skinny love | shyland

twelve

"about my hair?" madi asked naively, self consciously reaching up to rake her fingers through the blonde mess.

"yeah. about your hair, sweetheart." i whispered and pressed my lips onto the top of her head with a small smile. she nodded absentmindedly and went back to her toys, leaving me to head downstairs with the touch of the night before lurking under my skin.

i stood apprehensively a few feet away from the kitchen door, eyeing conor's movements carefully. he was emptying the dishwasher with his back to me, embodying sharp, jerky movements, slamming the china coffee mugs into the cupboard with brute force.

"what happened to my work desk?"

the words fell off my lips slowly and he spun round defensively, expression unreadable.

"that's what you're asking?" his voice wavered as he pushed the empty cups away in agitation. they clinked together, sliding across the surface. "you're asking what— what the fuck, ryland? i've called you countless times in the last twelve hours. you left after an argument in your boss' swanky car, saying you'd come home when the event finished, and then you don't. i tried to stay calm about it, i called, i texted, i asked around, i told madi you were absolutely fine. and then you rock up at eleven in the morning and ask me about your fucking desk?"

my cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, panic creeping up behind my ears and warping into ties around my throat. my hands curled around the loose thread of the joggers shane had leant me, and a small part of me was thankful that he never payed any attention to what was in my wardrobe and that he wouldn't bat an eyelid at the fact they were several sizes too big for me.

"the event ran late, so shane let me stay the night at his house. i know i should've texted but my phone ran dead and— and i couldn't find a charger in the living room where i was sleeping."

i watched as his fingers clenched around the counter top, knuckles turning white. "you stayed in his house... alone with him?" he asked slowly, his tongue running over his top teeth.

"what? no. it's him and his girlfriend's place... she's the one that suggested i stay over because we didn't leave the venue till two am." i rushed out, the lie thick and hard to swallow as it curdled like milk on my tongue. conor's eyes moved slowly across my face, doubt coursing through his expression, trying to decipher the validity behind my words. "christ conor, he's not gay or anything."

the words felt heavy as they tumbled off my bottom lip and he scoffed, making the anxiety slip through my teeth, swallowed with the lack of remorse i had felt in shane's arms an hour ago. conor turned back around and continued to pack away the clean dishes, picking up the wine glasses from below and using a cloth to wipe the last of the water away. i stood gormless, playing with my fingers like a small child, waiting to be told off. what made things worse was that even i could see that.

"i still don't understand why you didn't call me." he said lowly, standing the flutes up in the cupboard one by one.

i sighed, walking further into the kitchen. "i've already told you, they didn't have a charger in—"

"i don't give a fuck about a charger, ryland, you didn't come home!" he shouted, making me flinch as the glass in his hand slammed into the surface and smashed across the wood. blood dripped from the tiny scissor-like cuts across his fingers and he hissed in pain. "shit!"

"daddy?"

we both spun round to look at the doorway, my face falling as i caught sight of madison's forlorn countenance, fear knitting her eyebrows together with a needle and threat. her voice was small, almost a whisper, terror laced with confusion as she took another step forward with her bare feet.

"don't come any further, there's glass on the floor." i reacted quickly, spinning around and retracing my steps, guiding her shoulders to do the same. "why don't you go play with daddy's ipad? it's by the tv, you can take it up to your room." my tone was flaky and urgent as i encouraged her to scamper off, exhaling softly when she did as she was told.

i turned back to see conor's head bowed, his hand still clutching the handle of the wine glass, red ink seeping into the wood and spreading like fire.

"you idiot." i said softly, stepping over the fractured pieces and uncurling each of his fingers. ten minutes later i was sat with his hand in my lap and bandage wrapped around his skin, shards of unpicked glass and a pair of tweezers sat beside us like two old friends.

we had messy sex that night. messy in sense that it was unenjoyable. haphazard. all over the place. i had been the one to insinuate it, having stared into the dark for half an hour as conor's phone lit up the room.

"you awake?" i'd whispered, and he hummed, not looking away from his phone. the need for gratification rose to the front of my mind. reassurance that he wasn't still doubting the lies i'd told earlier. reassurance that what happened with shane was nothing but a moment of insanity, and that of course i still had feelings for the father of my child.

i rolled over and felt underneath the covers for his boxers, slipping my hand underneath the fabric and hearing him grunt in surprise, drawing a breath in. his phone was placed on the bedside table and the room went dark.

with the side of my cheek pressed into the pillow and the numb feeling of my body being rocked back and forth, i squeezed my eyes shut and repressed every memory of the last twenty-four hours, one by one. and just like that, i let him slip through my fingers.

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