Better Than Burroughs

Callum

We’re both bleeding now and I laugh, “We’re a sorry lot.”

“Yeah,” Felix mutters, his finger prodding at his bleeding bottom lip. I hurt myself more than I did him with that swing. His fucking tooth caught my knuckle. I suspect he’s got the same problem, not having aimed for a better place himself. I tongue my lip and taste blood.

We’re both sitting on the couch and I’m exhausted. Trading fists with your mate can tire a man out. All I wanted to do was hit the bastard. Now I’m just fucking tired. I’m very aware of the fact that Marina is in my flat right this minute, probably still in my shower. I have to start talking so I won’t imagine her naked. I’m not even going to think about the fact that I left her my fucking clothes to wear. I’m an idiot.

I stare down at my hands. Bullocks. I forgot. My fingers are blackened from charcoal. When I got home all I wanted to do was draw. Being around that worthless lot of shite at the gallery made me want to do something. Usually I do that on the roof, loving the open space, but the rain prohibited me so I just set up on the floor in my bedroom. She’s not leaving. I won’t let her. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t catch pneumonia walking around in the bloody rain like that. What the fuck was she thinking?

When I opened the door I knew something happened, but I didn’t think it was that. I didn’t think anything. I just needed to get her inside. She looked so fucking lost. Tiny. I’m a fucking sick bastard for thinking so, but fuck she looked sexy. What is it about a vulnerable woman? I don’t know if I left her in the bathroom for her health or because I couldn’t stand seeing her in that wet dress any longer. It definitely wasn’t innocent looking any more.

Felix opened the door and I hit him. Poor sod bit his tongue. I hadn’t expected him to hit back and I’m proud of him for doing so. He’s definitely got some, especially considering that Marina just took off and the other tart is already moving in. Trish. All tucked in nicely waiting for Felix to go back to bed. I admit, I was rude. But for the love of fuck. He’s cheating on Marina with a fucking Trish? It just seems wrong. The girl is attractive though. Tall, thin, gorgeous legs. Her eyes are striking, all corners and sharp edges. Just born with a horrible name the girl was. Glancing at Felix. He looks guilty. Bloody right he should be.

“Are you fucking daft man? What the hell are you thinking?”

Felix sighs, his head falls back on the couch.

“I didn’t want it to happen that way,” he mutters.

“How else was it going to happen? Now I’ve got your bloody girlfriend, who’s a bleedin’ mess, in my fucking flat.”

“I think I love her.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you end it with Marina if you loved the slag?”

Felix lifts his head, fixing me with as much resentment as he can muster, “Don’t fucking call her shit like that Cal.”

He looks ready to slug me again. I’m impressed. Nodding my head, I apologize. At least he cares for the girl. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “How long?”

“Six months maybe. I know, I’m a piece of shit. I didn’t want to hurt her, you know?”

Six fucking months? He’s got talent. Although not too much considering I was just told about his alleged affairs a few hours ago by Jared.

“Trish didn’t know. She’s not a whore,” Felix says quietly.

“You’re a bit of a bastard aren’t you?” I laugh.

“I guess I’ve known you for too long.”

“Maybe. But then…I wouldn’t have gotten caught with my hand down my pants. Or hers rather.”

Things haven’t been this comfortable with Felix in months. As much as I feel for Marina, I’m glad this is finally out. Felix seems better off. And knowing that he’s fucked up, oh I feel relieved.

“I was a real asshole. I told her she should move out. I mean, I think it’s best. But did I have to say that? You shoulda fucking seen her face Cal. I wanted to kill myself,” Felix says. I nod, not having anything else to say. I wonder what else he said to her but I won’t ask. I probably don’t want to know. I may just get angry.

“Would you do me a favor?”

Immediately I’m on edge. Fucking favors are always a shitey way to spend your time.

“Look after her for a little while. I know she seems well-off all the time, but I don’t know. I just don’t know if she’s going to be okay. I still love her.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Look after her? There’s a reason why I don’t have a pet.” The sorry fuck doesn’t even know what he’s asking me.

“Wait a minute. She went to you?” Felix asks suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t she go to Emma? Or anyone else? Why’d she go to you?”

