Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

3.

Friday

Charles' super car rolls down my street with the headlights off, in incognito mode. Each cobble brick paving the roads making a different noise, creating a cacophony of dull noises. The matte black paint helps the Pista to blend in, besides the low grumble of the engine you can't get rid of. Charles tries his best to silence his car, hoping the beast sleeping in my apartment won't hear him. Stella has never heard the car in her sleep, just our voices if we occasionally speak too loud. She's like a savage little dog, any noise that seems ever so slightly suspicious sets her off.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Charles asks, his voice a soft whisper.

"When?" I take off my seatbelt, leaning against the door.

Charles eyes my posture up and down, his lips curving into a smirk. "Desperate to leave?"

"Oh, no- sorry." I apologise awkwardly, hiding it with a smile. "What time tomorrow?"

"When can you get away from Stella?" He goes back to his original question.

Depends on how good I am at lying, and remembering my cover up story. Tomorrow's weather isn't suitable for day drinking, or a bottomless brunch. In fact, the rest of the year isn't suitable for it. The torrential rain is just as unpredictable as the UK's warm and sunny weather all Brits stupidly get their hopes up for. What can we do that's discreet, and is indoors? It's not like I can invite him in, a 5'11 Ferrari driver isn't something I can tuck into a cupboard and get away with.

"What's do you have in mind?" I ask, narrowing down my options.

Charles raises his eyebrows, the usual dirty-minded joke coming to the front of his mind. "You can come over to mine, maybe have lunch?"

That's a great idea, for our secrecy, but not for my cover story. Stella has my location, which she sporadically checks when she pleases. Knowing my luck, Stella would check whilst I'm at his house, and that would be our cycle over before we can even experience it. I purse my lips together, tapping my fingers against my knee cap. What other option do we have?

"Alright, text me a time and I'll be there." I nod, opening the door.

"And the address?" Charles leans over the gear stick, looking up at me as I get out the car.

"Might be useful." I lower my voice, stopping the air from echoing my words up and down the street. "See you later."

"See you tomorrow."

I shut the door, wincing as it clasps into the frame with a bang. Regardless, Charles keeps his headlights off until his car is good distance from the flats, then flips them back on before picking up the pace. I can't imagine how strenuous it would feel to drive a car with that speed at a snail's pace. Restricting it from roaring down the empty roads and waking up the principality.

I hold my breath as I enter the apartment. The stillness of the night- or what's left of it- alters my ability to remain quiet. Stress has already started strangling me, an invisible form of life cursing me for my sins. I can't stay in the apartment lobby, collapsed on the stairs like a drunken lunatic. I will never stoop that low and destroy my pride for the sake of a fling. Once I get to our front door, I place the key into the lock, twisting it so slow that I made the noise worse.

I open the door to what feels like a scene plucked straight from a 1990s horror film. A small figure lingers in the hallway, the automatic lights from the stairwell casting a makeshift spotlight on it. Stella stands like a zombie, her pale green eyes popping out her head as her limbs cease up.  I open the door wider, letting more light in to the flat, until, she groans. Her hands cover her eyes with a slapping noise. What the fuck is happening right now?

"Too loud." She mumbles incoherently, still covering her eyes.

Too loud-?

"What?" I ask, questioning if she heard Charles' car outside.

"What?" Stella repeats.

Sleep walking. I always forget about it. We joke about Stella sleep walking as her alter-ego, like Jekyll and Hyde. Her dishevelled looks and disjointed sentences give it away, but she catches me out for a couple of seconds. Her eyes are empty, staring blankly in my direction as if I don't exist. I'm used to it, but I never welcome the random heart attacks that she brings. She's my own sleep paralysis demon that I wake up and have a cup of tea with the morning after a demonic phase.

"Go back to bed Stella." I say, nodding my head towards her room.

"Ok, night." She blindly meanders the obstacle course of our living room, making her way back to bed.

Do sleep walkers remember these things? Is it common knowledge that they experience the moment, but everything feels normal to them? If so, that means Stella won't bring it up in the morning. She won't have a reason to, if she believes me sneaking into our house at 3am, without telling her I left in the first place, is 'normal'.

I tuck myself away into my room, shutting the door before turning on the floor lamp. One glance in the mirror at my miss-match outfit makes me pull a wry face. I'm surprised Charles even let me into the car. I thoughtless strip off the outfit, tossing it across my bedroom floor before falling into bed. On my bedside table, my phone vibrates against the hard surface, emphasising the voice throughout the apartment. I scramble for it; my reaction time would horrify the F1 drivers.

Charles
*Address*
2 o'clock :)

Me
Cool
See you then :)

Charles picked a pretty late time to have lunch, but I won't complain. We're both getting a late night sleep, and there's no way I'd be able to get up and get ready for 12ish with barely any sleep.

I lock my phone, holding it to my chest as if it was Charles. I stare at the ceiling, that smile that unknowingly creeps onto your face when you least expect it settling on my lips. I don't force it away. I savour it. Allowing the lovesick feeling that disgusts me take over. My heart remains at a steady pace, but with much more force. It takes my breath away. This romantic feeling, it's rare I let it in. Then again, I only allow one person to make my feel this way. Can you guess who?

This feeling, I crash and burn with it every time. Like drinking poison from the same vine, as David Kushner quotes in one of my favourite songs. This poison is irresistible. It doesn't leave an acidic taste on your tongue, it lies dormant in your stomach, and kicks into action when you least expect it. It kills all the little nervous butterflies in my belly, detoxing me of all amorous feelings. But, we still do it. We've done it since we were 19 and 20, and now we're 23 and 24. They say you get older as you get wiser, but they don't tell you how many bad decisions you've got to make before you become wise.

You'd think in the last four years, we'd cause each other enough emotional and psychological stress to end things for good. Nope! It's what makes us come back to each other. We both know it'll never work, so what's our motivation? Maybe we can't let go of one another, or let go of the thought of each other. How would I cope with seeing him attached to another girl whilst travelling the world? Whilst I'm stuck here, alone, working in the same setting day in, day out?

I wish I could talk to someone about me and Charles, and they wouldn't scold me for it. Nor will they snitch on me to my best friend either. Just an average, day-to-day person who will sit there and listen to my venting. To give me advice, and keep all my secrets to themselves. None of the whole 'You didn't hear this from me, but-' bollocks. I'd love to tell Stella, but she knows him all too well now. If I had to choose between Stella and Charles, it's the one time I'd have to drop him. Those two but heads more than divorced parents that have no choice but to stay in contact because of their child!