Lockdown on London Lane [PUBLISHED w/ WATTPAD BOOKS]

Part 3: The Pineapple Problem - Chapter 3

THREE DAYS AGO

I haven't slept.

A pale dawn bleeds through the curtains, casting the whole room in a soft glow even though it's not even six o'clock yet. It's so quiet. I lie on my back, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. I hear a car going past, out on the main road, and wonder who it is out this early. Someone coming home from a shift at the hospital, or someone heading out to stack shelves at the supermarket before it opens? Or is it someone trying to sneak out for a day on the coast, to escape their back garden for a few hours against all the advice?

There are birds singing.

Zach's breathing is deep and even beside me. He's splayed out on his stomach, one arm tucked under his chest and the other hooked over his head. He was out like a light last night, no problem. He didn't seem to notice if he thought I was quieter than usual; or if he did notice I was stuck in my head about something, he assumed I was mad about something and decided it was better not to ask if I wasn't going to bring it up.

I don't know how he can sleep so soundly at a time like this.

He mumbles in his sleep, and I can't help but turn to glower at him. How dare he sleep so soundly when I've barely managed to snatch two or three hours, when I'm lying here so wide awake?

I can't get it all out of my head.

I just... I feel like such a fool.

A few endless minutes later, another car has gone by and Zach sighs in his sleep.

I can't stay here. Not like this.

Slowly, not wanting to wake Zach up to deal with this properly just yet, I slip out from under the covers. I forgo putting on my slippers so I can pad barefoot out of the room, grabbing my dressing gown on the way. The bedroom door creaks on my way out and I pause, but Zach doesn't stir.

I wrap myself in my dressing gown and creep to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I regret it immediately.

The pizza boxes from our delivery last night sit there on the counter, taunting me.

Those fucking pizza boxes.

I glare at them while I wait for the kettle to boil, and my lip curls as I carry my tea out past them again.

We don't often order takeout, but when we do, it's not usually pizza. Chinese, or Indian, for the most part. Thai's our favourite, but Zach's also partial to a burger on Deliveroo. Except most of our favourites aren't open right now, so the ones that are open had outrageously long wait times and we were starving, so pizza it was, and...