“Does it get to you?” I ask with complete arrogance. He seems to think about it for a moment and begins looking at me with complete suspicion. Maybe I should make him believe I’ve been messing about with her. That would be efffing brilliant. Although I’d just get on my own back over my not having messed about with her.

I spent maybe five more minutes on that couch before Trish reappeared and Felix retired to the bedroom for the night. I must admit, while being completely disgusted with the git for doing what he did, I’m glad. It all bodes very well for me. It’s gonna be the hardest fucking thing I have ever done to not woo her through her sorrows. Why the fuck shouldn’t I?

Now opening the door to my flat, I dread what’s on the other side. This girl is splitting me in two. The second I walk in, she jumps up from the couch like a skittish cat. I smile, meaning to put her at ease, but I think it only results in her looking embarrassed. I sigh, taking in the sight of her wearing my clothes, and I am a silly…self-destructive…twit. In my clothes. Wet hair. In my clothes. The wet dress was better. I’m a fucking moron. The shirt I gave her is one of my old ones, black with a white print of Nick Cave smoking a cigarette. I love that damned shirt. The pants I found were drawstring so she was able to pull them tight enough so they wouldn’t fall off. She looks so small. Even with those curves of hers, she looks tiny.

“I left my clothes in the bathtub,” she says simply.

I study her face but it doesn’t look like she’s been crying. Good. I’m not good with crying birds. I can never do enough. I hate that fucking feeling. She’s looking at me expectantly and at a loss for something else to do, I ask, “Care to join me in my pursuit of alcoholic bliss?”

Her smile is brilliant and she nods like a bobble-head doll.

Two hours later and I’m wondering if getting her absobloodylutely knackered was such a great idea. She doesn’t seem to have the highest alcohol tolerance and watching her, I doubt she drinks much. But she’s in good spirits, there’s been no sobbing, so it could be worse. She leans forward to set her glass down and grabs my thigh to support herself. Everything always gets worse. She’s a pretty friendly drunk. She’s bloody lucky I can handle alcohol cause otherwise we would be having some very unorganized fucking right about now.

She sits up suddenly and fixes me with an open eyed stare, “You have no windows.”

I cough, clearing my throat, and ask, “Pardon?”

“Windows. There are none. You have no windows.” Her sentences are short and she speaks quickly, her hands rising to prove her point, “Look.”

I mention that there’s one in the bathroom, as well as one in my bedroom but she blows over me with her speed talking, “Felix has lots of windows, tons. You should have windows. You should take his windows! He doesn’t need them. Doesn’t deserve them! I want music.”

I laugh as she jumps up from the couch and heads straight for my record player. I fear for the safety of my music but I let her have at it. In seconds she’s pulled almost every record I own out of the crates and she starts spreading them out across the floor. She picks up Boatman’s Call and looks down at her shirt and I know she’ll want to listen to it just because she’s wearing the right shirt. She holds it up, “This is pretty.”

I feel strange suddenly over the idea of listening to Nick Cave with her. I can’t bring myself to stop her though. Once she sets it all up, Into My Arms starts up immediately. Her face takes on this contemplative look and I find it too fucking adorable.

She finds the volume and turns it up, Cave’s voice, steady and strong, fills my flat. I wish she had chosen a different record. One that isn’t filled with such raw emotion and one that wouldn’t put that look on her face. One that I don’t love. She stares at the record sleeve and once the second wave of into my arms, O Lord starts up, her lips begin mouthing along.

“I like this,” she says, looking up at me from the floor and I can’t breathe from the way she said it. Her words were so simple and genuine, like a child.

“I wonder who it’s about,” she mutters. “I want someone to write something like this about me.”

If I had anywhere near the abilities of Cave when it came to writing, I sure as fuck would. We listen to the rest of the song in silence and when it ends, Lime Tree Arbour begins. Jumping up, she steps over the records on the floor and ends up in front of me. Looking up at her, I don’t know what the fuck she’s expecting. She stretches her arms out, her fingers making ‘come here’ motions and I just stare.

“Come on, I wanna dance.”

