Love Me by Gemma Weekes Read Free Book Online

funniest part of my elbow. Zed’s dismissive eyes and strong, kind hands guiding me into their cab, making sure I didn’t hit my head on the roof. But he should have sent me home. ‘What your liver ever do to you, huh?’ he joked. It wasn’t funny.
    â€˜Zed’s just gone out to the supermarket and stuff,’ Max volunteers. She’s watching a cartoon at low volume. I’m horrified to see that her skin looks even better unadorned. I touch my body tentatively and I’m wearing an oversized man’s T-shirt, my underwear and cheek drool. Ugh.
    â€˜OK,’ I answer, trying to keep my words to a minimum. ‘How’s he gonna manage with his arm?’
    Max shrugs. ‘He’ll be alright.’
    I put a hand over my eyes, returning to darkness for a few blissful seconds.
    â€˜Feeling pretty rough, innit?’ says Max.
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜A lightweight like you,’ she offers, ‘you’re better off with a little coke or an “E” or something. It’s cleaner.’
    â€˜Shit, I can barely handle the basics. Like paracetamol.’
    She chuckles and shakes her head. ‘So young, you are.’ In all her twenty-one years on the planet. ‘Better for you to be pure, I suppose. If you’re into that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Aren’t you models supposed to live healthy or something?’
    â€˜Skinny. Skinny, not healthy,’ she laughs. ‘Besides, it ain’t made no difference to me so far. Thank God for genetics. You want some coffee?’
    â€˜Milk and two sugars, please, crack baby.’
    She chucks me the middle finger and is gone in a flash of teeth and hair. I need to get out of here.
    I rise carefully to go to the bathroom, picking my dress up off the side of the sofa, and everything kaleidoscopes. I go one shaky foot at a time up the narrow stairs and when I turn the shower on it’s as loud as an army, but just what I need. I dry off using a towel hanging on the rack and it must be Zed’s because it’s still very slightly damp and it’s probably the closest I’m ever going to come to touching him. I rinse my mouth out with toothpaste and wash the spit off my face. Moisturise with some cream that smells like Zed. I pull my hair with partial success into French braids and two of the hair bands that are on eternal standby on my left wrist.
    I need to be awake, sober, alert and tough. And I need to leave right now, before he comes back.
    Back on with the dress. Back on with the Converse and bangles. Back on with the eye-bag concealer, deep black kohl and an old lipstick smudged in my cheeks for blush. If ever I needed some kind of mask to wear, today’s the day. But in the mirror I still look like the kind of girl it would be easy to resist. I make a mean face and switch the light off, tossing Zed’s T-shirt on the floor.
    Turns out, I’d be better off locked in the bathroom because when I make it down the stairs Zed is back and they’re kissing. Tongue and everything. Their bodies are pure white on pure dark like the husk and the flesh of a coconut. She sits with her bare legs and feet thrown over his loose-fit jeans. Margarine-coloured hair; white, fat-free limbs; pink lips; blue eyes. She’s a study in pastels.
    By the time their mouths come apart, I’m back upstairs retching into the toilet bowl. Again. The sight of them buried in each other’s faces is not the best thing for a weak stomach.
    Knock, knock, knock.
    â€˜Eden! You alright in there, love?’ Max.
    â€˜I’m FINE!’ I say. ‘I’ll be down in a minute!’
    I wipe my mouth and stare down at the floor tiles, waiting for her footsteps to retreat. I’ll go home right now. I’ll be fine. I pick up the discarded, oversized T-shirt I slept in and stuff it into my knapsack. A souvenir. I consider pissing on his toothbrush but I’m not sure which one it is and Lewis – as