Turn Around

 

Chapter Two

Day one, Thursday - evening

When I came to I was slumped on a long, cream sofa. I struggled to sit up, groaning as I did, finding an ache in my thigh. I spotted the same male from before in a kitchen area, everything stainless steel and white, edges gleaming with the almost set sun. Noticing he was still in work attire – crisp white long sleeved shirt now pulled out of his smart black pants – I felt rather underdressed, but at least the damp patch was drying. Glancing down to the sofa arm, I accidentally knocked a small stack of envelopes off, watching them skitter a bit over the wooden flooring, flopping on the nearest rug. “Mister Furler?”



“Yes?”



“Ugh..” I hadn't meant to look like I was reading his mail. The name didn't ring any bells. I hadn't seen the name on any letterheads, in any emails, or on any seating plan for formal occasions. So how did he have such a fancy car and apartment? “I just... Well, your car goes with your job and I wasn't even offered a moped, so you have got to be highly ranked and yet I don't recognise your name.” I bent down, hastily slotting the envelopes into a stack, the mess having been glaringly obvious.



“You used to work at the opposite end of the country.” There was a little clinking sound and then he was moving over to where I was sat with a glass in one hand and a mug in the other. I watched the fizzing tablet in my glass as it was handed to me, frowning. “It's a pain killer in juice, that's all. You hit your head on the door when you freaked out and fell down.” What a fool I was making of myself!



“Yeah... About that...”



“You have problems, I get it. But since you were curious, just the car comes with my job. This place is thanks to my scrimping and saving ever since I legged it out of college. Worked for the same company my entire career. Like you, I think?”



Yes, like me, but I wasn't sat in my own amazing apartment and driving around in a super expensive car. I didn't even own a car. I didn't even have a licence. This guy seemed to have it all and I had nothing when we'd been working at it for the same length of time... Or maybe not? “How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?” I was breaking my own rule of never asking awkward questions.



“I'm thirty two. And you? I don't think you should compare us... You work in a different department, anyway, I'm sure. Which do you work in?”



At least he was older than me. I could cling onto that. “I...” And now breaking the rule of answering awkward questions. “I'm twenty eight. And I work in accounts. What section do you work in?”



There was a long pause that grew uncomfortable even for my host as he set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, looking at me with almost sympathetic, hazel eyes. “I'm head of accounts in my building.” He sounded like he regretted his title because he knew it would hurt my feelings or, more so, my pride. I simply grunted and lounged back, sipping at the bitter, chalky tasting medicated drink. We both sat there in silence, me trying to keep down my drink and not hyperventilate while feeling his gaze never falter from my side.



“So you're going to be my boss here...” I earned myself a nod. I was going to have to be nice to the guy unless I wanted to be jobless and homeless. But I'd already acted like someone who should be sectioned. Was it too late for some hard damage control? “Well then in that case, would you prefer to keep things totally professional? I really could just go to a hotel somewhere around here. It wouldn't be a problem.” In fact it would be a damn relief.



“Of course not! And I doubt you would find any with rooms left available for tonight. We are not at work. I may be dressed in work clothes but ignore that if you can. Though I am your boss, I am, first and foremost, your host for this evening and for as long as you need me to be. When I left work our boss was screaming down the phone using less than eloquent language at the builders responsible for this mess up. I'm sure it won't be long.”



The evening proceeded achingly slowly with further painful silences. He first asked if I was hungry, which I was, and it all seemed so simple, but then came the choice of take-out menus and what we would order and if we would share anything. I wasn't the one to bring up sharing. I didn't want to share food with a stranger. Sharing food was a weird habit some people had and I was not going to be a part of it. After a little waiting we had our food. We sat on the sofa rather than at the small round dining table he had set up close to all the windows which I was pretty impressed with and thankful for. He seemed like such a clean, tidy guy that I assumed he wouldn't want the oily crumbs from my spring rolls embedding into his sofa. Maybe he had a cleaner or maid.



The beer he had offered, claiming it would perhaps calm my nerves, was disgusting but had a fancy black and gold label on the bottle so I chugged it down in-between bites. I never drank. I'd had alcohol twice before and I have never been drunk. To me it was an expensive and boring hobby; I don't even enjoy social drinking with my friends back home. Everything was always inconvenient, my head full of questions: how fast do I drink? Do I offer to buy for others? Do we all get our own? What are people talking about? By the time I managed to get out of my head I was being stared at by friends or co-workers and had missed an entire conversation. What was the point? I always wanted to be somewhere else and now I was I couldn't handle it and was making a fool of myself. Booze was a last ditch attempt at looking somewhat normal.



“It alright?” I glanced up from my plate nestled in my lap to my host, whoever mister Furler really was. “Or should that be 'are you alright'?” He spoke with a smile.



“Eh, yeah, it's good thanks. But I really can pay for my own food and things. My old boss gave me a sort of early pay day before I left last week so it's not like I'm down to pennies just yet.” I finished my last spring roll and the plate was slipped from my thighs and he was off to the kitchen again, dumping everything in the sink.



“You spaced out for a good few minutes with half a spring roll in your hand...” Oh. That.



“I think I'm just tired.” It wasn't a lie. I was tired. “Long flights and everything being new is sort of overwhelming. I'm not great company at the best of times but I fear tonight I'm pretty damn shitty.”



“Ha, you're fine, don't worry about it.” I was fine? “If you're tired then you can use my room for the night. I need to do some paperwork before going in tomorrow but I can keep quiet and I'll take the sofa. Go ahead. Shout if you need anything.”



“I can't.. I can't take your room.” The reason was in the sentence. It was not my room. It was his room. But even as I was speaking, he was shaking his head at me.



“Of course you can. You want to sleep and I need to work so it's the obvious solution.” As I got up from the sofa he showed me to his bedroom, pointing out bits and pieces and where the bathroom was. As he dragged my suitcases in, he noticed me frowning and pulled a face. “Sleep here. I really, honestly, do not mind one bit.”



The bed looked good, I had to admit. “I can't sleep in a man’s bed when I do not know his name.”



“We aren't going to be sleeping together, so I don't understand what the problem is. I am, however, getting the impression you're a little weirdo. You know my name. Furler. You want my first name? Sem. Now get ready for bed and go to sleep so that maybe when you wake up you won't freak out and fall down again.” There was amusement in his tone and I just stood there, scowling at him before snorting, admitting defeat and setting about finding a change of clothes. A quick bathroom run and change into some pajama pants later, I was trying to silently move along the floor to the bedroom. I could see Mister Furler – Sem – sat at the dining table with papers all over, his back to me. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow and had exchanged beer for water. Fingers touched down on the door handle and my stomach sank.



“Goodnight, Joonas.” He didn't even turn around.



How did he know my name? It wasn't worth fretting over. All I knew was that I needed to sleep and sleep good. Tucking myself into the sheets that smelt of a different body than my own, I managed to get comfortable.



Sleep, oh heavenly sleep, slipped over me and eased all my ill feelings away. For now.

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Author note: Turn Around shall now be updated every Saturday. Many thanks, again, to MissusAnn (fictionpress), my beta. Hugs, snuggles and all things fluffy oo-la-la.

Lisa: Thank you so much for giving me my first ever review. You have no idea how happy it made me. You’ll have to wait a bit longer to find out exactly what’s going on though :)