Lockdown on London Lane [PUBLISHED w/ WATTPAD BOOKS]

Part 3: The Pineapple Problem - Chapter 2

6) He always says I iron his shirts wrong, when it's my turn to iron the laundry. (And yet, he still lets me do them, rather than just telling me, "Don't bother, I'll do them myself later," if it's such a problem. And I still don't understand what I'm doing that's so wrong, even after two years of living together.)

7) He organises his books alphabetically by title, instead of by genre or by author, and I cannot deal with it. It hurts something deep inside my soul.

8) He said he hasn't even thought about when he wants kids, or even if he wants them, which brings me back around to my first point of him being easy-going to a fault. I mean, was he seriously thinking that if we had kids, I wouldn't want to talk about that with him first? And was he really going to just not make a decision on that for himself, and go along with whatever I wanted? Did I even want kids with someone who doesn't care that much?

"What the hell is this?"

I look up to see Zach standing in the doorway of the bedroom, my iPad clutched in his hand and his knuckles white, his jaw clenched. His eyebrows are drawn tight and his eyes look dark, furious.

I've seen Zach annoyed plenty of times, but in the three years I've known him, I have never known him to be anything more than 'angry'. He's been angry when he argued with me this week, when everything blew up on Sunday; his cheeks got flushed, turning blotchy, his eyes watered because if there's one thing he really hates, it's a proper fight.

But this is different.

Now, his face is ashen, paler even than his knuckles. I can hear his breath rattling, which is when I realise I'm holding my own.

I've seen Zach annoyed plenty of times. I've seen him angry, on occasion. But I have never seen him this furious.

It's so disconcerting, I don't even have it in me to snap at him for barging in when I was getting dressed after a shower. I ignore him long enough to pull on some leggings and a clean t-shirt, and swallow the lump in my throat before I face him again.

I have the most horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, seeing him holding my iPad.

"What are you doing with that?" I ask him.

It's mine, I want to say, even though that never mattered before.

"Your dad FaceTimed."

"You didn't tell him, did you?" I demand, because I really can't face having to tell my parents about all of this when Zach can barely accept it himself. (And my dad was so slow to get on board with me dating Zach, because he thought we were so different and didn't get Zach's sense of humour at all, so I get the feeling I'll have to deal with an 'I told you so' once he does find out...)

"Course I didn't," Zach bites back, visibly offended. "But you were in the shower, so I answered to chat to him and say we're doing fine and we didn't need him to bring us more shopping because Laura sorted us out with that already."

I breathe a small sigh of relief, but then Zach says –

"And then – then I saw this... You made a fucking list? Are you serious? Who do you think you are, Ross in that one episode of Friends? If you're going to make a list, maybe you shouldn't leave it open on your iPad."

"Maybe you shouldn't be snooping, Rachel," I retort, but it's weak, and my heart isn't in it. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest I think it might make me physically sick, and all I can think is how right he is. It's not his fault I left the Notes app open, with that list, that stupid goddamn list, and that I left my iPad in the kitchen and it's not even got a passcode on it, and...

I would hate to read a list like that, too.

"If me making jokes about you being a vegetarian pisses you off so much, why didn't you just tell me, instead of going along with it? I thought it was like... our thing. Taking the mick out of each other's food."

"Why would that ever be a thing?"

"You don't remember our second date?" Zach says, the ire in his face dimming only slightly, giving way to nostalgia. "You ordered that vegan, gluten-free white truffle risotto and I had that massive double-stacked burger with bacon and onion rings and like, three types of cheese, and they put your risotto down and it just smelled so bad I swear you literally turned green. And you kept saying 'No, no, it's fine! It's really yummy!' and forced it down and I could see you trying not to puke it back up and you were eyeing my burger like you'd much preferred to have ordered that and –"

"Wait. That's why you always crack jokes about how jealous you bet I am of your food?"

"How can you not know this?"

"Because –!"

Because it's just our thing, and it's gone on for so long now it's just... what we do.

I don't think I ever even connected it to that date. I'd pretty much forgotten all about that, actually – and I'm surprised Zach remembers it so clearly.

He sighs, and then lifts the iPad again.

Alright, this is definitely worse. His sadness is palpable, and this time I know it really is all my fault. He's not even a little bit to blame for this one. He sinks onto the edge of the bed, setting my iPad down gently next to him, and his glasses too, and hunches forwards over his knees, covering his face with his hands for a long, long moment before sighing and dragging his face back up to peer at me.

"Where did we go so wrong, Serena?"