January 2010

MARK

I head out after a ninety-minute effort. It's a good job I don't have to go to work because I'm fucking knackered.

On the bus home I can barely keep my eyes open. I just about manage to brush my teeth and get undressed before falling into bed and dreaming of Zoe. Soft lips. Coconut. Happy laughter blending into desperate moans.

The door wakes me. Hushed voices bleed through the thin walls.

"...doesn't know when to quit."

"You should just tell her, Zoe. If it's annoying you this much, speak up."

"It's not annoying me. I just don't want to make things awkward in the group."

My bedside clock reads 2am. As consciousness prevails, my blood goes cold. He's here. In our flat.

"It won't be awkward. Just nip it in the bud."

"God knows what Mark thought..."

Hairs on my arms prickle. As if it's not bad enough that she's brought Richard back here, now she's talking about me to him. I can't even go out there, because then she'll know I lied about work.

"He didn't seem bothered," Richard replies. "Do you want a drink? Tea or hot chocolate?"

Tea or hot chocolate? We don't even have hot chocolate.

"Hot chocolate. I'll try the white one this time, though."

So clearly we do have hot chocolate. And clearly Richard is familiar with the drinks menu here. How often has he visited? Every time I'm at work? I should be thankful she's not parading him around in front of me, but it still bothers me.

Their conversation dies out to mundane chat. There's an undeniable familiarity with them. The way they talk with little effort. No falsities or jokes. Just two people who can be real with each other.

We used to have that.

I try to ignore it. Finally, twenty minutes later, they go into her room. I breathe a sigh of relief and roll over to search for sleep again.

And then I get my punishment for lying to her. The gentle creak of bed springs. Then another. A slow rhythm builds up, getting faster. A soft moan. A muffled murmur.

Friends.

My heart tightens, a film of sweat forming on my forehead. Uncomfortable heat envelopes my body and has me kicking off the duvet. Still, the temperature is suffocating.

Imagining her with someone else is difficult. Listening to it... That's torture.

I bury my head under the pillow. My own feelings aside, she wouldn't want me to hear. She thinks they're alone. It's a violation. I could get dressed and leave, go for a walk, then pretend I'm getting home from work early. That somehow seems even worse, like I'm spinning the lie tighter.

Friends or not, she's moving on. Maybe she's been moving on for months and just didn't tell me.

When I start to suffocate under the pressure of the pillow, I scramble through my bedside drawer for headphones. Stick them in and crank up my music loud.

It drowns out Zoe, but now all I can think about is one thing: does she say his name?

*

I get up early after a night of broken sleep. Nightmares about Ben turn into dreams about Zoe. When six am arrives, I'm fucking exhausted—but I can't bear to stay in this bed any longer.

Besides, I need to get out of here to avoid any awkward run-ins with Richard and Zoe.

My eyes burn with fatigue as I pull on my gym gear. Nothing a few rounds with a punching bag won't solve. In a few hours' time, my body will ache with a good kind of burn instead.

I open my bedroom door at the exact same moment Richard opens Zoe's. For a few seconds we stare at each other, and a silent understanding passes between us that we've caught one another trying to sneak out.

Richard quickly pulls Zoe's door shut behind him.

"We didn't realise you were in," he says quietly.

Evidently.

"Just heading out," I reply, even though that's obviously not what he was getting at.

I walk to the kitchen tap to fill up my water bottle. Richard perches on the edge of the sofa to tie up his shoelaces.

"You should at least stay to cook her breakfast," I tell him, because what's the point in leaving now when I've already caught him?

His eyes flick up to mine. "It's not like that, mate."

I'm not his mate, and I don't like that he's walking out on Zoe after fucking her. Then again, at least he spent three hours in bed with her afterwards. That's more than I ever did, apart from the one night we were too drunk to remember.

"What is it like, then?" I lean back against the kitchen counter and fold my arms.

He chuckles as he stands up. "We don't need to do this."

"Do what?"

