I survey my handiwork. On second thoughts, I should’ve bought more jelly, like a pallet of the stuff. I look over to the lounge room, and work out how much space I’d have if I moved the lounges and the coffee table against the walls.
I should’ve gotten a blow-up pool. I’d be making jelly for the next few weeks, but it’d totally be worth it. She could invite all her lesbian friends around and we could make a night of it.
I could sell tickets. I’d make a killing. What a cracking idea.
****
SOPHIE
When I get into the apartment after work, the first things that catch my eye are the small boxes piled high in stacks on the bench. I inspect them further to discover they are all lime jelly. What a fucking smart arse.
I go to the bathroom to find the toilet seat up. Arsehole.
Once I’ve freshened up, I return to the kitchen and fill up the kettle in preparation for some oriental beef noodles in a cup. I’m mixing it up today, because as much as I love them, I can’t have chicken flavour everyday.
As I peel back the paper lid and empty the flavour sachet, I notice three sealed bottles of Patron silver label tequila lined up next to the sink. I guess Rocco has his next bender or two planned out.
I count the money in my wallet, mentally tallying up my budget until payday. It’s gonna be fucking tight. Nothing new in that. I pour the hot liquid into the dish and let it sit.
The apartment is eerily quiet, and I almost feel as if I’m intruding. It’s his place, and I’m here alone. It’s not like I’m about to go hunting around in his drawers or anything, but it feels strange. Apart from the small amount of stuff I brought, nothing is mine.
I decide to get the fuck over it. I have a roof over my head. I have space. I’m not listening to the freaky noises that April and Jones used to make while they were getting busy.
I flick on the giant wide-screen TV and settle into the cushions with my measly dinner as the nightly news wraps up the day’s events. After a story on childcare cuts, I pull out my phone and open the Google app, typing ‘Sperm Donors Australia’ into the search bar. I select the first website and read all about how I can make my dream of becoming a mother a reality.
Sigh.
I study the treatment options available for single women and read all about donor sperm and how they screen it. When it starts going into the detail of blood groups and pathology tests, I shut down the phone before I feel sick. My stomach is too sensitive when it comes to stuff like that. As I finish eating dinner, I imagine a little girl running around the apartment laughing as she chases a puppy into the room. One day.
A newsflash breaks me out of my daydream. The reserve bank has left interest rates on hold. I need to be out of debt before I can bring a little boy or girl into the world. My thoughts turn to the bank. I can guarantee my next payment is going to be short. They won’t be happy.
Without any further sign of Rocco, I drag my butt to the shower and then retreat to my room, shutting the door behind me.
I really need to start looking around for another job. Scratch that—I really need to finish my degree. I know I needed to chill tonight, but I’ve just wasted time I could’ve put towards my next assignment.
Fuck it. I’ll do some now.
I pull my notebook and a textbook out of my duffle bag and start writing notes. I need to sort out my shit, because no one else is going to do that for me.
****
I’ve hardly had any sleep as it is, and the sun isn’t even up and the house phone and a mobile phone in the distance keep ringing.
I grit my teeth together, griping fistfuls of the comforter as the ringing starts again.
I’m about this close to getting up and ripping the phone out of the wall, and finding the other to smash. I bury my head under my pillow and repeat to myself get over it. My jaw is tight when finally the ringing stops. About time.
I let out a tortured sigh of relief and melt back into the sheets. Another hour and then I’ll have to be at work.
As I’m drifting into that calm lull before sleep, my mobile rings.
“Are you fucking serious?” I grunt out to no one as I rip the sheets from my body and swing my legs off the bed.
“What?” I bark into the phone.
“Oh. Hey, Soph. It’s Jones.”
“Hey,” I grunt.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
I let out a long breath. “I was awake anyway. What’s happening?”
“I need Rocco, and he’s not answering.”
Bloody Rocco.
“Yeah, no shit. I’m guessing you’re the one that’s been persistently calling like a telemarketer on speed.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, but he needs to get his arse out of bed. I’ve been waiting downstairs for half an hour. We were due in the workshop ten minutes ago for a team briefing. Mac isn’t impressed.”
“And what makes you think he’s gonna listen to me?”
“This is important, Soph. I’m giving you the green light to do whatever it takes to get his arse downstairs.”
Hmm. Interesting.
“Whatever it takes?” I ask in a sweet tone.
“Yup.”
“No problems. He’ll be down in five.”
I tie on my silk robe and walk into the kitchen and go through the cupboards until I come to a large stainless steel water jug. I throw in a handful of ice-cubes and make sure the water from the tap is stone cold before I fill the jug to the brim.
I walk slowly to his bedroom, taking small steps so I don’t spill the liquid. I grin to myself, imagining the look of disgust on his face. The rebel in me rejoices. I can’t remember the last time I did something like this. For years it’s just been my bills and me. Work. Study. Work. It’s about time I had something to laugh about.
I won’t lie. I’m about to take great pleasure in what I’m about to do, and I have Jones’s permission to use whatever means necessary. It’s totally fucking necessary.
When I open the door to Rocco’s room, the stench of stale sweat and alcohol drifts around me and drives up my nostrils. I gag. Boys reek, and this one is bad. The whole room needs to be hosed down. When was the last time he washed his sheets? I’d say after this little wake-up call, they’ll be getting chucked in the washer today. You’re welcome, linen.
I flick on the lights and stand at the foot of his bed. He’s lying face down, his arms wrapped around his dark grey pillow.
I gently tug the black comforter towards me so it reveals more of his upper body. The muscles are toned and his tattoos weave up his bicep and around his shoulders like a perfect sleeve. Whoever did his work is very talented. If I weren’t here to spoil his morning, I’d totally gawk at them some more.
I move to the side of the bed closest to him and pour the cold liquid in a steady stream from the back of his head, down his spine to the dimples on his lower back.
“Rise and fuckin’ shine, arsehole,” I mutter.
His back arches and a primal growl roars up his throat. He twists and turns over, water splashing all over the taut muscles of his stomach. The jug tumbles onto the bed as he lunges at my hand, but I’m out of reach before he can make contact. Rocco grips the sheets and pulls them to his crotch.
“Are you fuckin’ serious?” he sputters.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” I reply, my tone bored.
“Of course I’m awake, you fuckin’ psycho!” He shakes his head, drops of water spraying onto the sheets.
“Jones would appreciate it if you answered your phone, and quite frankly, so would I.”
“Fuckin’ Jones put you up to this?”
“He asked me to wake you.”
“Fuck,” he groans, as he rolls onto his side and moves his head to the edge of the bed. He widens one eye and checks out my leg.
“You even wearing panties?”
I gasp and tug at the front of my robe, horrified that he may have caught a peek at my beaver.
“Should I get more water?” I threaten.