he inhales.

"Mmm", he murmurs, and his eyes shoot open. "'Good Girl'. You haven't changed it since you were sixteen." He says, letting my hair go.

"Why change something that works?" I say, straightening my dress as I sit. "It's my signature."

"Plus, you've always been such a good girl, right?" Mark says. My eyes meet his, as he is standing there, with his hand on the door, and the intensity of his stare sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I can feel myself blushing, and Mark must have noticed, too, because a smirk is playing on his lips, as he closes the door. I watch him, as he circles the front of the car, and then climbs into the driver's seat.

"Are you going to tell me where we are going now?" I say, leaning forward to look at him.

"Nope." He shakes his head, smiling.

I shuffle in my seat, folding my arms in front of me, pouting.

We pass by fancy residential buildings and shops, and we leave Hyde Park to our left, as we move into Mayfair.

Where are we going?

Suddenly, Mark pulls up in front of a beautiful building that looks like a private home, on a relatively quiet street, a little off to the side of traffic. Apart from the location and the fact that it looks absolutely gorgeous, a lot like the homes to its left and right, there's nothing really special about this house.

I can see that the driveway is full of parked cars. Is there a party in there, or something?

"We're here," Mark announces, a smug smile playing on his lips. He leans down across the central console, brushing his lips over my cheek. I turn my head to face him, our faces just an inch apart.

"What was that for?" I ask him. I can feel myself blushing again.

Great. Is this how this is going to go? Me, blushing every time he so much as breathes in my direction?

"Luck." He says simply, getting off the car.

I jump down on the pavement myself. He walks over to my side and offers me his arm. I take it and we start walking toward the house.

"Do you remember what I taught you, Caramel?" He says, looking straight ahead. "In Italy." And then he winks at me. "Apart from kissing, of course!"

"Wha-" I stutter. Then I recall. One night, on that trip to Italy, Mark and Patrick taught me, Alex, Gloria, and Nate how to play poker. Gloria and Alex got bored, so we went to the bar to look for our parents, but Patrick, Nate, and Mark played all night.

It was the last time I saw Mark, before he appeared at Gloria's on the last day of school, actually. Mark had left, before Gloria, Alex, and I woke up the next morning because he had received an email from UCLA, stating that he needed to re-submit his application. So, he had taken the first flight from Milan, and the rest of us went home together.

Then, the pandemic hit, my mum took all those pills, and we didn't see each other before he left for America.

Nostalgia for those carefree days, when we were all just kids and the world hadn't gone to pieces stings my eyes. But also, I'm genuinely confused. I pull my eyebrows in.

"Poker?"

"Yeah." He says, looking at me. "Have you practiced ever since?"

I look up to his eyes, shaking my head. "No."

"Then, do us both a favour and stick to my side tonight, would you?" He winks at me. "And just be my Lucky?"