* * *
Colin
It’s shocking how quickly the world’s turned inside out. Or upside down or whatever the fuck’s happened to my insides. Walking into that lift was like boarding the bloody TARDIS, except instead of changing the time or place, it changedme.
Now, I’m stuck in a stunned state of stasis—which reminds me of something The Doctor might say—and, rather than race after her, the way every muscle in my body is screaming at me to do, all I manage is to watch her little blue painted toes disappear up the steps. I listen to the rattle of her keys and the opening and closing of her door. Then, like the pathetic half man I am, I stalk into my own flat, shut my door, and just listen.
Is she being extra quiet now, in an effort to…what? Get space from me? Hide? Maintain some level of privacy, perhaps?
That would make sense, I suppose.
I turn on a light and flip on my telly, out of habit, then come to a stop and take in my flat with fresh eyes.
It’s serviceable. Boring, really. The cheapest sofa, the cheapest table, chairs. The telly’s where I put a bit more cash. And the sound system. They’re the only two things that matter, aside from the pub, though now that I think of it, none of those things matter to me in the slightest.
The telly’s home screen is up, giving me all the options and I can’t think of a single fucking thing I’d watch right now. Not one.
I notice the coat on my arm and press the warm inside to my face. I smell her sweetness, still taste her on my mouth.
I plug my phone in and wash my hands, all the while listening for her, all the while disappointed.
I’ve been home for maybe three minutes, when the floor creaks above.
Standing in the middle of my lounge, I go completely still, listening harder than I ever have in my life. I want the sound of her voice, that fucking laugh. I’d do anything to hear it now.
The way I’d do anything to talk to Eddie just one more time. To show him our pub, pour him a pint, share just that with him.
I can’t have my brother back. He’s gone. Forever.
Another board creaks above. I try to picture her in what I’ve seen of her flat. It’s bright and colorful, full of light in the morning.
My head tilts back. I stare at my ceiling, willing her to take another step, shift the floorboard, let out a laugh, make a nuisance of herself however she bloody well likes.
What if, instead of standing here like a wanker, I went up there, right now, and did my best to win her—that miracle of a woman who shook up my entire existence tonight? What if…
Fuck it.
Just before leaving, I grab the whisky. The night’s not over until we’ve finished the bottle, I recklessly decide. A second before shutting my door, I turn around and go back in for one more thing.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Jules
My stomach hurts. My throat’s tight. I feel… I don’t know. This isn’t regret. At least I don’t think so.
I checked the oven. It was off. I’m in the tiny bathroom, about to turn on the shower, when there’s a knock at my door.
It’s probably Colin. Though I know this, I cycle through a series of unlikely possibilities. Is it Madame Christen’s dog playing ding-dong ditch with the neighbors? It could also be Colin here to return something to me. Or maybe he needs to borrow a cup of sugar or coffee or probably his WiFi’s out and he needs my password so he can watch some slasher flick.
I throw on my fuzzy robe as I walk to the door, suck in a deep, nervous breath, and throw it open.
Just seeing him standing there makes me nauseous. It’s the upside down version of this morning.
“Hey,” I force out between stiff lips.
He watches me, then seems to steel himself and holds up the bottle we shared. “I reckon this might go well in eggnog. Not sure, as I’ve never tried the stuff. Are you still planning on making some?”
“No.” My tone is as flat as I feel.