I shake my head, knowing that if I just resist long enough she’ll probably get distracted in her drunken state.

“Please dance with me Callum.”

I sigh heavily, knowing that I have no fucking spine. How could I say no to that though? My name coming from her lips is just too much. I drag myself up from the couch and she grabs my hands in hers, tugging me out into the middle of the room. Since when was she so damned friendly? She buries her face in my chest almost immediately and I have to grab her hips just to steady myself. Her breath is hot and I wish I had told her to put on the other record. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let her put the guy on at all. Her hands are flat against my chest and I think about mentioning that we aren’t dancing. More or less, I’m simply holding her. I keep my mouth shut. I realize that this is as intimate as I’ve been with another person in years. Her hair smells like almonds. What do almonds smell like anyway? Her hair obviously. She starts humming with the music and it vibrates through my chest.

She makes no move to step back when the song ends and I don’t do anything to break from her. I’m content to just stand like this for the rest of the record. For the rest of my life. I don’t know what it is, whether I can blame Nick Cave or not, but I know that none of this is going to end nicely. Feeling her body against mine, I know that this will end just the way it began, with her crying. I know this and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. Maybe I’m just a selfish bastard.

She mumbles something, but I can’t understand her. She lifts her head and repeats herself when I ask her to, “He’s trying to make love to me through his voice.”

I laugh. Not because she’s foolish, but because I completely understand. I don’t blame him. She slides a hand up my chest and smoothes a finger over my jaw. I keep still.

“I miss it,” she says and I smile. Glad to know she enjoys it when I’m a lazy sod and don’t shave. Maybe I’ll taunt her with that when she sobers up. Her eyes are wide and I look for any color in them besides dark brown. I see none and it comforts me.

She doesn’t just stop at my jaw, her hand goes from place to place and she comments on them all. My shirt is soft, my hair’s getting longer, my mouth naturally tilts down, I’m tall…she asks me to teach her Gaelic. I tell her that I won’t. She seems content to try me later. She asks me about my tattoo, which I hadn’t even known she’d seen. I say nothing when she asks what it says. She asks where I went when I left her in the shower. She even tells me that I’m nice. I’m nice to be so nice to her. Soon she stops making sense. What makes sense to her? I want to know her. I want to know everything. How she thinks and why. I want to know how to make her smile. What would hurt her most? I’m not angry with Felix for fucking about on her, I’m pissed that he had the opportunity.

She steps back, breaking contact and I want to grab her to me and force her to stay. I almost do but manage to stop my hand from completely grabbing her arm.

“I’m tired,” she says simply.

Marina

My head hurts. Oh God. What did I do last night? I remember drinking. I remember…not much else. This is why I don’t drink that often. I slowly sit up, not recognizing the room I’m in at all. My head is splitting in two and for once I actually wish I had pills for it. Pushing the blankets off me, I swing my legs off the bed and sit for a minute, unsure if I want to stand up quite yet. The wall to my left catches my attention. There’s a huge unfinished mural painted across it. It looks like someone just decided to paint on the wall and it grew into something bigger. It starts at the right corner and bleeds out into the rest of the wall, just barely reaching the bed. Not a lot of color was used, the main color being shades of black with some reds thrown in.

Callum’s leather jacket is hanging on a small blue chair in the corner and I realize that I’m in his bedroom. A quick look to the right confirms it, being that there is no wall and it just opens up to look over the rest of the flat.

The room is nice. Personal. There’s a long cream colored dresser sitting along the wall beside the chair. It’s not very cluttered, having a few things sitting on it but not much. One thing I’ve noticed about Callum is that he doesn’t have any pictures of family and friends anywhere. Not even in his bedroom. Having clothes randomly placed about downstairs, I would have assumed that he would have clothes all over his bedroom, but besides his jacket, there isn’t anything laying around. Looking at the wall again, it’s emotionally based, with thick brushstrokes and quick work. I wonder what Callum was thinking when he painted it, assuming that it was Callum who painted it.

