Ocean Of Need

💜 13 🍸 Cocaine & Friendship

April 5th

Mac left an hour ago. Saying something about a delivery he had to make. I guess it was for something to do with his job. Although I'm still not sure what that really is. After he left, I stayed to write a bit more. Feeling all floaty and surreal. But the longer I'm here on my own the more lonely I feel. It's as if part of me has been left undone.

Back in London I shared a studio with Ruby, Maisie, John and Alice. There was always something going on. And even though they never knew my real name, or anything about my criminal activities with Jameson, I still felt close to them.

They called me Deborah. Jameson chose that name. I always thought it was a bit old for me. But he'd already paid for the id before I had a say in it. I keep my passport hidden. I'm not sure if Freya knows I'm not called Lilah. But if she finds out I'm not called Lilah, or Deborah, she might start digging.

I haven't told Mac any of this. I will not put him in danger just so he can know my real name. Even Jameson doesn't know my real name. He thinks I'm a secret. He doesn't know I'm a secret inside a secret.

The things you run from will always catch you in the end. If you are meant to be a criminal, even if you run away from your own family to avoid that path, you will end up as part of another family and fulfil your role. Maybe this time there's a chance for me to get out of the game I never wanted to be part of.

I wanted to be an artist or a poet. Those are the things I am in my heart, and now, here in this room, with him, I feel like I could really be one of those things in the real world. Like Frida and Diego, we could lift each other up.

I sit cross legged on my desk chair, clacking away at the keys, but I just cannot get it right. I guess I'm spent of erotic energy for today. Maybe this is sub drop. It would make sense. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like a lunatic.

'Fuck this,' I mutter, reaching for my phone.

'Freya. Do you fancy getting plastered?'

'Plastered Sweetie?'

'Drunk. Completely fucking legless. Astronomically fucked?'

'Oh Lilah, Sweetie, I thought you'd never ask. I'll meet you at Jamie's bar in an hour.'

*

Jamie's bar, is cool. It's the only place that me and Freya come to where she actually has to pay the bill. I guess that means she doesn't have a stake in it.

I sit at the bar, nursing a gin and tonic as the bar gradually fills up with the evening crowd. Freya's twenty minutes late so far. It's not unusual. I really should try and make some new friends here. All the people I've met so far have been super friendly, but they all belong to Freya, one way or another.

I hear a hubub of New York accents, and turn towards the door. Freya is in the middle of a crowd of what I can only assume are actors. Or maybe artists. Or maybe both.

She breaks free from the crowd, and walks towards me. 'Lilah, Sweetie. I brought some friends. I thought it was about time you met some more people. Widened your horizons.'

Wow. She's more like Jameson than I thought. How does she always know what I need? A rainbow cloud of people my age walk towards me and I am swamped inside the heart of them. They all throw names at me, and tell me how much they adore my British accent, then order drinks and snacks.

I'm dimly aware that someone is holding my hand. I assume it's Freya, but when my hand is squeezed I see that the hand in mine is attached to a tiny arm, which is attached to a tiny girl, with an enormous cloud of red hair. On top of which bobs a gold crown.

The tiny girl smiles at me. Her smile is as huge as her hair.

'I'm Roxy Wilde.'

'I'm Lilah.'

'I know.'

'Yes. Sorry.'

She peels with laughter, 'You just said "Sorry," for nothing! Oh my, Lilah, you are so British!'

'Yes,' I say, then don't know what words I should follow it with to make a conversation. 'What I really need is a line of coke.' I say more to myself than anyone else.

She laughs again, 'Oh, you are too funny. Come with me.'

Roxy drags me from my stool, across the bar, into the ladies, and straight into one of the cubicles. Finally letting go of my hand, she pulls a large wrap out of the pocket of her tiny lilac dress.

'This what you want?' she says in a London accent, her eyes sparkling.

I giggle, 'Sure is,' in an American accent, and she hoiks up her dress, pushes down her knickers, and sits on the toilet. She puts her phone on her knees and chops out two fat lines of coke on the screen as she pees. I've always admired multi taskers.

She hands me a rolled up ten dollar bill, and I snort the coke off her phone, hand her the bill, and watch her do the same. Then we both lick our fingers, scour the phone clean of coke and rub it on our gums.

'Waste not, want not,' we say at the same time, then laugh. I feel like I just made my first girlfriend since I got here.

'Are you coming to Freya's club?'

'Freya's club?'

'Yes, her members only club. Unleashed. Don't tell me she hasn't taken you there yet?'

'No she hasn't.'

'Please come, we'll have so much fun together. I'm bored of these people, I already know everything about them. Bloody actors, we're all working together on a show. I feel like I'm with them 24/7, I need some new blood!' she says as she wipes and flushes, then follows me out of the cubicle.

We wash our hands and carry on our conversation through the mirror as we apply lipstick in the same motion, and smack our lips together at the same time. Our eyes sparkle as we talk.

'What kind of club is it?' I ask.

'A special club. You know the kind,' she winks.

'A special club?' What the hell does that mean and why is she winking at me like that. Bloody Americans, it's another language.

'It's a club for people with special interests,' her eyes widen and she nods towards me.

'Special interests?'

She blows upwards and her fringe lifts off her face. 'Wow, you English! Do I need to spell it out?' she laughs. 'It's a club for Good Girls, like you, and for Daddies, Sirs, Masters, and Mistresses. Like me.'

Jesus, do I have a neon sign flashing above my head saying Good Girl? How the fuck does everyone in America know what I am?

Roxy runs her hand along the back of my neck and under my pony tail. 'You have a bruise here. The only thing that leaves a mark like that is a collar.'

My hand automatically goes to the back of my neck, reminding me of Mac, and how I belong to him. At least tomorrow I'll have something to tell him about. Other than poetry or art ideas.

'Fuck it,' I say, 'I'd love to come to the club.'

Roxy squeals and jumps up and down as she claps her tiny hands together.