I love you, Hes. Call me when you’re home xxx
Cole asked me to tell you that he got Jesse home after you left. He didn’t ride. x
My eyes filled instantly, this time through relief. The darker thoughts that’d edged in, the ones that tortured me in the black silence between sleep and numb reality, had been lined with the possibility of him riding. That somehow he’d forced his way back past Cole and got back on the bull, not caring whether he made it through or not.
I shivered at the thought, the ramifications of any element of carelessness on a killing machine like those bulls.
Taking a breath, I opened a message from Diane telling me that Cal had just been released home and was being looked after by Becca. She was offering me the spare room at her place, a few tube stops up from mine and Cal’s, just in case I preferred.
Her offer was kind and meant in good faith, but I couldn’t kick the feeling it left me with; the inference that I might somehow get in the way of Cal and his new relationship, in the flat we co-owned. All of my belongings were still there – the old spare bedroom had morphed into my bedroom when we’d ended our relationship months ago.
As the tube hurtled through central London, that feeling grew, overtaking the sadness below it until it turned, curdling to anger. I knew it was partly aimed at myself, but a big fat chunk of it was for Cal. For barely being able to act like a functioning adult and step up when I needed him, as a business partner if nothing else. More than that, even as I tried to temper the feeling with empathy, knowing very well how it felt to have your mental health on the edge, I couldn’t quite reconcile this experience with what had happened before.
Last time he’d ended up in hospital, after deliberately overdosing himself on God knows what, he’d been in for two weeks. Now he was out within forty-eight hours?
Finally dragging my case off at my stop, the rain seeping through every fibre of my clothes, I walked through familiar streets as a stranger.
I almost knocked as I reached our navy blue door, then paused with my hand poised above the original Edwardian brass handle and pulled out my key instead.
This was still half my place, Becca or not.
Inside, it was quiet, and as I reasoned he might still be resting or asleep, I left my case at the bottom of the steep stairs ahead, planning to come back for it later. With a sad smile, I realized only someone like Cole or Jesse would be able to lift it without dragging on the noisy wooden steps, even if they could fit up the narrow staircase.
Pausing halfway up, catching what sounded like a brief animal noise, I frowned. Cal couldn’t keep a fucking cactus alive, I puzzled, resuming my steps up, bracing myself to be introduced to some kind of pet, one that would inevitably end up being donated to a friend.
The living room door at the top was closed, and I used my body weight to push against it, remembering how much extra effort the heavy fire door hinge needed.
As it swung open, my eyes fell on anarchy. Food wrappers, pizza boxes, cans and glasses strewn across every surface, and in the corner, the TV on but silent, a grainy porno playing out the story of two women clearly having a much better time than me.
Blissfully unaware of my presence, like a horny mirage on the sofa opposite, was Cal, complete with a blonde woman sitting on his face, making the same noise I’d heard on the stairs as she pumped his dick in her hand.
I was temporarily stunned. Clearly, his imagined sickbed was nothing more than a fucking figment of Diane’s imagination. It was a few seconds before I gathered myself, the first inklings of rage bubbling up through my tiredness.
I formed a fist, letting the door rest against my boot. I figured it was only polite to knock.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I yelled as I banged on it once, then again. I watched with grim satisfaction as the blonde half screamed, abandoning Cal’s cock to cover her chest, leaping back as he scrambled, wide-eyed, to figure out what the hell was going on.
‘This what the hospital prescribed, then?’ I asked, not bothering to look away as the woman ran into his bedroom, Cal pointlessly covering his lap with a cushion. ‘I had no idea eating someone out was medicinal.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Hestia,’ he panted, ruddy exertion across his cheeks as he ran his hands through his dark hair. Any hint of a sickly, pallid hospital complexion had clearly magically disappeared between the woman’s legs.
‘Feeling better, then?’ I asked, folding my arms. When he just gaped at me, I shook my head, not bothering to hide my disgust. ‘So did you lie to your mum about being ill? Or is she in on whatever this fucked-up hoarder-sex chaos is?’
‘What? Neither,’ he finally replied, getting up and promptly forgetting the cushion, sending him scrambling.
‘Oh Cal, for fuck’s sake, I’ve seen your dick more times than I ever care to remember,’ I sighed, suddenly exhausted. ‘Now, which one is it? You better start talking really fucking quickly before I call her and ask.’
I pulled out my phone, tapping the screen with the tips of my nails as his eyes widened in horror.
‘I can absolutely explain,’ he began, stopping as the woman emerged from his room. Other than the hair, her look was eerily similar to mine – or what mine had been before I’d left London.
‘You never did have much imagination, did you, Cal?’ I mused, rolling my eyes as she stared. ‘I take it you’re Becca,’ I added, too exasperated to even attempt niceties.
‘Yeah, and who the hell are you?’ she snapped, folding her arms as Cal groaned.
‘No one. You should go,’ he said, at the same moment that I snarled, ‘I’m the one who picked out the sofa you were just fucking on. The one paying half the fucking mortgage.’
There was a pause, her eyes sliding to his.
