Each morning islike groundhog day. I force myself out of bed. Every fibre in my being craves him, his words, his touch, his warm embrace. I have to see him again, to check he’s okay, at least. Since Kelly told me about him talking about leaving, I can’t help but think he’s spiralling into the darkness.
I remember the black thoughts I had in my teens when I felt alone. If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself. Perhaps he’s just moving house, moving to the city to be close to his new office. Either way, I must see him again.
Checking my car doors are locked, I park up at the top of his estate, like I have done every other day since receiving his journal. His ground-floor apartment is in view, but his car isn’t parked in his bay. I wonder if he’s moved house already and I’ve been coming here after work for nothing. Kelly said when she saw him last, he sounded as though he was going somewhere, or he could just be working later these days. My hand grabs the pepper spray, remembering how things went down with the unsavoury duo. I’m determined to wait around this time so I can catch a glimpse of him. He must get home soon.
I text Justin while I wait. ‘Running late x.’
Turning the key to start the engine, I contemplate leaving just as the heavens open. Rain hammers against my windshield and there’s a flash of light in the grey clouds. I turn the engine off and wait out the downpour. Listening to the sound of rain on my tin roof soothes my mind, but the thundering sound from above sends a shudder through me and the crack of lightning spikes a bout of nausea.
This was a bad idea. What if I’m struck by lightning and die right here outside Callum’s house? How would I explain why I’m here?If you’re dead, you won’t be doing any explaining.
My fingers tap against the dash as I stare out of the window through the veil of water pouring down, like I’m trapped in a car wash.
A black car pulls up at the side of me and my breathing halts. His window winds down, bringing his face into view. My heart thuds like the rain beating against my windshield.
He stares with a gaping mouth before shouting, “Steph.” His voice drowns out the rain with the jumping of my heart. I’m not ready to talk to him yet.
My Suzuki roars to life as I shift into gear to back up off the estate.
He manoeuvres his Audi behind me, blocking the road, then runs to my car door, tugging at the handle. “Steph, talk to me. Are you all right?”
I put the car into first gear. What was I thinking coming here?
He runs to the bonnet, trapping me between his body and his car behind. “Steph, please talk to me.” His palms press down on my bonnet.
The rain drips off his nose, his wavy hair hangs limp and saturated. I daren’t accelerate in fear I’ll hurt him. Panicked, my foot presses hard against the break, I tense my body, not knowing what to say or do to get myself out of this situation.
A car pulls up behind Cal, pipping its hooter. “Oi, Cal, move your chuffin’ car. What you playing at?”
“Gimmie a minute,” he growls at his neighbour. The ink visible through his white shirt, sticking to his skin as the rain soaks into the fabric. “I’m not moving, Steph, until you get out of the car and talk to me. I’ll get on my hands and knees if I have to.” His powerful bicep flexes as he tenses against my bonnet and his inked sleeve ripples as his hands clench. “Please Steph, don’t make me beg.”
The guy honks his horn, getting more agitated by the second. “Callum, what the fuck?” he shouts through his window.
Cal turns his head with a scowl. “One fucking minute.”
I can see this turning bad quickly, so I get out of the car. Typical April showers, glorious one minute and pouring it down the next, and I don’t have a coat or a brolly.
Cal runs over to me, unclipping his house key from the set. “Let yourself in while I move my car. Give me your keys and I’ll move yours, too.”
I hand them over and sprint down the small hill to his apartment at the bottom of the cul-de-sac.
I walk through the hallway, placing his key on the small table. Upon entering the kitchen, I notice my book on the worktop tucked behind the fruit bowl with various coloured sticky notes coming from the pages. Opening it, I see he’s highlighted so many parts. I smile as I go through each marked up page; our first time, our first time again in this house, London, Christmas.
A photo falls out onto the worktop. Picking it up, I see myself asleep, my hair splayed over a white pillow. The image is cropped at the top of my breasts, showing my bare shoulders. My chest tightens thinking he took photos of me asleep, most likely naked. Oh no, please no. I gasp for breath. The door rattles as he enters, and I hear the key turn in the lock.
The hairs stiffen at the nape of my neck and the acid rises in my throat as I walk into the hall. “Have you just locked me in?”
“Yes, but you’re free to go when we’ve talked.” He holds the keys up and places them on the side, along with my car keys. Every inch of his white shirt has turned translucent, showcasing his magnificent torso with his black ink and the crows ascending from his pelvis onto his stomach.
“You’re soaked.” My voice breaks as I speak while gazing at his chest.
He runs his fingers through his dripping hair, leaving droplets along the tiled kitchen floor. “I’m glad you’re here, Steph. How are you?”
I pull my eyes away from his body and gaze into his sunken sockets. “I’m okay, are you?”
“Yeah, better now I can talk to you.” He unbuttons the top of his shirt, then pulls it over his head. My eyes wander back to his inked chest. I’ve missed seeing him like this.
“When did you take this picture?” I hold up the photo of me sleeping.