My neck hurts and I roll my head back and forth but it does nothing. I think about getting up and finding Callum but my head spins even at the thought. I haven’t had a migraine this fierce for a while and I wish I had never drank. At the time it sounded like the perfect distraction. It did a good job and now I want to die. I can’t hear any movement downstairs and lay back down with a sigh. I’m not moving until he drags me out of here. I close my eyes and wish he had curtains over that big window to the right. Throwing my arm over my eyes in an attempt to block out the sun, I try to fall back asleep.

A shuffling noise at the window catches me by surprise and I open my eyes with a frown, expecting to see Callum. I see nothing but the window and I struggle to remember something about last night that involved windows. I can’t quite grasp it, but I know it’s there. It’s open, allowing a slight breeze in and I hear the sound again. I scream when a body drops down onto the fire escape. I sigh a second later when that body ducks down and Callum slides inside through the window, a pad of paper in hand. The scream was a bad idea and I feel like throwing something very heavy at Callum’s face.

“I hate you,” I mutter. He looks sheepish for a moment and even with the migraine, I notice how cute the look is. My head begins to throb with a fresh fervor and I really wish I knew what happened last night. I do not like being in the dark. Oh god I didn’t sleep with him did I? I woke up in his bed. Did we have sex? No, it couldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have taken advantage. Would he? I want to ask.

He leans the pad against the wall before he brushes his hands against his deep maroon colored pants. Black is getting everywhere. How often does this guy draw? He’s got charcoal smeared across his left temple, his nose and under his eye. I notice some on his neck too. His button-down bright red shirt looks surprisingly clean compared to his pants.

He coughs into his hand and asks, “How are you?”

I’m about to answer when I remember Felix. I remember why I got drunk in the first place. Felix really was cheating on me and he really did tell me I should move out. One would think he’d pace himself with the bad news, but no. He opted for the band-aid idea. I don’t know if Callum is asking about the hangover or about the reasons. I choose the easier answer, “My head hates me.”

He must have slept on the couch. We couldn’t have slept together. I’m still dressed. But that doesn’t always mean anything, maybe we went to buy ice cream afterwards and I got redressed for it. I don’t want to ask. He walks over to his dresser and empties his pockets, bits of charcoal and erasers scattering across the surface. How can he not be hung-over? Did he not drink as much as I did?

He doesn’t say anything more, just nods once and leans back against the dresser, watching me. His eyes slide down my body and I can almost feel him touch me. Swallowing, I slowly sit up and wait for the tunnel vision to recede. When it does, I notice his look of concern and shake it off.

“I should go,” I say finally, completely uncomfortable, a feeling that seems to occur often around Callum. Where do I go though? I can’t deal with Emma right now, she’ll have a fit when she finds out what happened and my head is far too sensitive to endure that. Her voice can get quite high at times. I’ll probably end up moving back home so I want to prolong that as long as possible. My stomach rolls and I feel sick.

“You’re staying here. Get some more sleep,” he says. Kneeling down, he pulls a container out from under his bed and retrieves a huge checkered blanket from it. I watch him take it to the window and quickly hang it up using the bare curtain rod. The room is immediately darkened and I smile. There is nothing he could have done that would have been better than this. He turns around and stares at me for a moment. If it weren’t for the pain, god knows what would be going through my head right now. Without saying anything more, he turns and takes off down the stairs.

I’m content to listen to his order and I lay back down, closing my eyes. I doubt sleep will come, but hopefully I can wait this out. Sometimes it works, it just takes a while. What did he mean by saying I’m staying here? Just until my head clears or for longer? Of course he didn’t mean for longer. God I don’t know.

Maybe an hour has passed when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I haven’t gotten any sleep and I’m glad for the company. I open my eyes and see Callum walk up with a glass of water in hand. He’s washed up, his face is clear of all charcoal traces. His shirt looks crisp and seems to have been tailored to his torso. The collar is unbuttoned and the cuffs are hanging open. He sits down beside me and hands me the glass of water. I take it, sitting up slightly. His other hand hands over a few pills and I don’t even think to ask what they are. I trust that he isn’t feeding me date rape drugs. He’s being so paternal and I have to admit to enjoying it immensely. I haven’t been taken care of in a long time. I take the pills and begin to hand him the water when he stops me. I sigh and finish the rest of the water. He takes the glass and sets it on the floor.

