“Who is it?” I ask, not having realised that anyone had knocked at the door, that Mum had probably gone to answer it, and that I seem to have lost control of my brain, my dignity and something a little…further south.
“My boyfriend.”
Someone has just started a fire in my stomach.
She glides past me, flicking her golden hair from her shoulders. But before she can leave the kitchen, I grab her arm, keeping her back for a few seconds. She turns to look at me, confused, but I’m incapable of saying anything, because I have no idea what I’m doing. For some inexplicable reason, I don’t want her to leave this house.
“Green’s my favourite colour.” I don’t know where this crappy line came from, but at least it made her smile.
“I know,” she says, chewing lightly on her lip before heading out into the hallway.
“Luke, this is Mr O’Connor,” I hear her say from the kitchen.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. You’ve chosen the best physio in the business.”
Listen to him.
“Are you also a…?”
“Oh no, I’m a surgeon.”
A surgeon.Holy shit.
Oh, Ryan. I get it now.
Mum starts to chat, asking blatant questions as always, so I decide to go and meet Casey’sboyfriendin person.
I can’t believe she actually used that word.
I approach the front door, ready to meet this amazing surgeon who’s taking Casey out. He’s obviously an elegant guy, wearing a blazer but no tie, with his white shirt slightly unbuttoned. He’s lean, toned and clean-shaven, with a face that says:I’m a God and you’re a piece of shit, and tonight I’m going to have what you never wanted.
Jesus, what’s going on? I feel like I’m about to throw my guts up all over the hallway.
“I’m Nick,” I say, icily.
“Luke,” he says, offering me his hand.
I take it and squeeze it, just slightly. It would only take one wrong grip for his surgeon’s hand to be ruined. But an even stronger grip, and his slimy, bastard’s hand would never be able to touch anything ever again, not even his…
“Wow,” he says, pulling his hand away and rubbing at it. “Good grip.”
I shrug, as Casey shoots me a glance.
“Thank you for everything, dear,” Mum says, taking control of the situation. “Have a good evening, both of you.”
“Oh, we will,” Casey says, before turning and stepping outside with her damn surgeon. Even my mother could’ve understood what she meant by those words.
She walks down the driveway as the surgeon slides his hand up and down her back. I start to regret not following through with my plan to break his fingers, one by one.
Knuckle by knuckle. And repeat.
My mother closes the door suddenly, making me jump.
“You’re losing time, Nick. And I don’t know how much we have left.”
“What?”
“Did you see him?” she cries, pointing to the door. “He’s a surgeon, Nick. A surgeon!”
