loveless // haylor au

chapter twelve

"we don't talk about it,
it's something we don't do."

~

chapter twelve
the deep problem

August 1st

The first day of August began with a rushed start.
The electricity in the hotel we were staying at went out an hour before our alarms were supposed to go off, so we overslept, and Al was pounding on my door at six thirty, forty five minutes late. We had less than half an hour to get to the airport.

We packed all our shit in a haste, yelling at the other to make sure all SD cards were present, as well as the cameras and their equipment.

We made it with not even a minute to spare, and the rush had me in a bad mood. Al was there to suffer through it.
We barely spoke on the flight home.

I was home by ten that morning and the second I walked through the door, a cold feeling washed over me.
I'd obviously been in the flat by myself before, many times, but it was completely different stepping through the door; looking around the flat and finding simple things missing.

Wes' coat wasn't hanging off the back of the couch, his shoes weren't lying around and the door to his room was wide open; the inside bare and chilly. I stepped inside, with my carry on still hanging over my shoulder.
Only his bed frame and mattress remained, and the photos he had hung up on his wall were gone, even the ones of Taylor.

I'd seen the one of Taylor kissing his cheek a few times in my life, and something dropped within me, behind my ribcage. The idea of Wes; laying on his back in some flat overlooking Toronto, that picture clasped in his grip as he remembered her laugh and smile, played in my head a couple of times. I let a deep sigh emit from the bottom of my chest, and I turned out, closing the door behind me.

I had no right to feel the way I was.
I had to remember that.

I caught up on some sleep, and replied to some emails.
I booked a few more clients and even finished some editing. By the time the night rolled around, I found myself tidying up my room, and stuffing a new packet of condoms in my bedside table; behind my journal.

Taylor was coming over straight after her shift at work, and she'd offered to cook dinner. I agreed to help her, but a part of me was wondering when the fuck dinner came into our little agreement. I'd almost brought it up, but it sounded so douchey. I knew, so I shut my mouth.

I was taking a piss when she knocked at the door, near seven and I washed my hands quickly, and rushed out.
I'd left the chain on the door accidentally and when I pulled it open, it loudly smacked straight back into place; making Taylor gasp on the other side of the door.

'Sorry,' I chuckled, once I got the door open successfully.
She grinned back at me, the pink lipstick she'd been wearing smudging from the day.

She was wearing a cropped light pink shirt with a matching skirt that fell just above her knees. Her feet were paired with heels, silver with a small heel; she was still standing just below my height.

'How was work?' I asked politely, eyeing her midriff as she strolled into the flat. I wondered if it was going to be strange for her to be here without Wes.
I wondered if it was strange for her that she was here to have sex with me and not Wes.