The croissants, cooked ham, and soft-boiled eggs that makeme feel like whoever left them there is the best new friend I could ever make.
I sleep all day. Wish I could say it’s restful, but any night worker will tell you it isn’t. I’m not awake, but I’maware, and by the time evening rolls around, I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives.
The box Tam left me is on the floor by the bed. I hoovered up the food hours ago before I passed out. All that’s left is the ornate scrap of paper, decorated with a simple message.
Don’t forget about yourself xx
He wrote the words in the shape of a Christmas star. In gold ink on black paper. Can’t say why that means something, but I can’t stop looking at it, when I’m supposed to be up and at ‘em, cooking him dinner.
Shower.
I roll out of bed and into the tiny bathroom. The shower is basic, but runs from the same combi boiler that services the main house. Hot water for days; my old place had a dribble that lasted three and half minutes.
I’m cooked by the time I get out. It takes a second for me to hear the insistent beep of my phone.
It’s ringing.
Somewhere.
I search the bed and find it buried under the duvet. It’s the time of year where my mum gets emotional and calls more than once a month. I expect her name on the screen. But it’s not her.
Skylar.
Confusion throws me. We’ve barely spoken in months, even before I gave my old job notice and had to worksixteenmore torturous weeks knowing I could run into him at any moment. But…I don’t hate him. Skylar never led me on. He never lied. All he did was walk away when he was done fucking me.
The call rings out.
It’s in me to leave it at that, but I’m curious enough to call him back.
He answers quick enough that I know his phone was in his hand. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Everything all right?”
“So so.” I hear the easy smile in Skylar’s tone. The one he wears as a shield, when the truth is it hides nothing at all. “How’s the new job?”
“Getting there. What do you care?”
“HDU is a mess without you.”
“So?”
“Bhodi, I care.”
“No, you don’t. And that’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.”
Skylar’s silent so long I think about regretting my bluntness, all the while pondering how his gravelly Stockport accent doesn’t affect me the way used to. But it’s a thought that doesn’t go anywhere. Being honest with him would’ve given us both a chance to walk away before I got myself hurt. It’s too late for that now, but I’m done kidding myself our relationship is—was—something it isn’t.
“I’m not pretending to care about you,” Skylar says eventually. “I want us to be friends, and I’m really fucking sorry if I’ve made that impossible by being a cold bastard.”
“You’re not cold, Skylar.”
He isn’t. I’ve worked alongside him enough to know that. But I can’t escape the scars his indifference left behind. I don’t want to—it’s how we learn, right?
“I don’t mean to be,” Skylar amends. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know that. It’s not your fault I got more into it than you signed up for.”
“That’s what happened?”
