[18+] Mark just wants a quiet life. With plenty of action at work, he has no interest in bringing the drama home with him. But he does need a flatmate, and when blonde bombshell Zoe crashes onto the scene, she's more than he bargained for.
Zoe is a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
January 2010
MARK
I head out after a ninety-minute effort. It's a good job I don't have to go to work because I'm fucking knackered.
On the bus home I can barely keep my eyes open. I just about manage to brush my teeth and get undressed before falling into bed and dreaming of Zoe. Soft lips. Coconut. Happy laughter blending into desperate moans.
The door wakes me. Hushed voices bleed through the thin walls.
"...doesn't know when to quit."
"You should just tell her, Zoe. If it's annoying you this much, speak up."
"It's not annoying me. I just don't want to make things awkward in the group."
My bedside clock reads 2am. As consciousness prevails, my blood goes cold. He's here. In our flat.
"It won't be awkward. Just nip it in the bud."
"God knows what Mark thought..."
Hairs on my arms prickle. As if it's not bad enough that she's brought Richard back here, now she's talking about me to him. I can't even go out there, because then she'll know I lied about work.
"He didn't seem bothered," Richard replies. "Do you want a drink? Tea or hot chocolate?"
Tea or hot chocolate? We don't even have hot chocolate.
"Hot chocolate. I'll try the white one this time, though."
So clearly we do have hot chocolate. And clearly Richard is familiar with the drinks menu here. How often has he visited? Every time I'm at work? I should be thankful she's not parading him around in front of me, but it still bothers me.
Their conversation dies out to mundane chat. There's an undeniable familiarity with them. The way they talk with little effort. No falsities or jokes. Just two people who can be real with each other.
We used to have that.
I try to ignore it. Finally, twenty minutes later, they go into her room. I breathe a sigh of relief and roll over to search for sleep again.
And then I get my punishment for lying to her. The gentle creak of bed springs. Then another. A slow rhythm builds up, getting faster. A soft moan. A muffled murmur.
Friends.
My heart tightens, a film of sweat forming on my forehead. Uncomfortable heat envelopes my body and has me kicking off the duvet. Still, the temperature is suffocating.
Imagining her with someone else is difficult. Listening to it... That's torture.
I bury my head under the pillow. My own feelings aside, she wouldn't want me to hear. She thinks they're alone. It's a violation. I could get dressed and leave, go for a walk, then pretend I'm getting home from work early. That somehow seems even worse, like I'm spinning the lie tighter.
