Honesty

"Please come tonight, Ell," Carrella said to me down the phone. "I'll miss you otherwise."

I wanted to tell her that she wouldn't really, but I didn't. Instead I just repeated that I wasn't feeling well, and I just wanted to rest up.

Carson hadn't called, and it bothered me, although I knew it was stupid. I hated when people didn't follow through, and it was happening to me more and more often.

I pushed the involuntary thought of Paul out of my mind. He'd cancelled on me without excuse or explanation that very same Wednesday I had given Carson my number.

I hated myself for my stupidity. Why did I constantly make myself so vulnerable?

It was six hours before my peace was disturbed.

My parents and my younger brother were at some barbecue one of my dad's workmates was having out in Welwyn Garden City.

I had chosen to stay at home, citing that I wasn't feeling well, just as I had to Carrella.

I'd spent the last half hour contemplating a box of sleeping pills I'd bought that day, but I shoved them in a drawer as soon as I heard the bell ring.

I wasn't going to answer it. Who would be dropping in at midnight?

But then my phone buzzed from where I had it on charge and Paul's name came up on screen.

"Elly, open the door," he sighed as soon as I picked up the phone. "It's me."

I wordlessly hung up before padding downstairs to let him in.

I watched quietly as he took his coat and shoes off.

I wanted to ask why he was here, why he had flaked on me on Wednesday, why we hadn't spoken since.

But I didn't.

"Sorry for just springing this visit on you," he mumbled once he was done.

I shrugged, not caring that he wasn't looking at me.

"I just..." he faltered off, not explaining any further. He just... It seemed to me like everybody just... these days. Acted selfishly, without care until it was time to make excuses. To justify.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by him coming to sit next to me on the stairs.

I felt my hand be gripped into his, and sunk deeper into silence.

After a long time of simply staring at the radiator mounted on my wall he raised my fingers to his lips.

It wasn't a kiss as such. More like he had simply forgotten that he was holding my hand.

My arm was uncomfortable, at an odd angle, but I didn't want to pull away.

Then I heard the distinctive sound of our grumpy car's engine being forced up the road, and I had to tug my hand away.

I hustled us into the living room, and switched on some music.

I didn't want my parents to find us doing something so weird.

Paul watched me with a small smile on his face, just waiting for me to return to him like he knew I would.

When my parents got in through the door, we were sat at opposite ends of the sofa. Our feet met in the middle, the soles pushing against each other.

My mum poked her though the door and I gave her a small, tired wave.

"Oh, hello Paul," she said, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Hi, Laura," he said, his voice low. I wanted to sink into him again.

My mum was waiting for an explanation: a justification. But neither of us said anything and so, after a few more questions on her part, she bid us goodnight and went upstairs.

It was like Paul exploded onto me. One second he was serenely lying against the arm of the chair and then a second later, in a coup de l'oeil, he was pressing into me, his arms tight and punishing around my waist, his face buried into my neck.

After another indeterminably long period of time, when all the lights upstairs were off, he began kissing me.

Just my neck, then down my chest, then back up again until finally his lips met mine for the barest of seconds.

Then I pulled the blanket off the back of the chair and onto us, and we fell asleep, just like that: arms wrapped around each other, legs a tangled mess.



We woke up at dawn, and he had kissed me again before getting up to leave.

I dragged myself to bed and cried till the birds stopped singing.

Then, again, I fell asleep.