He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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My taxi turned up as the church bells echoed softly across the city. It was 1am, and as I stepped out onto the street, the silence of the bar was replaced with the chaotic noise of Thursday night: the student's Saturday replacement.
I checked the door one last time before dodging a tottering girl in heels and climbing into the silver saloon car. The bar would be shut over the next few days while everyone went to Fire Festival, but it still felt strange closing up when —in many parts of town— the night was just getting started.
With the staggering pedestrians and night-time traffic, the taxi took twice as long as the walk, but the fiver Atticus left covered the extra cost. I hadn't planned to use it, but I knew I'd have no choice as I watched the red digital number tick up into double figures.
"Front or back, love?" the balding driver asked, his red-rimmed, blue eyes glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
"Back," I mumbled before pulling my money and keys from my pocket. "Please," I added, earning me a twinkle of appreciation in his tired eyes.
As I clambered out of the taxi, I glanced up at the kitchen window above my own. Faded light flickered, casting thick bands of shadow as their TV lit the room. I could imagine Aslo's stocky frame sprawled across the sofa. His hands rifling through a bag of crisps as he watched adverts and reality TV stream across the screen.
My hands fiddled with my keys while my eyes stayed glued to the strobing window. My body wanted to go to bed, but my mind couldn't settle. All I could think about was the way I'd left things with Attics earlier. In the minutes that had filled the void of his absence, I'd felt regret flood into place like water rushing past the smallest break in a dam.
We'd disagreed plenty of times and I'd frozen him out more often than not, but this was the first time he'd walked away. That bothered me.
I just couldn't figure out if it was just because it was an itch I couldn't quite scratch, some unfinished reflex like a sneeze caught at the back of my nose? Or because, despite the masochistic nature of it all, I didn't like the idea of him walking away for good?
While a war waged between my head and heart, my legs made the decision for me. I pocketed my keys and reached for the latch of Atticus' gate instead of my own. The bolt jiggled free with a clunk and the gate swung open with an audible creak.
Before I could tell myself to turn around, I took the cast iron stairs two at a time; my footsteps resonating through the metal while my hands ran over the uneven surface of the railing.
I reached their back door faster than I'd expected, and as I stared into the flat — the galley kitchen framing Aslo's feet resting on the coffee table— I felt my heart thrum with nerves.
Fuck...echoed through my head, bouncing around in the sudden absence of thought. What was I doing here? What was I going to say? Why didn't I just go home and go to bed?
