“You didn’t have to do fucking anything,” he shouted.
He was angry. He was so bloody angry, and yes. I could sympathise, because what in the moment had seemed right?
“I know you’re angry at me. I would have been too.”
“Fucking right, I’m angry!” Here he was, shouting again, now traversing the room with his hands in his hair. “I thought we had something good, you and I. I thought we were friends, that’s what I thought. Have you seen yourself? Eh? Did you ever stop and look at yourself?”
“No?”
Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps this was what people did when they had a breakdown. He hadn’t been fully himself at times, back there. When we’d been…
“Look. Do you want to sit down?”
Yeah, here I went, motioning to the table. Next, I’d make him a nice cup of tea, and we could discuss the weather.
“No, Peter. I do not want to sit down.” His voice was far too low. And he was staring at me. At least he’d momentarily stopped pacing.
“Then what do you want?” I tried to remain calm, when in truth? “Please stop shouting at me. You don’t like it, and neither do I.”
I was starting to worry. I was worried about him. Worried about Mrs Patel barging in on us. I was worried…about the way my heart was beating in my chest. The way his eyes were staring at me. Dark and angry, pinned on me like arrows.
Then he moved. One step at a time. Walking up towards me as I walked backwards. One shuffling step at a time, not stopping until the kitchen counter pressed against my back. And his chest was right up against mine.
“You lied. You spent all that time in there telling me lies. Because I have watched every bloody episode. And you lied. Because it’s right there for everyone to see. And I didn’t see it because I thought we were beinghonest. I thought… Fuck, Peter, I don’t know what I thought, but you were supposed to…you were supposed to look out for me.”
“I did,” I whispered. He was right. I’d lied. I hadn’t looked out for him. I’d floated around in there in some haze of confused shock, and I’d run away as soon as the opportunity had arisen.
Another lie. I’d fled. Fled in a panic because it had become too much for my fragile self to handle.
I was standing there, my eyes blinded with whatever this was. That he was here, shouting at me. Deserved. I probably deserved every word he was spitting out at me, because I’d known from the start that…that idiotic escapade would end in tears.
I would have done anything right now to erase the past month. Anything. Not to have to deal with this. This absolute wreck of a man in front of me, his breath hot on my skin. His mouth was too close to mine.
“You lied, Peter, and I need to know what is really going on. Because I can’t take this anymore. I really can’t. Everything I thought I knew was wrong and…and…”
Something kicked in, somewhere deep inside of me. My arms found themselves folding around his waist, where I tried to weirdly hug him. Grab him and hold him against me, because that’s what…
I needed. I needed to calm him down and hold him, and we needed to sort this out. I hated how his body was vibrating with…fear.
He was scared. He was so scared, and I was…
I looked up, tried to meet his eyes.
He closed his. Wouldn’t look at me. Just his lips pursed in a scowl. His skin flushed. He was trying so hard not to cry. So very, very hard.
I couldn’t take it.
I couldn’t take any of it. I should have…
I had no idea what I should have done.
But then he put his hands around my face, far too fast for me to flinch away. Held me hard in his sudden grip.
And then his lips were on mine.
Chapter 18
Oliver
