He stirs, and I suck in my breath, but then he settles again, and I lean in and kiss his hair. Smelling my shampoo on the black strands gives me a startled thrill of possession, and I press my face into the heavy, damp waves. “You’re mine, but you don’t even know it. I’m going to look after you,” I vow.
The next morning, I come awake in a tangle of bedsheets. I stretch and inhale the scent of Mac’s cologne. It takes a second for memory to return, but then I sit bolt upright and spin to face his side of the bed. He’s not there.
I sag in disappointment. I don’t need to touch his pillow to know it’s cold, and he’s been gone for a while. I’d spent most of the night hovering over him, rather creepily watching him sleep, but he must have made his escape while I slept.
A flash of colour catches my attention, and I rub my sleepy eyes until I can focus properly.
There’s a rose on the pillow.
I sit up and run my fingers gently over it. The petals are tightly furled, and there’s still dew on them. A note is next to the flower—a piece of paper that looks like it’s been torn from one of my notebooks. On it, in Mac’s slashing writing are the words,Eat something.
There’s an arrow next to the words, and I follow its direction. On the bedside table are a large Starbucks insulated takeaway cup and a big fluffy croissant.
I pick up the rose and bring it to my nose, inhaling the sweet, gentle scent of the petals. It’s a pale peach colour, and I have a very vivid image of some underling being jettisoned from their bed to search London for this one rose and my breakfast. I should feel disapproval of his capitalist approach to humanrelationships. Instead, I smile and fall back in the sheets, still clutching my rose.
fourteen
The sun is warm on my head and sweat trickles down my side as I shift position on the curb. I’ve been sitting here too long, and it feels like my arse cheeks have gone completely numb.
The sound of a door opening distracts me from my woes, and I jump up, almost staggering, until I get my balance. “Ben?”
My brother’s best friend looks up from where he’s rummaging through his messenger bag. “Wes?” His initial smile fades, and he looks behind me. “Is Tyler with you?”
“No. Why?”
He looks uneasily at me. “Erm, no reason.”
“Ben?”
“I’ve got to go, Wes.” He waves and begins walking away. “I can’t stop to talk. I’m due somewhere.”
“Oh really? Where?”
My question seems to flummox him because heummsandarrsthrough what I think is supposed to be an explanation. Ben has never been a good liar. The worry that’s been a steady backbeat to my morning flares into full-on concern.
“What’s going on?” I say, cutting through some convoluted story about his mother. “Where’s Tyler? Is he still at work?”
He gives me a wide-eyed look but doesn’t say anything.
“Hello,” I say. “Earth to Ben. Is my brother still at work? I need a word with him.”
“Erm, no,” he says and bites his lip. “He…he…erm, he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What?” I ask far too loudly.
Ben drags me around the corner until we’re out of sight. “He got the sack,” he says.
My mouth falls open. “When?”
“Last week. Didn’t you know?”
Guilt flares again. “No, I haven’t been talking to him. We’ve just been texting lately.”
He pats my shoulder, his kind face creased in concern. “I don’t blame you.”
“What happened?”
“Honestly, Wes, he was asking for the sack. He hardly turned up anymore, his work was shit, and then…”
