I stood there, listening to the sound of the engine fade. I couldn’t tell if she actually cared how her leaving affected me.
She probably had her phone on her and just missed it in one of the many pockets of her coat or suitcase. I’d text her tomorrow evening when she arrived and see if she could call me from her parents’ landline. The signal out there was always terrible.
Then it would be fine. We’d make up like we always did. Apologise. Tell each other we loved each other and find space to connect again.
All I’d been searching for was someone or a place where I could feel safe and comfortable. But it had been so long since I’d felt that with her, and her belief she could easily walk awaywith no consequences made me even less sure if I could be either of those things with her.
I squeezed my eyes shut, as if I could rid myself of the agony biting into my temples. I turned and aimed for the bedroom. I wanted to talk to Dom. I wanted to tell him what had happened and ask him for advice, like I always did. But as soon as I thought of him, I remembered the look on his face and his hard cock, and the ache in my head pulsed harder.
Maybe Molly wanted me to happily agree. Then we could have a wonderful five weeks where we were both free from our relationship before having a nice, deep talk about our future. Or maybe she just wanted to fuck someone at her sister’s wedding without feeling guilty about it.
Whatever it was, it could wait. It would be easier to make sense of it in the morning, when I woke up and had to feel the full impact of what she’d done.
Dom
Most people didn’t know I was a selfish bastard.
Unless they were directly connected to me, I pretty much didn’t give a fuck about anyone else.
People could argue, ‘But you’re always attending these parties to gather donations to help children in third-world countries’ or ‘You always take the court cases where you help people in need’ and, you know what? It’s fucking payback for all the shit I’ve done in my life.
Which somehow left me sitting on my sofa, alone in my flat at midnight, staring at some action movie on mute. I was on my fourth whisky and battling with the dilemma of which way I preferred to fuck up my life.
Thank fuck I met Harry and Cat in university. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had those two. My mum wanted me to leave Newcastle to get a fancy law degree and get myself into higher circles, but she never expected me to actually become friends with Fischers.
I could still imagine her piggy little face when she saw a candid shot of me, Harry, and Cat outside a coffee shop thatshowed up in OK! magazine. She called me straight away, and I hung up the moment she said their names.
Now life was all fun and games. How much money can I wrangle out of these donors who see saving trafficked children as an excuse to have a party? How much can I piss off these multi-millionaire business owners who are running sweatshops out of Thailand or polluting the water of countryside towns with the filthy sludge they push out of their factories? Those special ones who hire me as the lawyer to help them cover it up?
It was the same with Harry when he was my next-door neighbour in uni. Back before I really gave a shit about him. How much loud, over-the-top sex could I have before he snapped and came to my door, all red-faced and huffy? We had known each other for so long, and I could still wind him up as easily as I did back then.
I glared at the hero on the TV as he jumped from a moving truck just in time before it exploded. He landed, stumbling into the arms of his lady love and the ash-stained kid actor they’d thrown in for good measure. They clutched each other before a glowing sunrise, curls of grey smoke billowing into the dusky sky, treasuring the fact that they were all still alive.
It was easy for that guy. He wasn’t stuck picturing his best friend’s face smeared with white foam and wondering how much I'd need to push him to get him on his knees.
I was acting like one of those men Sally came home with when we still lived in a trailer, moaning about lostopportunities and all the ‘when I was your age’ speeches. She’d bleed them dry and toss them a month later.
I still couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to think that was normal.
Taking another sip from the glass, I run the last bleak dregs over my tongue before bending forwards to stick it on the coffee table and go back to glaring at the TV.
That was exactly what happened when he got engaged to his last girlfriend. I mean the whole ‘bursting into flames’ thing. He found out she’d fucked one of his friends behind his back, and Harry didn't know I beat the shit out of the guy and broke both his fucking arms. Harry never asked when people who hurt him suddenly moved away and he didn't hear from them again, but that was for the better.
And now he was trying it again. I wasn't going to outright tell him “don't get married”, but he was a smart guy. Or, he was meant to be. He should have known it was a bad idea.
I rubbed my thumb along my bottom lip, thinking of certain ways I could get him to see that.
Five weeks was a long time for him and Molly to be apart. Maybe it would develop organically, that he would realise he was happier without her.
Because before he knew it, he'd be married with kids and less time for his friends. Well, less time for me.
But that could be worked around. I promised myself I wouldn't cross that line with Harry after the fucking disaster of the first time we hooked up.
Even though I thought of fucking him occasionally, it was never full blown ‘I need my cock inside you or I'm gonna suffocate’. Whatever the fuck was happening to me was a whole other level.
Before I swirled any deeper into my melancholy thoughts, my phone went off beside me with the Death March by Handel. A ringtone I reserved for only one person.
I grimaced as I grabbed it from the cushion beside me, swiping right to answer and lifting it to my ear.
