happy, we were in love. But already back then I was thinking ahead to my thirty-fourth birthday. And escaping abroad made a good deal of sense for several reasons.
So we moved here to the States where I received my second leg-up in journalism, Blair’s father pulling some strings at a newspaper. But of course I remained twitchy and timid. I was quickly pushed into rewrites, cut-and-paste jobs or sprucing up the words of bolder journalists at the paper, those with some people skills, some get-up-and-go.
And all the while Blair tried to fix me. Tried and failed. But in reality the failure was all mine. Next came the divorce and Papa Blair rushed back to his strings. This time he did more than pull, he tugged and tugged with all his might. The newspaper fired me within days.
And so, you see, the Game has taken everything from me. My education, the career I craved, the career I had, my wife, my happiness …
And now if I want any contentment in life, there is only one thing to do. The only way out is to win. Death aside, I can see no other way out of this trap.
But before I return to my training, I must place in front of you a question. Because there are two opposites to consider and before my story is told you must judge me.
What am I? Murderer? Or innocent?
* * *
XX She wore black. Jack looked disappointed. Although the dress did at least have some lace and frills. He leaned over to light her cigarette and asked her, ‘So what happened to the wedding dress, Cassie?’
Cassie looked at him blankly. ‘This is the wedding dress,’ she said. She drew on the turquoise cigarette that had come from a tin of cigarettes in various bright pastel shades. ‘But I had to dye it black.’
‘Interesting,’ said Jack. ‘Why’s that?’
Chad was sitting beside Jolyon on Jolyon’s bed. He looked at the black dress again and now he could just about see it had once been a wedding dress. Then he looked at her hair. It matched the dress, black and sleek as vinyl records. Last time he saw her, her hair had been brown.
She blew smoke from the corner of her mouth. ‘Well, I dyed the dress black because I’m no longer a virgin, Jack.’ Cassie batted her eyelids sarcastically. ‘So white isn’t appropriate any more.’
Jack swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping in his neck.
‘You should see the look on your face, Jack,’ said Cassie. And then she turned to Emilia. ‘He’s much prettier when he’s embarrassed, don’t you agree?’
Emilia shrugged, enjoying the spectacle.
‘I’m not embarrassed,’ said Jack. He leaned back in his chair. ‘So going back to your loss of cherry. What form did it take? Girl on top? Oral pleasure? Or a nice spot of anal perhaps?’
Cassie looked mischievous, she had a sly beauty about her. ‘With less than half a boat crew, one can enjoy all three options simultaneously,’ she said.
Jack laughed hard. ‘OK, OK, you win,’ he said, smiling at Cassie as if he was looking forward to many more battles to come.
Cassie rested her hand against her stomach and gave a bow, the gesture little more than an exaggerated nod. ‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m not really into boaties. And I haven’t been a virgin for some time. I dyed the dress black because I felt like dyeing the dress black.’ She dragged on her cigarette and blew the smoke out in a thin stream. ‘Why do you do the things you do, Jack? Like asking rude questions under the guise of being supposedly funny?’
‘Because essentially I’m a cunt,’ said Jack. ‘Which is, to be fair to me, partly genetic. I come from a long line of utter cunts. And I suppose I have to admit, a little sheepishly, that I really quite enjoy being a cunt. Also it’s the fault of my upbringing. Hippy bullshit parents, the sort who turn all conservative once they near forty. Whereupon they decide to dissolve the commune. All four of them.’
‘You were brought up by four parents in a commune?’
So we moved here to the States where I received my second leg-up in journalism, Blair’s father pulling some strings at a newspaper. But of course I remained twitchy and timid. I was quickly pushed into rewrites, cut-and-paste jobs or sprucing up the words of bolder journalists at the paper, those with some people skills, some get-up-and-go.
And all the while Blair tried to fix me. Tried and failed. But in reality the failure was all mine. Next came the divorce and Papa Blair rushed back to his strings. This time he did more than pull, he tugged and tugged with all his might. The newspaper fired me within days.
And so, you see, the Game has taken everything from me. My education, the career I craved, the career I had, my wife, my happiness …
And now if I want any contentment in life, there is only one thing to do. The only way out is to win. Death aside, I can see no other way out of this trap.
But before I return to my training, I must place in front of you a question. Because there are two opposites to consider and before my story is told you must judge me.
What am I? Murderer? Or innocent?
* * *
XX She wore black. Jack looked disappointed. Although the dress did at least have some lace and frills. He leaned over to light her cigarette and asked her, ‘So what happened to the wedding dress, Cassie?’
Cassie looked at him blankly. ‘This is the wedding dress,’ she said. She drew on the turquoise cigarette that had come from a tin of cigarettes in various bright pastel shades. ‘But I had to dye it black.’
‘Interesting,’ said Jack. ‘Why’s that?’
Chad was sitting beside Jolyon on Jolyon’s bed. He looked at the black dress again and now he could just about see it had once been a wedding dress. Then he looked at her hair. It matched the dress, black and sleek as vinyl records. Last time he saw her, her hair had been brown.
She blew smoke from the corner of her mouth. ‘Well, I dyed the dress black because I’m no longer a virgin, Jack.’ Cassie batted her eyelids sarcastically. ‘So white isn’t appropriate any more.’
Jack swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping in his neck.
‘You should see the look on your face, Jack,’ said Cassie. And then she turned to Emilia. ‘He’s much prettier when he’s embarrassed, don’t you agree?’
Emilia shrugged, enjoying the spectacle.
‘I’m not embarrassed,’ said Jack. He leaned back in his chair. ‘So going back to your loss of cherry. What form did it take? Girl on top? Oral pleasure? Or a nice spot of anal perhaps?’
Cassie looked mischievous, she had a sly beauty about her. ‘With less than half a boat crew, one can enjoy all three options simultaneously,’ she said.
Jack laughed hard. ‘OK, OK, you win,’ he said, smiling at Cassie as if he was looking forward to many more battles to come.
Cassie rested her hand against her stomach and gave a bow, the gesture little more than an exaggerated nod. ‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m not really into boaties. And I haven’t been a virgin for some time. I dyed the dress black because I felt like dyeing the dress black.’ She dragged on her cigarette and blew the smoke out in a thin stream. ‘Why do you do the things you do, Jack? Like asking rude questions under the guise of being supposedly funny?’
‘Because essentially I’m a cunt,’ said Jack. ‘Which is, to be fair to me, partly genetic. I come from a long line of utter cunts. And I suppose I have to admit, a little sheepishly, that I really quite enjoy being a cunt. Also it’s the fault of my upbringing. Hippy bullshit parents, the sort who turn all conservative once they near forty. Whereupon they decide to dissolve the commune. All four of them.’
‘You were brought up by four parents in a commune?’
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