1
FALLON
The fourth Red Bull before seven o’clock in the morningmighthave been a mistake. That realisation crept up my spine as I shuffled awkwardly down the street. My Spanx were unfortunately doing their job and holdingeverythingin. My bladder screamed its displeasure.
Why today of all days? I was on time—a miracle in itself—and I had my nicest pant suit dry cleaned. After hours of rummaging in the back of my closet searching for the navy bastard, I’d found it crumpled under a box of torches and candles I kept tucked away for emergencies. It was a little snug around the middle—the waistband dug into my ribs meaning I had to periodically snap it out under one of my stomach rolls. Those rolls had grown a little recently thanks to several weeks of unemployment, which resulted in a heavy dose of wallowing, usually with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Those guys had got me through some tough times.
So, the Spanx were necessary. Pulling in my stomach and squeezing my bladder to the point of abuse. The gusset rodefurther and further up with each step. Whoever invented this torture device deserved to die a slow and painful death.
Doing my best to ignore the pain, I tapped the screen of my phone to double-check the address of the interview. A cool breeze blew down the empty London street, ruffling my dusty pink hair and making goosebumps raise on my arms. I forgot to wear my coat this morning.
My sister saw the advertisement last week, and with no small amount of passive aggression, had suggested Ilook into it. When it came to my family, after leaving my last job underless-than-ideal circumstances; I’d lost all credibility.
I was beginning to think that being an adult was a pathetic waste of time.
Unfortunately, my older siblings didn’t share that view. Evan, my brother, climbed to the top of his class in law school only to be offered the job of a lifetime at the biggest law firm in the UK. He was my parents pride and joy; it's a pity he was an arsehole.
Between owning her restaurant and being an up-and-coming success in the culinary field, my sister, Charlotte, somehow found time to ensure her little sister felt the weight of her inadequacies.
To prove a point and get my family off my back, I’d applied for the job at a much smaller publishing firm as a copywriter and, by the grace of God, been offered an interview. The rent bills stamped with bright red lettering on my kitchen table were starting to fill me with dread every time I got coffee in the morning; sickening, stomach-clenching dread.
Scanning Google Maps, I turned down a side street to hopefully cut my time in half. My eyes screwed shut as something in my lower region snapped, making all the material inch closer to a place only my vibrator needed to be familiar with. I looked furtively around to make sure no one waspaying attention to me, and as subtly as I could, I began to unpick my underwear. With one firm tug, I managed to give myself some relief, but it did nothing to diminish the need to wee. The cafés nearby weren’t open yet, and the ones that were, were full to bursting with people getting their morning caffeine fix. So I couldn’t duck in to relieve myself. And I’d only left the barest amount of time to walk to the interview.Why the hell did I decide to walk?
I’d made the decision last night, heavily influenced by a bottle of cheap red wine; to start how I meant to go on, living a healthy lifestyle. I vowed to walk places more, eat healthy food and maybe, if I could convince my best friend Rosie to do it with me, try a spin class.
That good idea couldn’t have come at a worse time.
My bladder felt like it was expanding with every step. I adopted an awkward waddle that would have made a hilarious sight if anyone was around to witness my mortification.
‘Bloody hell,’ I murmured to myself through laboured breaths. Walking was making it worse. I stopped in the street and glanced back down at my phone. Ten minutes. That’s how long it was telling me I had left to walk. My interview was in fifteen minutes.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. It was a mental issue. A hundred percent. If I told myself enough times that I didn’t need a wee, my body would surely listen. It would take the subliminal message and cease this assault on my bladder.
I don’t need a wee. I don’t need a wee.
My feet started moving again as I repeated the phrase over and over again, taking a few more controlled breaths. I rounded the corner feeling slightly more hopeful.
My calm composure fell away abruptly when my entire body crashed full force into a wall. A hard, solid brick wall that let out a string of obscene epithets. I was not petite or short in any way, but standing next to what I quickly realisedwasn’t a brick wall at all but a very tall, excessively gruff-looking man who wore a scowl on his beautiful face, I felt tiny.
He gripped my arm to keep me from tumbling backwards. However, the sudden collision put a lot of pressure on my lower half, causing a precarious tightening of my stomach.
‘Jesus,fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?’ The brick wall shouted.
Too overcome with the urge to wee, I held up a hand to the stranger and used the other to hold my belly as if that would help my current situation.
To whatever deity might exist:Do not let me wet myself on a public street.
The man took half a step back but didn’t drop his hold on my arm. Perhaps afraid I would pitch head first onto the concrete. I scrunched my eyes shut and managed a deep breath before looking up at him.
Intimidating was the first word that came to mind. Outrageous was the next. Over six feet of muscle and a miserable expression surveyed me with narrowed eyes. Short brown hair curled on his head, bedraggled in the sexy, I-woke-up-like-this way only men seemed capable of pulling off. A five o’clock shadow kissed his jaw, rounding off the rugged look.
‘You alright?’ he grunted, blue eyes glaring at me with a vague amount of concern.
‘That remains to be seen.’ I winced.
‘Are you hurt or something?’ His gaze shot down to where I was holding my stomach and paled. ‘Shit. Are you pregnant?’
My neck snapped up, and I narrowed my eyes. ‘Under normal circumstances, that would be the last thing you ever said to a woman, before she removed your head from yourbody. Simply because I’m not a tiny human, I must be pregnant?’ I said indignantly.
