Little wins, right?
I glance over at the kitchen counter, which is littered with food delivery bags and empty coffee cups—remnants of my daily attempts to feel human—and I release a sigh. I know it’s a dump, but I just don’t have the energy. My diet has consisted exclusively of tea, coffee, takeaway, and dry crackers. The fruit in my bowl has gone bad, the milk in my fridge is likely spoiled, and the whole place is a mess.
My phone vibrates on the counter, but I don’t even bother looking at it. It won’t be the person I want it to be, and Ireallydon’t feel like talking to anyone, anyway. What would I even say?Oh, I’m fine. Honestly. Don’t worry about me, just going through the motions.
How awkward. The last thing I want is to dump my problems on the people I love. They don’t need to carry that burden around with them.
I take a slow sip of my hot tea, savouring the warmth as it spreads through me, when a sudden buzz cuts through the quiet. Basil, startled, legs it upstairs in a fluffy blur.
Of course, I kept Basil. That wasn’t even a question after Lucas and I split. He’s seen me through the worst of days. He’s my little anchor—we’ve been through everything together. Now, with just the two of us, I find comfort in dropping food to him under the table, smiling at the thought of Dad laughing beside me.
“Shit,” I mutter as the tea sloshes over the rim of my mug, scalding my hand. I wince at the sting and quickly grab a tea towel to mop up the mess.
Buzz.
The doorbell buzzes again, longer this time, forcing me into action. I roll my eyes and make my way to the door. As I open it, I’m met with two familiar concerned faces staring back at me—Anna and Gemma. Anna stands with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Gemma’s eyes widen as she takes me in, her gaze travelling from my face down to my dirty, rumpled clothes. I pull my cardigan tighter across my chest, trying to cover the stained shirt. Embarrassment flushes through me—I obviously wasn’t expecting to be seen like this.
Anna cocks an eyebrow. “You look fucking awful,” she says, scrunching her nose.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting guests,” I mutter, turning on my heel and flopping onto the sofa. Gemma and Anna follow close behind.
“Clearly,” Anna whispers to Gemma, who stifles a laugh behind her hand.
My gaze flits to Gemma and my eyes narrow in on the large bruised spot on her neck. “And what about you? Nice hickey,” I remark.
“Oh,” Anna interrupts, elbowing Gemma’s side, “youhaveto tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“Thanks a lot, Anna,” Gemma says, shooting her a pointed look and rolling her eyes. “So, I went on a date with this guy I met at the coffee shop. He was cute, so I thought, why not? Things started off great—he took me to this incredible Turkish place, the food was amazing, ten out of ten. Then he asked if I wanted to keep the night going, and I thought, sure? So, we went back to his. When we got there … he refused to turn the lights on. His flat was basically empty—like,zero furniture—but I figured, whatever, I can roll with it. Everything was going fineuntil…” She pauses for dramatic effect. “He leans in close and, dead serious, asks me to lick his face andbark like a dog.”
“Excuse me?” I say, disgusted.
Anna lets out an evil laugh. “How fucked is that?”
“But that’s not why we’re here.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” she asks, settling beside me on the sofa.
“Because I don’t want to,” I reply flatly.
“We were worried about you,” Anna says, her tone softening as she exchanges a look of concern with Gemma.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the words sound hollow, even to me.
Anna scans the kitchen, taking in the cluttered countertops and takeaway containers. “I can see that,” she says, arching a brow. I follow her eyes, embarrassment prickling at the back of my neck.
“I haven’t felt up to cooking,” I reply, shrinking under the weight of their observation.
Gemma’s hand rests gently on my knee. “We heard you haven’t been at work all week?”
My bottom lip wobbles as I fight to hold back the emotions. But it’s no use—the cracks are forming, and I can feel the tears about to spill over.
“I can’t,” I whisper. The dam breaks, and tears slip down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.
“Tell you what,” Anna says, her voice hopeful. “We spoke to your boss—” I shoot them both a look of absolute horror, but Anna holds up her hand. “Let me finish.” I slump back into the sofa, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
“He’s fine with you taking more time off,” she says. “And guess what? Gemma’s been following this TikTok creator who’s running a retreat this weekend, and guess who bagged us three spots?” Anna’s eyebrows dance a little jig.
“What kind of retreat?” I ask, wiping my face with the sleeve of my cardigan.
