[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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
January 2010
MARK
I hate birthdays. Celebrating a number of years alive only serves as a reminder of people who've died. Ben. Mum. Dad. They'll never have another birthday. But every year, when the date rolls around, I think about them. I mourn them all over again.
There's only one exception to my hatred of birthdays. For the last three years, I've celebrated Zoe's with her.
It started off innocently enough; we'd only known each other for a few months and buying her a present seemed too intense. I'd tried to bake her a cake, only for it to crumble in the oven. Defeated but unwilling to drop the cake idea, I'd bought her one from M&S. It was garishly pink, no doubt pumped full of fuck knows how many additives, but her eyes had lit up like I'd handed her a winning lottery ticket. I didn't tell her that I'd tried to make one from scratch, because it didn't seem to matter. Nothing I'd have baked myself would have elicited the same excitement as the pink cake.
The next year, Zoe had invited me to her parents' place. We spent the weekend celebrating, and it was almost enough to change my outlook on birthdays. Seeing how they spoilt her, how she devoted hours to flicking through photo albums with me to chronicle her childhood, I fell into a bubble of happiness. Belonging. Her mum was nice enough, but her dad symbolised something I'd lacked for years. For the first time outside a therapy session, I could talk about the police. His interest and follow-up questions allowed me to be open and honest. I didn't have to censor myself for fear of offending or horrifying someone. He never judged me, nor did I feel like he pitied me.
Then, last year, I'd taken Zoe out for a meal. We'd chatted for three hours, then moved onto a bar where we got so drunk that I didn't even remember getting home. I didn't remember fucking her either, but we'd woken up naked next to each other so that was a given. It was the only time we'd ever spent a full night together—and the last time we'd had sex.
Two days later she'd had her first date with Richard, a date which she'd claimed she wasn't into.
Now, as I stand outside the bar, looking through the window at Zoe laughing with her colleagues, I consider breaking my four-year streak and going home.
Celebrating her birthday has always seemed so intimate and personal. I don't want to share it with a bunch of strangers who I've no interest in making small talk with. That's selfish considering Zoe's birthday is about Zoe, not me, but if I go in there, I'll have to watch her with Richard. His hands on her body. Her laughs at his jokes. I can't bear to witness him replace me in 3D. It's bad enough imagining it in my head.
Close friends, though Zoe insists that they're not together. I believe her, but I also know how much time they spend in each other's company. And I know how two friends 'not together' means jack shit in the grand scheme of things.
