Miriam hated Sandy's with the power of a thousand, blistering suns. If possible, she would've happily left it an ashen heap after her first freshers event almost three years ago, where, after five too many drinks, she ended up in the men's bathroom staring at a row of dicks. Dicks which confirmed, in no uncertain terms, there was nothing attractive about male genitalia. In fact, she was half convinced there was nothing useful about it either, leaving the appendage damned as both shockingly ugly and eternally pointless.

Unfortunately, despite her undying hatred—of Sandy's, not penises—Miriam still found herself squashed in an overfilled booth surrounded by Wes, her flatmate's, friends. She was also decidedly sober. A poor choice considering everyone else was just shy of getting white girl wasted.

"We'll leave in ten minutes," Wes whispered when the music turned from house to full blown EDM, earning a wince from Miriam and a chuckle from him. He then brushed his nose against her cheek and added, "Promise."

On any other occasion, Miriam would've smiled. But the combination of inane music and slurred speech left her swallowing a grimace. "You stay," she said, offering him a lopsided frown. "I can get home by myself."

"You sure? I can—"

Before he could stop her, she clambered over his lap and hurtled out of the booth straight onto the dance floor, which seemed to want to swallow her whole as it contracted unpredictably. For a moment, she feared it would do worse than imprison her. That, in its all-knowing wisdom, it would return her to Wes. But the exit eventually came in sight. Unfortunately, just as it did, a hand clamped around Miriam's wrist and yanked.

She was jerked into an alcove beside the cloakroom. It was lit by a single spotlight the emitted enough harsh white lighting for Miriam to identify her unidentifiable abductor. "Can I help you?" she hissed, twirling her wrist against the palm of her hand. "Or better yet." She dropped it. "Do I know you?"

"Lydia," her attacker said. "We met last year, in a women's history module."

"Right." Miriam didn't bother to smile. "Can I help you?"

Lydia blinked twice and flicked her leave-out over one shoulder, exposing a stretch of skin from her neck to her elbow and the tattoo which slipped down her bicep in thin, cursive lettering. "There's this guy," she said, taking a step forward.

"There's always a guy."

"Yeah, well, he's an arsehole."

"And?"

"And I need your help." Lydia said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And, in some ways, it was. It certainly wasn't anything Miriam hadn't heard before, especially at Sandy's. Which was part of why she hated it. After all, it was one thing to seek out her services sober, and another drunk.

"I can't help you right now." Miriam turned. "Speak to me when you're not drunk and riddled with jealousy."

"I haven't had a drink tonight." Lydia caught her arm. "I wasn't even supposed to be here, but—"

Miriam stopped and leaned against the awful pink paint. "You're riddled with jealousy?" she guessed.

"Curiosity," Lydia said.

"Well, you know what they say about that."

"Yes, but I'm more curious about how this works." She gestured between them, eyes widening until they threatened to pop out and lodge themselves in Miriam's nostrils.

"How what works?" Miriam sighed.

"Are you serious?" Lydia's voice rose an octave.

"This is not the time or the place," Miriam said, turning again. Lydia caught her wrist and forced Miriam to take in her pursed lips and deferential please until she let out a gurgled sigh. "But." Miriam rolled her eyes. "If you're that desperate, I'll be in the smoking area in about five minutes." She then nudged past and returned to the main room.

This time, Miriam circumvented the dance floor, adding two minutes to an otherwise perfect journey. Wes glanced up the moment she reached him and dropped her bag into his lap.

"I thought—"

"Change of plans." She stalked off without so much as a goodbye and headed straight for the enclosed concrete square behind the bar. It was, technically, the smoking area, but it also doubled as an in-person tinder, leaving people too engrossed in their potential hookups to possibly notice her and Lydia. Then again, Miriam wasn't deluded enough to believe they'd care either way. She just needed fresh air and space to think.

Lydia was waiting, tapping her trainers against the leg of an old wooden bench she'd managed to commander. It was in the far-left corner, partly obscured by a plotted plant, and one of the poles that held up the large, white awning, which stretched across about three-quarters of the space. "How does this work?" she asked the moment Miriam sat down.

Miriam leaned back, settling into the weight of untreated wood, and shrugged. "Depends," she said.

"On?"

"What you want."

"My friend said—"

"Everyone's different," Miriam interrupted. "What works on one guy won't necessarily bring yours to their knees. So, I ask again, what do you want?"

"To destroy him." Lydia said it with enough venom to kill a seven-foot man baby. Except, if she were capable of that, she wouldn't have sought out Miriam. If anyone were capable, Miriam's little side hustle would have keeled over and died three clients in.

"And he is?" Miriam asked.

"Ade. Adedayo."

"Damn."

Lydia frowned. "Do you know him?"

"Who doesn't?"

"I—"

"I mean there's reputation, and there's reputation. He's slept with half the girls on this campus."

"You don't know that," Lydia muttered.

"No, but he's almost certainly slept with at least eighty-five of this year's fresh ACS female cohort."

