PROLOGUE
Men!
Time and time again I’ve gone through the same crap with the opposite sex. Mostly with the men I’ve dated. I don’t know why I bother. If I were more attracted to females, I’d be putting all my efforts there.
I’d probably get more orgasms too.
Russell, my current boyfriend of two months, is hit or miss. And not just in bed. He’s good looking with a bit of roughness to him, just the way I like it, but he has his flaws. In fact, he has a lot of them. The only reason I’ve put up with the wanker this long is because I don’t want to prove that my exes were right when they said I self-sabotage my relationships.
Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.
What I do know is that I’m not this person. I don’t let anyone walk over me.
Tonight is New Year’s Eve, and Russell and I were meant to be spending it together at a new club that opened in town. It’s cold, and I’m wearing a black shimmery dress that drops just below the globes of my arse. It’s girly, along with the underwear I spent a fortune on to give Russell a show later tonight; a last ditch-effort to save our relationship.
I’m glad I didn’t let Hope talk me into wearing stilettos. Instead, I opted for my black ankle boots, giving me comfort and a rocking look.
Twenty minutes I waited outside the club, which was ten minutes longer than I would have given any other guy. This isn’t the first time Russell has cancelled on me, but at least with all those other times, he had the decency to text or call. I haven’t heard a peep from him tonight, so unless he’s dying, I’m going to kill him.
Fuck trying to prove others wrong, and fuck Russell. No one treats me this way and gets away it.
With that revelation in mind, I head to the door, anger simmering inside of me.
My frozen finger hovers over the call button to his flat, ready to push his number, when a guy who looks to be in his mid-fifties pushes open the door. Smiling at me, his teeth rotten and yellow, he says in a gentle voice, “Go on in, out of the cold, little one.”
I wink, sliding past him as he holds the door open. “It’s the small ones you have to watch out for.”
He laughs. “Yep. My wife would tear me a new one if I ever stepped out of line. She was small, but fierce.”
“Happy New Year,” I tell him, waving goodbye.
“Happy New Year,” he calls after me.
The door shuts, blocking the cold breeze and no doubt saving my legs from turning blue. I make my way across the foyer and push the button to call the lift.
There’s a buzz echoing from a light flickering down the hallway, yells and screams coming from adults and children in rooms above. I grimace when I hear doors being slammed and smell the foul odour surrounding the short entrance.
I’d never be able to live in a flat. The noise alone would make me commit murder. It just seems to echo, making the infuriating sounds so much worse.
When the doors open, I step into the lift and press the button for the sixth floor, before crossing my arms over my chest. The lift jolts as it ascends, and I wince, wishing I could have taken the stairs. But during my second visit to this charming building, I learned that they are far riskier. Crackheads sleep on the stairs, along with the homeless, trying to keep warm. Some are okay, but others need to learn when to leave another person alone.
Yet it was the bad odour that made me regret taking them. It’s what I imagine a garbage dump smells like.
I scan the tiny space of the lift, cringing at the smell that is no doubt coming from the yellow liquid puddled in the corner. It’s covered in graffiti, and even though it has a camera in the corner, my guess is, it doesn’t work.
It’s nothing like my brother Landon’s old flat, which is upscale, warm and inviting. This place seems like it was built with no care and is now forgotten to those who are meant to keep up with the maintenance.
But here is all Russell can afford on the hours he gets at work.
And since he’s the first guy I’ve dated that has a job and doesn’t live with his parents, I don’t mind where he lives. It isn’t like I can take them home with me. I wouldn’t put it past my dad to have cameras on the front and back door, ready to defend my ‘innocence’. My dad would slaughter him and hum a tune whilst doing it.
Getting off on his floor, I head over to his door, not bothering to knock. He leaves it unlocked when he’s home, so when the handle tilts down, my question of whether he’s in or not is answered.
Anger sears through me and my pulse slams against my neck when the distinct sound of fucking echoes throughout the flat.
I can handle a lot of stuff when it comes to men. I can pay for my own food, open my own doors, buy my own shit and even pick them up if need be. I can even tolerate bad manners, to an extent. But the things I can’t handle in any relationship are uncleanliness, lying, and fucking cheating.
Instead of leaving, I carry on down the hall and past the bedroom, where there’s a distinct sound of skin slapping and loud moans coming from inside. I’m just about to pass the bathroom when I come to a skidding stop, pausing just outside the door when an idea hits me.
An evil grin spreads across my face as I step inside the small room. I was going to change his hair gel to glue, but I’m under a time limit and I’ve got no clue if he even has any glue. The toothbrush calls to me, so I grab it and scrub the grime from the toilet before dipping it into the stained yellow water, then wash the bits off that get stuck to it. The toilet was the one thing I made him clean before I even came over. I haven’t been around for a week, so it’s disgusting. I guess he wasn’t planning on us coming back together tonight, even after I cancelled on my cousin’s party.
Next, I head to the cupboard that holds the boiler. After years of watching my uncles fix stuff, I’ve learned how that stuff gets broken, especially with two triplet brothers. I turn the hot water tap off before completely breaking it, cringing when it makes a loud clink. I pause, waiting for any signs they heard me, but the sex marathon continues, fuelling my anger.
The girl he’s fucking gets louder, and all I can do is grit my teeth and roll my eyes.
“Bitch, he ain’t that good,” I mutter, helping myself to some eggs, flour and tomato sauce. I grab the mop bucket, which is full of dirty water, and start making my concoction. Maddox had fun with this one as a kid, though he never used dirty water. Once it’s all in there, I look through the cupboards, cringing when I find the stale bread. I throw that in there too before finding a few other items, including bolognaise sauce, brown sauce, and some kind of jelly—though when I open the sealed bag, I don’t think that’s what it is. I tilt my head into my shoulder, covering my nose as I try to get myself under control and stop gagging.
Looking around the small kitchen, the fridge catches my attention. I grin at hitting the jackpot and do a quick dance before yanking the door open.
Everything is for the taking, and it’s gross as fuck.
Milk weeks past it’s expiry date and a few tubs of already made foods fill the shelves. Perfect for what I have in mind. I quickly set on pouring it all into the bucket, turning when the foul odour gets stronger.
Breathing through my mouth, I lift the bucket and head out of the kitchen, my body locking when I see the string of underwear and clothes strewn across the room. I block it out, heading towards the sound of them fucking.