[18+] Mark just wants a quiet life. With plenty of action at work, he has no interest in bringing the drama home with him. But he does need a flatmate, and when blonde bombshell Zoe crashes onto the scene, she's more than he bargained for.
Zoe is a...
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January 2007
MARK
I've never been a fan of chicken sandwiches, but when I walk into Boots and don't see Ben's usual on the shelf, I suddenly can't stomach the thought of anything else.
On every night shift since returning to work, my eyes have instinctively sought out the chicken and sweetcorn packet. It sat there, top shelf to the right, reliably. A small reminder of Ben in a world where he no longer existed. A tiny comfort. Chances are, Boots are just out of stock. But the prospect of never seeing that damn sandwich again destroys my appetite.
I walk out of the shop.
Ten days later, I walk out of the force.
*
Zoe's been crying. She tries to hide it. Or I think she's trying to hide it, but I can't be sure because she's doing such a poor job of it that I'm half-suspicious she wants me to notice.
"Everything okay?" I ask over dinner.
She wipes the back of one hand across her cheek and nods. "Fine."
At least I asked. I acknowledged her pain. I tried to open a dialogue.
Communication has improved since the funeral a couple of months back, but there's still a barrier between us that I can't shift. One that reminds me what happened last time I opened up to her. The confusing comfort it brought. The spark of attraction it ignited. The mutual understanding that nothing can happen between us.
Except now I want it more than ever. The escape from reality. The physical relief to offset the emotional pain. The touch of her tiny hands evolving from comfort to pleasure. Those chatty pink lips wrapped around—
"I just feel like I'm not good enough and I don't understand what I've done wrong." She drops her fork with an ear-piercing clatter and sets both elbows on the table to bury her face in her palms.
"With what?" I ask, because it's not entirely clear if she's talking about me.
She mumbles something incoherent into her hands, which doesn't help in the slightest. I try a more direct route.
"Have I upset you?"
Red-rimmed eyes widen as she jerks her head up to look at me.
"No! God, no. It's my friends. I just..." She scrunches her mouth, her gaze sliding across the room before slowly retreating back to me. "I shouldn't complain to you because... Well, my friendship troubles seem petty when... You know."
I raise an eyebrow. "When my friend is dead?"
Pink stains her cheeks. "I wasn't going to be quite so... Blunt."
"You should be," I say. "I prefer direct communication."
"Yes because you're good at it. I don't want to accidentally offend you or... You know."