"You pretending to be a concerned friend."

Huh, I guess three hours' sleep really fucked with the nice guy act.

"Pretending?" I spit out.

"Yep." He hooks his thumbs into his jeans' pockets. "You do realise you could just say the word and she'd come back to you in a heartbeat?"

A chill skids down my spine. That isn't what I'd expected him to say. The suggestion sits uneasy in my stomach. She's moved on. With him. He's testing me. Has to be.

"I highly doubt that." I turn my back on him and twist the lid onto my bottle.

"I'm not trying to be a dick," he says. "I'm just being straight with you. I've been there. Loving someone and being too scared to properly admit it. If you let it slip by, it haunts you. If you love her, don't let her get away."

I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to say to that shit show of a speech. Luckily, Zoe saves me the effort by opening her door and interrupting our touching heart-to-heart.

Then her furious eyes meet mine, and I realise maybe I'm not so lucky after all.

She turns her glare onto Richard. "I thought you were leaving?"

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I was. Your friendly flatmate here didn't appreciate me not making you breakfast, so I was just setting him straight on a few things."

She's wearing fluffy pink pyjamas with her red hair piled on top of her head, and yet she somehow looks menacing as fuck.

Sleep deprivation. It's affecting all the nice people this morning.

"I'll cook you breakfast, Zo," I say, partly to make a childish point, and partly because I need to get on her good side again.

"No thanks," she mutters. "You look like you're on your way out. Or are you getting in? From work?"

Yes. Definitely pissed off with me. Can't exactly blame her, either.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Z." Richard holds up a hand to wave, then slips out of the front door.

And we're alone. Alone with a suffocating tension buzzing between us. His words replay in my head, and since she clearly overheard him, I address it.

"Is it true what he said? You're waiting for me?"

She pads over to the kettle and flicks it on. "He shouldn't have said anything."

Not exactly a denial. Selfish hope wraps around my chest. I push it down. Ignore it.

"Because if it's true, I don't want you putting your life on hold—"

"My life isn't on hold." She twists to face me, tipping her head up to stare at me. "If one day you do decide you're ready, I can't promise I won't have moved on. God knows I'm trying, Mark."

Her words are a stab in the gut, and I swear I feel my knife wound twitch in pain. The knife wound that she tended to all those years ago. Before we were friends. Before we even liked each other. Now there's three and a half years of history between us, and while she's grown in that time, I sure as fuck haven't.

One of us is holding the other back. And it's not fair on her.

"I think I should move out," I say.

The hurt that fills her eyes only proves I'm doing the right thing.

"Why?" The question catches in her throat, and guilt slams into me.

"Because I can't deal with listening to you sleep with other guys, and you shouldn't have to tiptoe around me while I figure out what the fuck I want."

Shaking her head, she turns away from me, hands curving around the edge of the worktop, head bowed.

"I'm sorry, Zo." I soften my tone, curl my fingers into my palms to resist reaching out and touching her. "I've just got stuff I need to deal with. Come to terms with. It's selfish to expect you to wait around for me to figure that out."

Her body is a statue, bent over rigid. Since I can't see her face, I don't know if she's upset or angry. The kettle boils. I grab her favourite mug and toss in her favourite teabag—the one she always drinks when she needs a pick-up. As I'm pouring in the water, she turns to face me again.

"I'll move out," she says.

I glance across at her. Expression devoid of emotion, it's like she's flipped places with me.

"It's your flat," she continues, "and there's talk of me doing a stint in Spain from next quarter anyway. So, I may not even be in the country for much longer."

"Spain?" I furrow my brow.

"Yeah. I was going to tell you last night. You left before I had chance."

As if I didn't feel guilty enough.

She takes the mug from me when I pass it over but doesn't meet my gaze.

"I'll give you a year," she says. "If you're not ready in a year, I'm not going to wait any longer. It's not an ultimatum or a way to put pressure on you. It's just breathing room for us both to decide what we want."

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

What do you think will happen over the next year?