“I’m not going to hit you with this,” Evie said and laid the sleek, strangely compelling instrument down on the bed.
Hugh looked up at her with sly calculation from his doggie position on the bare stone floor. Evie responded with a frown. She didn’t like saying no to people. She wanted flattery from life – to give and receive it both. There were raw red blotches all over Hugh’s back and they began to make her feel a bit sick.
“I won’t do it,” she said. “And if you don’t let me out, I’m going to call out to your mum.”
Hugh smirked and wriggled again. Then Evie’s phone began ringing, Just as she had taken it from her bag and was about to answer, Hugh snatched it from her in another of his surprisingly fleet flurries of activity, marched with it to the window, which he opened, and hurled it out into the night.
“Oh no. Hugh has been very naughty again,” he said. He fell down on all fours. “Naughty naughty Hugh deserves to be punished.”
Evie walked over to the open window and looked down at her phone glowing in the long black grass. Her body heated and glowed with the stoppered energy of a caged animal. She turned round to face Hugh who was still wiggling absurdly on the floor. She felt a clotted surge of contempt for his flabby white body; it rose up in her like mercury in a thermometer. She picked up the whip and hit him with it. It felt good so she hit him again.