Lydia glanced at the ground. "That's—aren't you supposed to be like some kind of non-judgemental, pro-female, guardian angel?"

"Where'd you get that idea?" Miriam snorted.

"Girls pay you to get revenge on their boyfriends, if that's not some guardian angel shit what else is?" Lydia was so sincere it hurt, so Miriam merely raised a brow and moved swiftly on. Except, Lydia intercepted with, "And even if it wasn't, who are you to judge?"

Miriam licked her lips; she had a point. "Why don't you start by telling me what happened between the two of you."

All the brassiness that seemed to shroud Lydia like an armour melted away, revealing a quivering lip and three terse blinks. "We were hanging out," she said, "until we weren't."

"And that makes you want to destroy him because?"

"Because it does." Lydia stamped her foot, but shrank back almost immediately, half-shaking her head as she smoothed the edges of her pristine leave-out. "Does any of this really matter?" she asked.

"Of course, how else am I supposed to destroy him if I don't know what he did to you?"

Lydia bit the inner corner of her lip. "We were hooking up," she explained, "at his flat, and he uh." Her voice hemmed itself, sewing away the truth until the needle snagged and the stitch unraveled. "He said he couldn't do this anymore, that he was ready to settle down, that I wasn't the one. Then, he left."

"You in his flat?"

"Half-naked," Lydia said. "I had to sneak past his flatmate and his girlfriend to get out. You know her actually. Abi, Abisola."

Miriam did. She hadn't, however, actually met Abi's boyfriend. But from what she could gather he was sweet and caring, all the generic hallmark qualities stuffed into a six-foot skin suit, and the complete opposite of his friend.

"So, what are your plans?" Lydia's posture slackened, her flare of excitement waning.

"I don't know," Miriam said with a shrug. "Plans evolve."

"Obviously, but what's the rough plan?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I mean you say all this, but how do I know you're up to the challenge? Ade isn't some insecure, overcompensating first year you can toy with. He's a fucking monster."

"I know." That's what made the prospect so fun.

"He tears through girls like a tornado," Lydia said. "What's going to make you any different?"

"I'm not." Miriam held back a laugh. The thing about guys like Ade, the super arseholes, as she thought of them, was that the only thing they cared about was the chase. Keep them on the track long enough, and you've won. The only problem was getting them there. Then again, it wasn't so much a problem as a dangerous game of suggestion. The ultimate prize? Miriam, in bed, naked.

"So how do I know you're worth it?" Lydia asked just as Miriam spotted the devil incarnate jogging towards the bar.

"I'll prove it to you," she said.

"How? Ade left with some girl."

"And." Miriam pointed over Lydia's shoulder. "It looks like he's coming right back."

Lydia craned her neck, held still for five whole seconds, and took a deep breath. It seemed to roll through her body and expelled itself when she said, "You have one chance. If I don't think you're up to it, we're not doing this."

"Sure." Miriam gathered herself and shook off the cobwebs. It had been six months since her last commission, a year since a challenge. "But word of warning," she said. "The only way to destroy a man like Ade, is to get him to fall in love with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lydia scoffed.

"If you have to ask, then maybe you're not up to—"

"Stop stalling." She stamped her foot yet again. "And go prove what you're worth."

Miriam rolled her eyes, taking in the way Lydia nibbled her lips and tugged at her index finger, then shrugged. If this was what she wanted, it's what she'd get.

"Remember," Miriam said before they parted ways, "none of this is real."

"I know, I'm not an idiot."

Miriam didn't doubt that, but it was one thing to have a vague, half-formed idea of what would happen, and another to watch it. Still, they split at the dance floor, with Lydia heading towards a raised platform on the leftmost corner of the room, while Miriam went as far away from Wes as humanly possible. She stationed herself beneath a flickering neon sign, and glanced up. Ade towered over the crowd, his dark eyes sweeping mercilessly until they fixed themselves on her. Their gazes met, if only for a second before Miriam dropped hers, pulled out her phone and leaned against the wall, training her features into a look of pure and utter disinterest. While she waited for it to do its magic, she messaged Wes.

Miriam:

Meet me outside in five mins

Wes:

👍🏽👍🏽👍🏽

Kebab?

Like it was ever a question.

By the time she'd planned her escape route, Ade was stood in front of her, wearing a deceptively friendly expression that was matched by an outstretched hand. "I'm Adedayo," he said, voice as smooth as butter, "but you can call me Ade."

His fingers flexed, willing her to take them as his smile grew. It taunted, forcing her to knock it with a dismissive glance, snort of laughter, and much needed step in the opposite direction. For a second, she considered glancing back, but the the promise of cheesy chips ran to the forefront of her mind, and by then it was too late.

"There you are." Wes threw an arm around her shoulder as they passed the cloakroom. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Definitely."

He beamed down at her and ducked low, mouth brushing against the bronzed ridge of her cheek. Meanwhile, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She slid away and fished it out.

Unknown:

You have a month. Text me when it's done.

~~~

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