Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Helen?”
It felt like I couldn’t breathe but I knew I was because I could hear it. Loud and fast. My mouth had dried. Jaw wouldn’t close.
“It’s, uh, pretty wet out here.”
Right. Rain. He was outside. I was inside, which is where he wanted to be. Door. Open the door. Fuck. With a deep breath, I slid the safety chain across and prepared to stare the cause of my eight years of grief and disappointment in the eye. The scene seemed to play out in slow motion, like I was watching it happen to someone else in a movie. As the door opened, Hugo lifted his chin from his chest, moulded his lips into a small smile. My smile.
“You got old,” I said, hating that the last word cracked as it left my mouth.
His head cocked with a silent chuckle. Truthfully, of course he looked older, but he was still undoubtedly Hugo. He’d filled out a little in the chest and upper arms, though still a slight man. Slender. I didn’t need him to strip out of the floral suit he was wearing now to know how toned his tattooed body was underneath. I’d seen it enough times on social media.
I only realised I still hadn’t invited him in when he started rubbing his hands together. “Sorry, um…” I stepped to one side, extended my arm.
“Thanks.” The atmosphere felt so formal. Awkward. He looked like my Hugo, yet it felt like a total stranger had just walked straight into my living room, Chelsea boots slapping against my scratched laminate floor. Flustered, I rubbed my hand over my flushed face, regretting it instantly. “Ah, shit.”
“What’s wro-” Hugo cut himself off after spinning around, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face. “What is that?”
I tried to hide it with my other hand while I rushed to the kitchen, but there wasn’t much point. He followed me, watched me intently as I grabbed at the kitchen-roll and started scrubbing at my cheek. “Hours-old gravy,” I admitted. “There was a plate…I wasn’t expecting you… It’s…” I stopped talking when I caught him grinning. He seemed to be enjoying something about the sight in front of him.
He stepped closer, leaned in. His face inches from mine, my body froze. “Is that…broccoli?” He said the word with amazement, like he still knew me. How could he? We were strangers now. “You know, I’ve heard if you cook it with a little oil, it makes it easier to scrape in the bin.”
I couldn’t see my face, so I checked out my sticky hand instead. Sure enough, there were flecks of green poison dotted on a couple of fingers. “I’m on a diet,” I said, side-stepping away from him to get to the sink. I used the cold tap to wash my hands, relished the coolness on my overheated skin. I dampened some more kitchen-roll and patted my face. It didn’t offer as much relief as I’d hoped.
“You don’t need to be. You look beautiful.”
Dammit. In my head, I was angry with him. I wanted to yell and scream. Maybe even punch him. He’d left me. Hadn’t even called. He couldn’t just come back and say sweet things like we were eighteen again.
But…I’d left him, too. I’d stayed. I’d gone to university. I hadn’t stuck by his side, hadn’t kicked his foot when he needed it, like I promised.
I couldn’t look at him, eyes locked on the sink. “Don’t flatter me, Hugo.” It was all I could think of to say, and a pretty pointless thing at that. Hugo didn’t say things he didn’t mean. His brain didn’t work that way. Though I wondered if he still had rain in his eyes because I did not look beautiful at midnight in crumpled work clothes with smeared makeup, hair escaping from my bobble, and half a chicken dinner over my face.
I caught his reflection in the kitchen window, which acted like a mirror under the halogens. Our eyes met. We stared at each other, but neither one of us moved. A thousand questions fired like bullets in my head. One after the other, they kept coming, creating a band of pressure that felt like it could crack my skull any moment. Yet, when I parted my lips, no words came out.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, his voice calm and polite, like someone would be if they were making idle chitchat with the old lady behind the Post Office counter.
I scoffed, shook my head. Couldn’t help it. “Great,” I said, equally polite…and maybe a little pissed off. With him, myself, I didn’t know. “You?” As if I needed to ask. The whole fucking world knew how he’d been. We got daily updates on Twitter Trends.
I broke eye-contact because it hurt to see him, but I heard him sigh. That hurt, too. “Turn around, Heli.” With a single word, he made my heart stop beating.