Free How to Be Bad by David Bowker

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    â€œDon’t be silly. This wasn’t a child or a famous person falling in front of a train. It was Warren.” She squeezed my arm. “That idea of yours, about us staying apart for a while. I don’t think I can do it.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause I don’t want to be apart from you. I have feelings for you.”
    â€œWhat kind of feelings?”
    She shrugged and lowered her gaze. “I think we could be a couple.”
    â€œA couple of what?”
    â€œA couple of people who don’t ask each other stupid questions.”
    *   *   *
    W E SPENT the day together, me feeling frail and sipping herbal tea, Caro browsing through all the books in the shop with a silent concentration that made me suspicious. If I’d owned a security camera, I’d definitely have filmed her. We had a minor disagreement when she attempted to skim through a Wessex edition of Hardy’s Under the Greenwood Tree while drinking a cup of hot chocolate and eating a croissant.
    â€œIt’s just a book,” she complained when I’d snatched it away from her. “Books are meant to be read.”
    â€œNot that book,” I told her.
    She got up and peered into my Masculinity case at my mint Nick Hornby first editions, their flawless dust jackets protected in plastic. “You know what you do?” said Caro. “You collect books about what it’s like to be a man, written by men who don’t know.”
    *   *   *
    J UST AS I sometimes was quite unable to resist a first edition, whatever its cost, so was I quite unable to resist Caro. When we were in a room together and she wasn’t looking at me, I was miserable. To me, one little kiss from this bed-swerving bitch was worth a thousand fucks from any God-fearing Christian woman. (Not that I’d ever slept with one.)
    Caro couldn’t walk across a room without dragging my entrails behind her. Her presence gave me a primordial, unwholesome hunger for warm flesh. If I appear to be overstating my case, I apologize. I just want you to understand why I accompanied her to her father’s house and even bothered to listen to her ridiculous plan.
    It wasn’t far to Chez Gordon, so we walked. That lunchtime, Caro had returned from an illicit stroll in Kew Gardens to find her car missing from the drive.
    â€œDid you call the police?”
    â€œIt was repossessed, you idiot.”
    â€œThey repossessed your car?”
    â€œYeah. Just because I didn’t keep up the payments. Isn’t that the unfairest thing you ever heard? That’s why we’re going to see my dad.”
    â€œYour father repossessed your car?”
    â€œHa. Funny. No, but he’s got money. Enough to buy me a new one.”
    â€œYou’re going to steal from your own father?”
    â€œNo. First I’m going to ask nicely. When he says no, that’s when I’m going to steal.”
    It was a cool, crisp night with bright stars overhead and a thin coating of frost on the ground. The thrill of walking beside Caro combined with the way our breath flew before us reminded me of being thirteen, when I roved the streets with my friends because we had nothing to do and nowhere to go. In those days, just being seen with a girl like Caro would have been considered a sublime accomplishment.
    â€œWhat is it you’ve got against your dad?” I asked her. “I mean, I know he’s mad, but what else?”
    â€œYou seem to be fond of lists. I’ll give you one. His mad eyes. The way he scowls when things aren’t going his way. His horrible high voice, his smell. The way he tries to kiss me. His gray hands. His very small feet. His dirty hair. His awful dick.”
    â€œHis what? ”
    â€œHe was talking to me once in his pajamas. He leaned forward and his dick fell out. It looked like a scalded frankfurter.”
    â€œThank you for sharing. Anything