The screen flickered slightly as I shifted my laptop off the still-taped moving box and onto my lap. Casey's familiar face appeared, distorted just enough by the video call to make her look like a watercolor version of herself. Her brow arched — the teacher glare she'd perfected in grad school.
"You're really in London," she said, not bothering to hide the edge in her voice. "Without me."
I took a slow sip of wine, letting it fill the silence before answering. My gaze flicked to the half-unpacked room around me. The hollow echo of this new apartment mirrored exactly how I felt.
"You know why I left," I murmured.
Casey softened instantly. "Yeah, I know. Are you okay?"
The answer didn't come easily. Okay, I felt far away from what I was actually feeling, but I wasn't even close to figuring out how to express those feelings, so 'okay' was one way to describe it.
"Not yet," I said honestly. "But I think this—" I gestured vaguely at the bare walls and clutter of boxes, "—this might be what I need." It was a half-truth. I'd hoped changing cities, countries, even hemispheres might quiet the ache of a heart cracked open and left behind, but pain doesn't respect geography; it follows, stubborn and heavy.
"I miss you, though," I added, my voice catching more than I wanted it to.
"Maybe you'll meet some hot British guys. Or... wait—have you already?" Her eyes lit up with her signature mischief.
I let out a breathy laugh, more exhale than amusement. "What kind of rom-com do you think I'm living in? No, Hugh Grant has knocked on my door with biscuits yet."
"Give it time," she sing-songed, typing something on her phone.
I raised a brow. "Am I losing you to Andy again?"
She didn't even look up. "You're so dramatic. It's just a text." Of course, it was Andy. Perfect, reliable, doting Andy. I didn't begrudge her the happiness, not really, but seeing it from the outside now felt like watching someone else live the life I thought I'd have before everything went sideways.
"Tell him I say hi," I said quietly.
"He says hi back!" she chimed, showing me his name on her screen as it lit up with a call. "Gotta run, love you! Don't forget to send pics of any hot Brits."
She blew a kiss through the screen. I caught it, pressing it to my chest like we always did. Some things don't change — even when everything else does.
The screen went black. Silence rushed in, loud in the way only an empty apartment could. I looked around at the boxes, the absence of home. My life, still packed in cardboard.
Sighing I dragged my duffel bag toward me and unzipped it. Time to do something — anything.
A knock interrupted me.
I knew no one here. No friends, no family. Just the distant hum of London traffic outside on a nice summer day. Curiosity beat out caution as I padded to the door, peeking through the peephole. A guy stood on the other side, tall with a mop of messy curls, a ratty t-shirt clinging to him like it belonged to someone else entirely. Dimples etched into his cheeks as he smiled, brushing hair from his face. Even from the peephole view, I could tell he was attractive.
I opened the door halfway. "Hello?"
"Hi. Sorry to bother—bad time?" His accent dripped with warm, melodic vowels.
I opened the door fully. He was even cuter up close. I managed a small smile.
"I'm Harry. I live next door. Just thought I'd say welcome." He held out a plate of cookies, slightly lopsided under plastic wrap.
Kindness, unexpected and sweet, softened something in me. "That's... really nice. Thank you. I'm Emma."
"Pretty name." He winced slightly, like he hadn't meant to say it aloud. It made me grin.
He gestured behind him. "I'm just next door. If you need anything... or want more cookies."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He left with a wave, and I stood there a beat too long, watching the hall where he'd disappeared.
Back inside, I unwrapped the cookies — peanut butter, which was my favorite. Either fate was playing nice or Harry had excellent intuition.
I bit into one just as another knock came.
Twice in one night? I thought. Maybe Casey manifested me into a rom-com after all.
But it wasn't Harry. The man at the door was broader, solid. Sportswear clung to his frame like he'd just stepped off a marathon. Helmet under one arm, a stack of mail in his other hand.
"You're new," he said, voice low and rough.
"I am," I said, cautiously. "Can I help you?"
"This is yours." He held out the mail, then snatched it back as I reached for it.
Seriously?
"Oh—sorry." I turned, grabbed my wallet, and pulled out a twenty. "Do you have change?"
His eyes flashed something unreadable. Then he pocketed the bill without answering. Dropped the mail in my hand.
"Don't let it happen again," he muttered.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, doll face."
Rage rose in my chest like heat from a kettle. "Who do you think you are?"
He leaned casually on his bike. "Payne," he said.
Pain. The irony was too rich.
"Pain?" I laughed dryly. "Fitting."
"With a Y, darling," he smirked, then bowed exaggeratedly.
He opened the door directly across the hall — of course — and disappeared inside.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I whispered to myself.
I pulled out my phone.
To: Case
Met my neighbors. One is lovely. The other is a total asshole.
Her reply came fast:
To: Em
Seriously? Ugh. Miss you. Andy says hiiii! Xx
I tossed my phone aside and tried to focus on unpacking, but my brain kept circling back to him. That smug smirk. The arrogance. The twenty-dollar insult.
Eventually, I snapped. Anger propelled me across the hall. I knocked on the red door labeled 3Q with more force than necessary. When he opened it, steam wafted out — he was freshly showered, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt half-open, water dripping from his hair.
I faltered for a second, taking in his torso, which had more muscles then I've every seen on any other human, I steadied myself. "I want my money back," I said.
He looked amused. "Spent it."
"In the shower?"
He grinned. "Multitasking."
I planted my hand on the door. "You owe me."
He leaned in. "You're pressed over twenty bucks, huh? Americans."
He stepped into the hallway, pulling on a leather jacket like he hadn't just been shirtless seconds ago. "Later, doll face," he said as he walked away.
I chased him down the hall. "You owe me, you jerk!"
He turned just as the elevator chimed. "I'm happy with my shadow, love. Don't need a second." I stepped back. He was inches from me. I could feel the heat of him, the challenge in his stare.
"Just give me my money and I'll never speak to you again."
But his smirk only widened. "Maybe I want to see you again," he said, stepping into the lift and disappearing behind silver doors.
And just like that, Payne—with a Y—had successfully become the most infuriating man I'd ever met.
YOU ARE READING
Capture
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] You can't run forever, eventually you'll be captured. A dark past he's spent years running from threatens to swallow him whole after a simple knock on her door.
