I choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, he’s going full stalker on me. Wants me to meet his mum. Like, to go up north and actually stay with his family for a whole weekend.”
The pour of water came from the kitchen, then the clang of a teaspoon in a mug.
Bee carried two cups of hopefully very fucking strong coffee to the living room. She set them down on the table before slipping onto the armchair—and slumping, exhausted.
One glance at her, and I knew she didn’t get more than a wink of sleep all night.
Planting her elbow on the arm of the chair, she rested her temple on her fist and looked at me. “Time for him to go, then. Although he should have been gone months ago.”
I studied the dark circles around her eyes. “Easy for you to say—you never like my boyfriends.”
Her scoff jerked her shoulders. “Neither do you.”
“You don’t date.”
Her smile was tired. “I meant you don’t like your own boyfriends.”
That silenced me.
Because it was true.
They always,alwaysgot on my nerves too much, too soon. And that was if they were lucky enough that I even considered them vaguely interesting or valuable.
I’d be around them—and my mind would be somewhere else.
I lived in distraction around guys.
Fuck, a guy could be going down on me, and I would end up eyeing my vinyls in the corner, working out a new way to organise them.
A guy could get down on his knees to profess his love, and I’d find myself wondering if I had the time to pin a butterfly and add it to my collection before the week was out.
There was always something that was just so fucking boring about them. Most people, but especially guys. Like they were all just a copy and paste of each other.
None held my interest—and honestly, the only reason I even held theirs was because I wasn’t available, not emotionally, and men didn’t like that.
Men want to conquer. Not love.
Besides, I had everything I needed here in this flat.
I wasn’t a stupid person. I knew that I shouldn’t hope for more, because more has never existed.
ONE
Rain patters on my jacket.
It’s been drumming down on us for hours.
I breathe, and the air is drizzle.
I blink, and droplets cling to my lashes.
I walk, and the road is slippery.
But the loose yellow rain jacket protects me from being drenched through to the flesh, then even deeper to the bones. My soft, thermal clothes are warm on my body, my socks dry in my boots, and with the hood pulled over my head, my hair only frizzes in the mist of the rain, it doesn’t soak.
But I’m still not comfortable.
More than the constant damp in the air as we leave behind the snow of the northern parts of Canada, more than the slick roads beneath my boots in a trek that just keeps on going and going—