“How’s the head?”

“A little better.” I’m suddenly shy, realizing that he somehow brings it out of me more than anyone else. I don’t know how that happens.

“This a recurrent thing with you?” he asks, his finger coming up to brush across my temple. He barely touches me and I feel like his hand was massaging my head for an hour. I nod before I know what I’m doing but thankfully he doesn’t ask for an explanation. I imagine he just files it away with god knows what else he knows about me.

“Shouldn’t you be in the store?” I ask.

“It’s Sunday. I just can’t compete with God. Jesus maybe,” he says with a small smile.

“It hasn’t stopped you before,” I say, knowing for a fact that he’s been open on Sunday’s. He could never post a Store Hours sign. He has no sense of schedule. He shrugs and I get the feeling that I’m the reason why he’s not working. I just can’t bring myself to feel guilty about that. My head hurts too much.

It’s Sunday? Oh god. It’s Sunday. Interview Sunday. What time is it? What time was the interview for? Oh forget it. I can be irresponsible. I owe it to myself.

“Are you hungry?” Callum asks. I shake my head. The idea of food right now just doesn’t appeal. He sighs and for the first time he seems unsure of himself. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. It’s quite endearing. He’s human after all.

“Would you mind keeping me company? I can’t sleep and…,” I stop talking because I’m not quite sure what else I wanted to say. I want to talk to him. Really talk. I just don’t want to tell him that. I want it to happen normally.

He smiles and nods, his confidant appearance firmly back in place. He kicks his shoes off and brings his legs up onto the bed. His socks are bright red and I wonder if this color scheme was planned, the red socks with the maroon pants and bright red shirt.

“Did we have sex?” I blurt out. His face is unreadable and he seems to think about his answer for a moment. Please say no.

“I slept on the couch,” he finally says. I sigh, thankful beyond belief that nothing happened.

“Not for the lack of trying though,” he adds with a smirk.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh you were all over me. You turn into quite the hot little thing when knackered.”

“Are you serious?” The idea of my unsuccessfully hitting on him is making me nauseous. Why did he have to say that? Couldn’t he have kept that to himself?

“Only kidding dear.”

Oh I feel like hitting him. I just can never believe him ever. I’ll have to remember that. Never believe Callum. Never believe any man. I’m insulted and angry over what Felix did, but am I really all that sad? I don’t miss him. I’m not longing to call him or even see him. Shouldn’t I be a tearful mess? What’s wrong with me?

“You alright?”

I look up at Callum and smile, “Sure.”

“You will be,” he says confidently.

Callum

She left two hours ago and I miss her. What the bloody hell is this? I don’t miss people. Not these people. I’ve been staring at the fucking book shelf for ten minutes now and I still don’t know what I want to read. I need to read something. Get my mind off this shite. I pull On The Road off the shelf in hopes that an old friend will come through for me. Jack’s gotta come through. I’ve already tried his buddies and they failed fucking miserably.

She had a talk with Emma, who I assume told her to stay at her place, and Marina almost ran outta here. I thought I was pretty damn good company. I fucking talked to the bird. Seeing her in my bed like that, in my clothes, her hair hanging down in sections, puffy eyes, hoarse voice…sexy. I almost told her she should stay. Permanently. Thank Christ she didn’t catch on. What the fuck would I do with her living here? Obsess over her every second. I’m trying to fucking bury myself.

She seemed okay with what happened. No crying after she woke up. She must be tamping it all down. She has to be upset. Why else would she have stayed with the guy? Girls stick around with guys who they would cry over. Sure she was upset last night, it had just bloody happened. I don’t want her with Emma. That’s not the right environment for her. That broad’s got guy’s over all the time. That’s just going to rub it in her face. I swear to fuck if any of them touch her with their stupid hands…great. This is just bleeding fantastic. And what the hell is going on with her head? I’ve noticed the headaches before, but how often do they happen?

Fuck you Jack. I drop the open book on the couch and think about ripping it in two. Who am I kidding? I pick the book back up, feeling the need to apologize, and put it back on the shelf. My phone rings and I almost shout with pure glee as I grab it from the kitchen.

