Baby on Board

2

For the longest time, I was one of those girls who was far too interested in appearances; I'd get dressed up, put a face full of make up on, style my hair so that there wasn't a strand out of place and get ready to hit the town and just have fun. 

I was a wild child, I admit. My parents always thought that Sophie was the problem child but if they knew what I used to get up to in secret, they'd soon see that Sophie was a Saint in comparison. I never used to be embarrassed about it but since the devastating break up with He Who Shall Not Be Named Ever Again On Pain Of Death, I've realised that I can't be as carefree when there are things at stake, especially if it's my heart on the line.

I suppose that's why, as I get dressed and prepare to go out, I find myself being more and more selective of what I choose. Yes, I could wear the tightest and shortest arse skimming dress I owned, but that's what the old Charlotte would have done. Instead, as I looked at everything that hung in my closet, my eyes were drawn to the loose fitting Tom Ford sweater I had invested in over winter and a pair of jeans. 

Picking them out of the closet, I threw them on the bed and deliberated a little more. The girls would kill me for wearing something like this on a night out but it was comfortable and it made me feel safe, which given my unstable romantic life, I was very much for safety when going out 'on the pull', as Aimee kept saying. Not that I was expecting to hook a man; I'm already fighting the temptation of Isaac Fletcher without even looking at other blokes. 

Knowing that he was going to be in my flat tonight was unnerving and despite having more than a week to come to terms with the prospect, I was still conscious that he was invading my space. For all I know, he could tell the guys he was going to the bathroom and find himself in my bedroom! 

This thought permeated my mind and for all the times that I tried to shake it from there, it remained and made me panic over every little detail about my bedroom. Were the sheets clean? Was the bed made? Were there any dirty clothes lying around? Were there any embarrassing family photos on display? Would he judge me for the artwork that hung on the walls? Would he approve of the colours I had chosen? Oh, God, what if he went into my closet and saw all my pre mid-2016 clothes? He would definitely judge me for that.

"Sam!" I yelled as I went into panic mode. I heard footsteps fast approaching, followed by the sight of a half dressed Sam entering my room with a wild look on his face. For some weird reason, he held one of my shoes in his hand. "No, this is not a kill-the-spider situation. I need you to help me hide my clothes."

Not realising just how serious my comment was, Sam laughed. "Hide your clothes?" He managed to ask before he burst into hysterical laughter again. 

"Yes," I clarify. Pointing at my closet, I say, "Well, I need you to help me start there. After that, we need to change the bedsheets, take the artwork off the wall, hide all my family photographs and-"

"Hold on," Sam told me. He'd stopped laughing by now and was instead giving me a confused look, a frown forming between his eyes as he walked further into the room. "Is this about Fletch? Char, we've been over this twenty times already- I won't let him out of my sight. We've already stripped the walls in the communal area of anything colourful, we've bought new cushions for your sofa, moved all the photos to the guest bedroom and donated all your girly movies and books to Oxfam. What more do you need to do?"