it’s still being led by morons, so I drift off again. Nothing seems to hold my attention, which, for a man defined by his career, is slightly disturbing. I can be sitting in the most interesting meeting, and it’s as if I’m behind a wall of cotton wool. Everything seems shit and dreary.
It wasn’t until after he’d gone that I realised how much of my day was structured around moments with him. First thing in the morning, I would always criticise his coffee. He would respond with something insulting, and the day would start happily. When I was away from the office, I could relax because I knew when I went back he would be there sniping about my handwriting or something else that I’d done to piss him off.
His replacement, Alistair, is nice enough, but he will never be Dylan. I swallow hard because I have a horrible feeling that nobody will ever be Dylan, in both my personal and professional life.
“You know, you could at least pretend to be interested.”
I turn with irritation to Morris. “Why? You’re doing such a thoroughly good job of that, it’s making me feel slightly redundant.”
His huff of indignation bores me, and I stare out the window. I would give every penny I have, and the cold house I live in, if I could just have another day with Dylan. My throat tightens. It would be useless anyway, because he’s obviously moved on. I think back to that night in his flat and the wanker he was with. He’d been pretty enough, but he didn’t have an ounce of Dylan’s character and personality. He had Dylan though, and that thought leaves me full of a roiling mixture of anger, jealousy, and misery. Mostly misery because it’s my fault that the wanker had a chance in the first place.
If I hadn’t been such a stupid and blind bastard, I could still be with Dylan. If I hadn’t been such a coward, I would have responded so differently to the signs of his caring for me. Instead, I’d run away like a scared little boy to Bath and set us on the path that led to his flat and Valentine’s Day. I shudder at the thought, bile rising in my throat as I remember Ollie’s hands on him and how it had filled me so full of rage I’d wanted to rip my own skin off.
I’d been so scared at the thought of Dylan loving me. To me, love is just something that ends up with someone being destroyed. I’d made such an excellent job of avoiding it that it actually managed to sneak up on me without me knowing. Unfortunately, I’d only realised that I loved him when he’d looked at me with a weary sort of disgust and told me to leave with a note of utter finality in his voice.
There had been no going back from that. I tried, but when he fell through that door with another man I’d known it was too late. The last month has been painful, to say the least. For the first time in my life, I'm at a loss. Nothing makes it better. I can’t even fuck it out of my system. I’d gone to a club after seeing him with the other man and I’d been so close to moving on. But the man I’d danced with had touched me and thrown his arms around me, and everything was wrong. His hair didn’t smell of apples. His body wasn’t lithe and warm against me. His laugh wasn’t the same. I’d made my excuses and walked away, and I haven’t been back.
After taking a sip of my coffee, I wince. Alistair makes lovely coffee, and I resent every perfect drop. I snort as I lower the cup. I think I’m going mad.
I glance up to find everyone looking askance at me. “This meeting is becoming laughable,” I say with a frown. “You need to discuss the parameters of the offer.”
That sets them off again, leaving me to my feelings, but all talk stops again when my phone rings. Everyone stares at me in surprise. And well they should because I would eviscerate anyone who had a phone switched on in a meeting. However, this is me, and I don’t count in the rules.
“Is it the ringtone?” I enquire smoothly. “I’ve been thinking of changing it to something more cheerful. What do you think?”
They look like they’re considering answering me, but I ignore them, glancing down