“Entertain me.”

“What happened to you last night hun? You didn’t say goodbye,” Holly’s sweet voice comes through the line and I smile. Finally, I distraction.

“Sorry about that love, I had a rough night.”

“Rough? Exactly how rough?”

I almost laugh at how quickly she’s going that direction, “You busy?”

“I am now,” she giggles and I’m reminded of how much I hate that sound. It’s closer to a cackle. “Leave the door open for me.”

“You know better than that Holly. I’ll be over later,” without saying goodbye, I hang up and contemplate taking a shower. I usually do that at night, but I was a little preoccupied. She won’t care. She expects it from me. I bring my shirt to my nose and inhale. I fucking smell like her. How the fuck did that happen? I take the steps two at a time and run over to my bed, falling face first down into it. The whole fucking bed smells an odd mixture of my soap and something distinctly Marina. Almonds.

I close my eyes and content myself with just laying here. It actually is a rather pleasant scent. I should get up and get over to Holly’s. Just a little while longer, I’ve never found my bed this damn comfortable. Why the hell is it that bed’s are always best when you aren’t planning on falling asleep? When you’ve got somewhere to be?

Marina

“Thanks for doing this with me,” I say, taking Emma’s hand in my own as we arrive at Felix’s door.

“It’s nothing,” Emma says, giving my hand a squeeze. I’m a little unsure about living with her. There was a reason why I never moved in with her in the first place. I’m worried that we’ll get on each other’s nerves and I’m not looking forward to the couch. I knock on the door and we wait for him to answer. It’s only six, he should be home. But after a few minutes and a few more knocks, I’m starting to think that he’s not.

“He’s not home,” a voice says from behind us. Turning around, I see the manager. “Come for your stuff?”

How does he know that? I nod and he says, “Remember to be all out by the end of the week. That’s the deadline.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma asks, stepping forward in a shielding manner and I want to hug her. If I ever need anyone’s ass kicked, Emma’s the one to do it.

“The lady who’s moving in is pretty anxious, don’t act like I didn’t work this out already. Felix knows.”

The manager wanders off and I’m overwhelmed. One night and he’s already moving out. How does someone do that? How is that even possible? Emma kneels down at the door and begins sticking bobby pins inside the lock.

“That only works in films,” I mutter. I watch her try her best to pick the lock and really hope that Felix doesn’t show up while she’s doing it.

When she finally gives up, she stands up and kicks at the door, “Stupid lock.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just go.”

The car ride back to her apartment seems endless and it’s filled with Emma babbling on and on about what a bastard Felix is. I can’t say that I don’t agree with her, but I just can’t summon up as much passion on the subject as she can. All I can do is nod my head. Where is he going and how long has he been planning this? The manager said that they already worked it out. Something like that doesn’t just happen over night. They even have someone moving in already. Felix was just waiting for the right moment to get rid of me. Here comes the anger.

“Can you swing by Callum’s?”

Emma grins and makes a quick left at a light, “So, what happened with you two last night?”

“I made a fool of myself with the help of alcohol. But nothing happened. I don’t think. He said nothing happened…but he is British.”

“Can’t trust those Brits,” Emma agrees with a definite nod and a laughing grin.

In a few minutes, Emma is slamming her car in park. I tell her that I’ll just be a few minutes and almost sigh in relief when she doesn’t unbuckle her seat belt to join me. Sometimes I forget how knowing she can be.

The store’s lit up but upon entering and calling his name a few times, I come to the conclusion that he’s not in the store. Walking to the stairs, I quickly make my way up to his apartment door and knock loudly. I wait a few seconds and knock again. I think about trying to see if it’s locked, but I don’t want to look like a moron if he’s home. His being home is confirmed when I hear curse words coming from inside.

The door swings open to reveal Callum, jacket in hand. He reels back, surprised to see me and I wonder who he was expecting.

“Marina, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Um, yeah, of course,” he steps aside and I walk past him. I want to grill him for information. He must know something about something.

