Free Skulk by Rosie Best Page A

Richard, and I couldn’t look at him. I shifted against the wall, so the table was between me and him, hiding the rip in my dress.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Ugh. Other than the fact that I look like an idiot, sure, I’m fine .”
    “Listen, seriously, don’t worry about it.” He was coming closer.
    He was coming really, really close. He put his hands on my arms. They were hot and very slightly clammy against my goosebumps.
    “It’s OK. We can still make out. I like chubby girls.”
    For a second, the party seemed to go silent and all I heard was white noise in my head.
    “I’m sorry... what?”
    I couldn’t have heard him right. Make out? Now, with me? Now?
    “Come on, like you weren’t thinking it too.”
    “I, I wasn’t...”
    Was I ? I hadn’t totally dismissed the possibility of seeing him again, some time when I wasn’t squeezed into this dress, when I wasn’t on my least-bad-behaviour on pain of wardrobing, when we could talk , like normal people .
    “Well, you weren’t listening to Warren. I know I wasn’t. I was thinking about you.”
    I felt like I was floating somewhere just behind my head, watching all this, just not sure what the hell was going on. The words, themselves, were kind of flattering. So how come they felt so thoroughly icky ?
    My heart thundered in my chest, my mouth went dry. I licked my lips to try and fix it, to say something, and he just grinned at me. I tried to shrink back into myself, but he pressed his skinny pelvis up against mine.
    “OK, no, Rich... I think...”
    “Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he said, leaning in. His hands were moving. One of them slid down to my waist, tracing little circles on the dress, pulling the fabric with it.
    Wait, was he–
    The dress was creeping up my legs. I moved to pull it down and he laughed and held my hand in his, which is when I realised my hands were shaking.
    It was the stupidest, most illogical thought I think I’ve ever had, but just for a second I told myself I’d better not try to pull my hand away because I don’t want to find out what he’d do next .
    “That’s enough, this is… Hey, stop it.” I didn’t recognise my own voice. It was like a child’s. I sounded pathetic! How could I not even find the words to tell him to sod off and stop groping me in my own hallway, not five metres from where my mother was standing drinking champagne cocktails with the Chief Whip?
    There was something I could do. I felt my ears prickle and my spine begin to move...
    I stopped it, forcing the change back. I couldn’t do it. If I turned into a fox with him watching, with Mum and half the Cabinet in the next room, I’d probably be abducted by government scientists and live out my life in a cage or something.
    Anyway, there was no way – no effing way – I was going to let Hipster Dick know my secret.
    He raised a hand to cup my left breast and squeezed.
    I reached out and grabbed the vase, shoved him away hard and chucked the stagnant flower water over his crotch.
    He staggered back, righted himself and stood still for a moment, staring down at himself. The greenish-yellow water stained his light grey trousers as it trickled to the ground. There was a limp pink daffodil caught on one of his suspenders.
    I brandished the vase like a club.
    “Get out of my house.”
    “What the hell ?”
    “You heard me.”
    He swiped down his trousers with his hands, which did nothing to improve the look, tore the daffodil off and threw it to the floor like a kid chucking a toy out of its buggy.
    “Well, you certainly don’t have to worry about me getting you into Trinity. You stupid cow,” he spat, turning and heading for the front door. “If you think your dumb, fat arse is getting any help from me–”
    “Shut up,” I snapped, still clutching the vase. “Shut up and get out.”
    He was on the front doorstep when he turned back.
    “And tell your mother next time she wants to set you up she should warn the potential victim