The 18th Floor

Chapter Twenty Six

Despite going to sleep late, I wake up at 9. Lucien must have brought in my phone last night when he brought my chair in.

I have a few messages from dad. Most of them are photos, and then a little caption about each photo and him asking about my night. I send him back a video from bingo, saying I had lots of fun and the group photo the stranger took of us. I realise I never actually looked at the photos Lucien took. I look at the selfies of us. Me smiling at the camera, but him turned to face me, smiling at me. Something presses down on my chest.

Fuck. Last night. It all comes rushing down and I try not to let the feelings overwhelm me.

I tell dad what else we did and I say I got home late which is why I didn't respond, rather than tell him what really happened. Although I'm grateful for living with my dad, it's moments like this I wish I had my own place because I could be where I want without having to tell him little white lies about my where abouts. Lucien's house, no, forget his house, I'm in his bed with his clothes. Yet he's not here next to me. despite being surrounded by him, I feel his absence against my body and I try to get myself to focus.

It was just a kiss. Multiple kisses. All over my body. I remember the flame that was set alight within me last night at the touch of his skin against mine and feel hot all over again. There's no turning back from this. For me at least, I don't know how I'll be able to look at him without flushing out all over again. How much of our actions can we blame on the alcohol when I know neither of us were under the influence. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of having to face Lucien this morning, but also feel the yearning that draws me towards him. I'm terrified of stepping out the room.

I lay in bed a bit longer and realise that there is no noise from the living; they both must still be asleep.

I muster the courage to leave the comfort of Lucien's bed, peeling back the same covers he has used as I use the bathroom and freshen up. I pull on the joggers Lucien gave me last night, claiming they were the smallest he had, despite it looking like a blanket on me.

As I get myself into my chair, I look at the door. I'm scared to face Lucien. I don't know what to expect this morning and I've hardly processed my own emotions, and yet I'm in his clothes, in his room. I realise then I haven't taken in my surroundings. After last night, I barely had time to breathe let alone look around his room. I know I shouldn't, but he's seen mine, it feels only fair.

Much like his living room, there isn't much to it. His bed is sat centre of the room, opposite the door taking up most of the space. The two bedside tables on either side are sat empty save for a clock on one. The wardrobe that occupies one of the walls is opposite the bed, with large windows to the left of the door looking out to his back garden. No photos, no trinkets, nothing that would even signify that someone lives here save for the messy bed.

Lucien's home looks unlived in, as if he had bought the catalogue spread and set it up exactly the same. For someone who has an empty desk at work, I'm not sure why I expected anything different, but it fills me with some sort of sadness to see the blandness of his home.

I take the hairband out of my hair and leave it on his bedside table.

After fixing the bed, I find the courage to leave the room to find both Simon and Lucien still slumped across the sofa sleeping. Atticus sprawled out across Lucien's stomach. I find myself reaching for my phone to snap a photo of them.

Despite the drinks last night, I don't have the world's worst hang over, but I won't be able to say the same for Simon. I go to the kitchen and start poking around Lucien's fridge and cupboards quietly, trying to cook us all a fry-up breakfast. Dad won't be home till tonight so I don't have to stress about him coming back for a while.