Turning around, I look at him and he looks like he just woke up. His hair is shaggy and he has pillow creases on his cheek. I woke him up. What is he doing sleeping this early anyway? And while his store is open for the world to come in and steal books? Very irresponsible.

“How…what do you want?”

“How long has Felix been planning on moving out?”

Shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck, he asks, “What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Marina, tell me what? What in the bloody fuck are you talking about?”

I’ve annoyed him, his eyebrows are furrowed and he seems completely thrown off kilter. He’s not very approachable upon awakening. He turns around and starts walking around his flat. “I went to go get my things and the manager told me that he’s moving out. They already have a woman who’s moving in. Which means that this isn’t a new development. So how convenient for Felix that I happened to come home early last night. You’re his best friend. You don’t know any of this? Did you know that he was cheating on me?” Not something I should have asked. I know that the second he turns around to face me with a pair of shoes in his hand.

“Why the fuck are you here? I have nothing to fucking do with your and Felix’s bloody shambles of a relationship! I never asked if he was fucking someone on the side. It was none of my god damn business.”

I have no idea why he’s so angry. His body is held rigid and the poor shoes in his hand look like they’re being squeezed to death in his grip. If anyone should be angry, it’s me. I was the one cheated on for Christ’s sake. Not Callum. I want to scream back, but it won’t help anything. I don’t want to fight with Callum.

So I say the only thing I can think of, “I’m sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake Marin, don’t apologize to me,” he sighs, looking like that was the last thing he had wanted me to say. Maybe I should have yelled. He sits down on the couch, his shoulders hunched forward and I get the urge to console him and I don’t even know what for.

“I never asked if he was cheating on you. I had my suspicions. After you left the gallery last night, which you never informed me of, a friend said something and I knew he had been. But Felix obviously didn’t talk to me about his affairs, I don’t know anything about a location change.”

I walk around to sit next to him and lean back with a sigh, “I had my suspicions too.”

“You did?” he asks, facing me.

I nod and he asks, “Since when?”

“Since our phones got switched around. He got a call from a very angry woman not very happy with another woman answering his phone.”

“What did he say when you asked him about it?”

“I didn’t,” I mutter, feeling embarrassed.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I didn’t really want to know.”

“So, what? You just waited until it was confirmed?” he asks. I don’t like the tone of his voice, he’s putting me on the defensive.

“So maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t, I don’t need to feel like shit about it.” Especially not from Callum.

He smiles and his reaction is confusing, “If you need anything, let me know.”

“Really?” I ask, completely thrown off by his kind offering of assistance.

“I’ll probably hate myself later, but yeah,” he says with a nod. His smile is warm and I can’t help but smile back. There’s no pressure to be upset about anything with him. It’s nice.

“Want a roommate?” I ask with a laugh. “Not really looking forward to a couch.”

“Pardon?”

He’s not laughing and I realize that he took me seriously. I didn’t mean it that way. But now that I think about it, I know that I did. The idea of staying with Callum seems safe, like a nice warm little bubble. I really have to be more careful with what truths I say out of humor.

“Well, I…” he begins but I quickly cut him off.

“I was just kidding.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” he says with a shake of his head. “And you weren’t kidding, so let’s try being a tad bit more honest here.”

Oh what a hypocrite, cause he’s just spilling over with blatant honesty. But I nod anyway because I don’t know what else to say and I’m pretty interested in what he’ll say.

“You’re unemployed. Your options are parents or a couch. Stay with Emma for a little bit and I’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I am actually supposed to be somewhere else,” he says, standing up and helping me to my feet in the process. He ushers me to the door and I can’t even get a word out before he’s pushed me out of his flat and shut the door. What the hell just happened?

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AN: AFF is being pretty damn troublesome but hopefully I’ll be able to keep with the updates. The story is also on fictionpress.com so you guys can check it out there just in case I don’t get another chapter up soon. I’m up to…Chapter 10 or so over on the other site. Thank you to everyone reading and sticking with me. I appreciate it, I really do.

Lots of Nick Cave in this. I'm a pusher basically. So go check the guy out, he's amazing.

I am also looking for a Beta for this story, if anyone is interested, just send me an email or say so in a review. Thank you.