a stray lock of hair behind my ear and looks like he’s falling in love with me. ‘Let’s sleep.’
I lie awake and stare at his ceiling, only catching an hour or so when dawn sneaks around the curtains and birds who wish they lived somewhere nicer than London chirp their morning announcements and wake me up. I want to scratch my skin off. I want to cry for a thousand years. I want to take a man, any man, and make him feel true, pure, fear. I want violence. I want to watch him bleed. I want the whites of his eyes to grow bigger with terror. I want him to freeze as a survival mechanism and then torture himself for the rest of his life for not fighting back. I want him to blame himself for it. I want him to scream and …
Joshua rolls over in the bed. His eyes are open. He’s smiling.
‘Good morning!’ I chirp.
‘It’s a good morning indeed if I’m waking up next to you.’
‘Oh, that is cheesy Joshua.’
He pulls me into him (all the better to let me poke my morning erection into your thigh, my dear) and we roll into the inevitability of morning sex with morning breath and both of us pretending I’m not a bit too dry for it, what with it being the morning and all, and Joshua doing absolutely no foreplay beforehand. Even Gretel can’t fake wetness. But Joshua doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. When he is done, he falls off me headfirst into the pillow, patting my back and muttering compliments.
‘I need the bathroom.’ I get up, pee, shower, and start tugging my clothes on. My skin’s itchier. That last bout of sex was too much. I’m running out of time. The trauma’s closing in. My ribs are tightening on my lungs.
The white wall.
The
white
wall.
He appears in the kitchen just as the kettle boils, shrugging into a casual white T-shirt.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ I ask, in an air hostess voice.
‘Coffee, but let me make it. You’re the guest.’ He steps behind me, squeezing my sides to move me and it takes everything I have left not to flinch.
I sit at the table and watch him make proper coffee with his gadgets. He’s finicky about it. Scientific. He uses the measuring spoon to make sure he’s scooped up just the right amount. He takes the kettle off just before it hits boil so it doesn’t burn the grains. He even squats down when he pours the water in to make sure he’s measured it right. It’s like watching an enthusiastic student in a secondary-school chemistry class, and it’s bordering on adorable. When he passes the cup of coffee over, it tastes brilliant too.
‘Thank you. Wow, you know how to make coffee.’
He pulls his chair over and uses his legs to clamp one of mine. ‘It’s both my greatest superpower and my greatest weakness,’ he says. ‘I’m such a dick about people making coffee for me. It causes me actual stress.’ He leans over and tucks my hair behind my ear again. ‘You look lovely without any make-up on,’ he comments.
I’m wearing under-eye concealer, mascara, a touch of blusher and a lip stain.
‘Thank you.’ I keep sipping my coffee and can’t bring myself to look at him. The urgent need to leave pulses through my body. And, before I can see the bottom of my mug, I’m done. I stand, using everything I have to keep smiling.
‘Hey, where you off to?’
‘I’ve got to go I’m afraid.’
The disappointment on his face is palpable. ‘What?’
‘Yeah, I’m working an extra shift this morning, and then I’m at a barbecue with some friends.’
‘Oh, right.’ He looks at his coffee.
I’ve never been with a man so openly needy before, and can’t figure out if it’s the Gretel effect or just Joshua. ‘I had such a great time though.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted us to spend the day together too.’ It’s so weird to be on this side of the next-day conversation. I’m usually the one assuming we’ll be spending the weekend together, turning down other plans just in case, and then acting all meek and ‘I don’t mind’ when the other person reveals they’d not considered a whole weekend together an option at all.
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t have other things to do.’
I reach over and squeeze his hand to let him know not to worry. ‘I