If I was lost before, I found something of myself in that kiss. Some part of me that I’d left behind years ago and forgotten about, because it was easier. Or harder.
He broke the kiss before me, arms tight around my waist. “If you ask me to forget that happened, the answer’s no.” Then he let go. “Goodnight, Serendipity.”
“Cal…” He walked away, not listening. Not wanting my words.
I watched him walk towards his lodge, slim waist, tight backside, dark hair that I’d never ran my hands through.
* * *
Back in myroom I checked my phone, not sure of what messages there’d be to pick up. If any wasn’t an option – I doubted that Matt was going to quieten down that easily.
My mother had text, asking me to check in so she knew I was alive and there was a message from my friend Issy, asking about Callum. She didn’t know I’d gone to college with him. Part of the reason I had few friends – apart from liking it that way – was because I didn’t share my past well.
I called my mother, updated her on what we’d done today and replied with something inane to Issy. Matt had left three messages, all of which I deleted. I suspected that one would be a threat about getting rid of the stuff I might’ve left at his, none of which was important. He’d do me a favour if he binned it.
I checked social media, looking at Callum’s accounts, a guilty pleasure I’d had for some time. There was a picture of me there, my head against his shoulder, fast asleep. Luckily it had been taken before I’d allegedly been drooling. He’d captioned itThe first animal to be tamedand tagged me in it. His smile was huge and joyful, happier than I’d seen him for years, and his hand was on my knee, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his followers.
I didn’t read the comments. There would be no joy in reading what other people had to say. Instead I turned my phone off and tried to go to sleep, not wanting to think about the kiss or why I’d done it.
It was impossible to stop thinking about how he’d felt. I turned and shifted on top of the thick cotton sheets, irritated and warm. He’d responded, but not like he had years ago. He was reticent and on edge, and I knew he hadn’t lost himself in the kiss like I’d wanted to.
I thought about going to him now, trying to coax his thoughts out of him, get him to confide even a little about what he was feeling. To tell me whether what I’d done was a mistake.
The wooden floor was warm beneath my feet. I fought with the mosquito net that hung over the bed and wondered if anyone had ever been seriously injured by one. Around me was silent, almost too quiet, as if a storm was about to explode.
My door opened onto a shared balcony, Callum’s room two lodges away from mine. I looked over towards it, to see if there was a light still on and instead I saw Jaime leaving his door, wearing a white dressing gown.
If there was such a thing as a heart fracturing then mine did that. Splinters pierced my chest and something in my stomach made me choke. I closed the door and headed back to the bed, lying on my back and looking at the ceiling.
I’d made a decision eleven years ago. I chose to reject Callum Callaghan then, so why did I think that he’d want to pick up after what I did? I was a fool.
* * *
“Did you send it?”
Callum looked at me, not smiling. “Why’s it so important?”
I sat back, crossed my legs, folded my arms. “It’s your dad’s birthday.” I wasn’t sure this was going to get any easier and I was becoming a nag. “It’s a present, Cal, not a fucking promise.”
He sat down below me on the floor, resting his head back against the sofa. My hands automatically went to his hair, combing my fingers through it. It was soft; he hadn’t put any product on it this morning which I knew meant he was preoccupied, probably with sending his father a birthday gift that we’d chosen a week ago. It was a set of whisky glasses and a small decanter, simple and classy, or so I thought.
It had almost killed him to buy them.
“I posted them.”
“Good.”
He grabbed one of my hands and brought the top of it to his lips, kissing it. This was how we’d been for the last few weeks, dancing around something that neither of us would talk about because if we did, it might run away.
It felt wrong. We were never meant to be lovers. He’d been the person I’d first told when I’d lost my virginity; I’d been the person to call him out on him being a shit with a friend of mine when he slept with her.
This tactility wasn’t what we were meant to have.
“I need to talk to you.” He looked up at me with eyes that reminded me of the ocean, deep, mysterious.
“Sounds ominous. Especially as we talk all the time.” Which we did. We worked together, pretty much, and we were living together for another few days before we had a break from our studies and then would return to London.
“This is different.”
