Asking for It by Louise O'Neill Read Free Book Online Page B

Abercrombie Fierce hits me. He’s sitting on his bed, lifting weights. There is a plate with bits of dried lasagne stuck to it and a mug of tea half hidden under the bed. ( Emmie, what have I told you about eating in your bedroom? Do you want to have an infestation of mice, is that what you want? ) The green-and-navy tartan curtains are closed, the exposed bulb hanging from the ceiling giving the room a blank glare.
    ‘Right, so a few more people are coming tonight.’
    ‘How many is a few more?’ His face contorts as he raises the weight.
    ‘Just Eli Boahen, Ethan Fitzpatrick and Conor from next door.’
    ‘Grand.’ He drops the weight on the bed and grabs one of the good hand towels, peach with white bows on it, and starts wiping his face. I want to tell him that Mam will kill him for doing that. But we both know she won’t. ‘You’re not wearing that, are you?’ he says.
    I smooth down my new dress. It’s black, cut down to the navel, and very, very short. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’
    ‘I don’t know, Em.’ Bryan takes a gulp from his water bottle. ‘It’s a bit slutty, isn’t it?’
    I stare pointedly at the FHM poster Blu-Tacked on to the wall opposite the bed, of some topless model, one finger in her mouth, the other hand reaching into her knickers.
    ‘That’s different.’
    The doorbell rings so I just roll my eyes at him.
    ‘You look fab,’ Maggie says when I answer the door, giving me a kiss on the cheek, Ali doing the same. Eli nods hello, a case of beer under one arm, walking into the kitchen with Fitzy. I lean in to give Jamie a kiss as well, feeling her stiffen as I do so. I can smell a hint of vomit underneath her perfume.
    ‘You all look gorgeous,’ I say. Jamie and Ali are both wearing short dresses, except Jamie is wearing hers with Converse and an oversized knit jumper. Maggie is wearing skinny jeans tucked into black ankle boots, a sheer white tank gaping so much at the armpits you can see the black lace triangle bra underneath it; her hair is slicked up into a high topknot, dark burgundy lipstick her only make-up.
    ‘Did you see Ali’s shoes?’ Jamie says. ‘Aren’t they just amazing?’
    Is that a hint of a red sole? ( You want what for Christmas? And how much would they cost? I am not spending that kind of money on a pair of shoes, Emmie. ) ‘Very nice,’ I say, feeling sick. ‘Very . . . high.’
    ‘My mother always wears shoes this high,’ Ali says, ‘and she’s even taller than I am.’
    ‘They’re fab,’ Maggie says.
    Ali looks at me again, almost pleadingly. I clear my throat. ‘Did you bring the cough syrup?’
    ‘Yup,’ Ali says, holding up a large red-and-white shopping bag with ‘Hennessy’s’ emblazoned across the front. She had been reluctant when I asked her earlier to swipe it from her dad’s pharmacy. I’ll get in trouble, Emma , she said. I wrapped an arm around her waist, resting my head on her shoulder. Please, Ali. Come on. It’ll be fun. Please? And I could feel her melt.
    ‘Cool,’ I say as the doorbell rings again. I point them through to the kitchen. ‘There’s 7 Up and Jolly Ranchers on the kitchen table.’
    ‘Wow.’ Conor’s standing on the front porch, a paper-wrapped bottle in his hands. ‘You look . . .’ He trails off. Neither of us moves; we just stare at each other.
    ‘Sorry.’ He thrusts the bottle into my hands, and I’m glad to have something else to look at.
    ‘There was no need, Conor.’
    ‘Ah, it’s just some wine from the fridge.’
    ‘Conor,’ Jamie shouts as we walk into the kitchen.
    She thrusts a red cup full of purple liquid at me and then one at Conor. ‘Drink up.’ I take mine, but Conor refuses, handing it back to Jamie, who drains it. She points a finger at Ali and barks, ‘Cigarette. Now,’ at her. She shoves open the stiff patio door, and Ali follows, rummaging in her Chanel bag for her own packet of fags.
    Maggie hops up on the counter next to the fridge, her skinny