‘Yeah, you and the entire internet.’ She was in the bathroom by then, shutting the door. She locked it, stripped, turned the shower on full. The water came from a silver disc in the ceiling above and covered her so completely it was like being submerged, but with deliciously hard water darts striking her all over. She lathered her hair with shampoo that smelt like freshly squeezed lemons, lathered herself with body wash the texture of whipped cream. Blood and grime swirled at her feet, then was gone.

If she told Josh she had her period would he be disgusted and leave? Would her relief be more powerful than her shame? She watched the water run clear over her feet and down the drain, imagined having that clean bed to herself all night.

Maybe he deserved to be bled on without consent, to know what it was to feel violated and stained.

He might not even notice.

The towel was softer than her good sheets, almost as thick as her pillow. It wrapped around her twice, hung past her shins. She never wanted to wear anything else ever again.

Josh was on the bed, stripped to shimmery grey boxer shorts, watching a screeching high-speed car chase on the TV. ‘Finally she emerges.’ He glanced at her, smiled, turned off the TV. ‘Sorry to tell you, Harris, but you’ve wasted your time.’ He got to his knees, his hard-on obvious. ‘I’m going to get you filthy.’

It wasn’t normal to feel like throwing up right before you had sex with someone you were attracted to. Wasn’t right to feel torn between kissing or stabbing the near-naked hottie reaching out to you from the biggest, cleanest, softest-looking bed you’d ever seen.

‘Seriously, you need to get over here now. You’re so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it.’

Cover that ugly wound next time don’t know whether to barf or wank nice nips pity about the rest

There was a knock. Josh strutted to the door, adjusting his shorts as he went. Lena hovered near the edge of the bed, out of view. A voice said, ‘Good evening,’ and Josh said it back and then there was a man in a waiter’s uniform three steps away from her. ‘Good evening,’ he said in her direction, though not, thank god, looking at her. He placed a gigantic silver tray on the table and had Josh sign something—called him sir, told him to enjoy—and floated out of the room like it was nothing.

It was nothing, she understood. Just another rich bloke who needed feeding; another dumb cunt without her clothes on in the background.

Josh carried the tray to the bed, smiled at her as he put it down. ‘Picnic in bed.’

She stood, frozen in her corner. ‘I didn’t know you were going to let the guy in. I’m not dressed.’

‘So? He doesn’t give a shit.’

‘I do.’