I wandered aimlessly backinto town, my feet carrying me along the darkening pavement while my mind was lost in thought, the sound of distant waves the only soundtrack to my despair.
There were no tears though. My body couldn’t seem to bring itself to do more than keep walking, like I was on autopilot. Every other function was unavailable, and I felt completely numb.
All the way down to my soul.
I’d known this was going to happen from the start and it shouldn’t have shocked me as much as it had. But then again, I’d never intended to get this attached to Owen.
It had always been clear to me that my attraction to Owen was more than physical, and as much as I’d tried to pretend it wasn’t, every time he’d smiled, every time he’d brought me coffee, or called me angel, or simply shown that he cared, I’d felt myself falling.
This was my fault. There was no denying it.
And now I had to live with the consequences of my actions.
It would hurt for a while. Probably longer than I wanted it to. But one day I would wake up and this would all be a distant memory, something I could look back on with clarity and acceptance. And then I would be able to move on.
Overhead, the streetlights flickered on, bathing the cobbles under my feet in a warm glow. I looked around, finally registering where I’d gotten to, and realised I wasn’t far from home.
I debated going inside and climbing into bed, even though it wasn’t that late, because at least then the day would be over. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep though, and the thought of spending hours staring at the ceiling while I replayed every second of my conversation with Owen sounded like torture.
So instead, I opened the front door of the house, turned to the right, and knocked on Milo’s door.
The TV show I’d been able to hear paused, then came the sound of muffled footsteps on the carpet, and the turning of a key in the lock. The door swung open and Milo appeared, wearing a ratty, oversized T-shirt and a pair of joggers which had seen better days. His hair was damp and pushed back, and from this angle it almost looked like he’d cut it.
I didn’t know why I was focusing on that. Maybe because it was easier than thinking about everything else.
“Hey,” he said, obvious concern lacing his voice. “What’s going on? I thought you were supposed to be having dinner with Owen and his dad.”
“Mmm, funny story. We didn’t actually make it to dinner,” I said. I’d been trying to go for levity, but it failed miserably and my voice cracked.
“Fucking Christ. I’m gonna kill him.”
“It’s not his fault,” I said as Milo reached out and took my hand, pulling me inside and shutting the door. “It’s mine. I got too attached. I knew it wasn’t going to end well.”
Milo muttered something under his breath I didn’t catch. Then he added, more clearly, “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. “No. But I don’t know if I’m hungry.”
“Tough shit, I’m feeding you.” He waved his hand in the direction of the sofa. “Take your shoes off and go and sit down. I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I’m going to. But first, you’re going to tell me everything that happened.”
I sighed, toeing off my trainers as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began typing rapidly. “Please, Milo. Don’t do anything rash. It’s not worth it.”
“I’m not. I’m just telling Alfie to get his arse down here.” He smiled at me softly, taking my hand and pulling me over to the sofa. “This is a two-person job, and we both know Alfie’s the most rational of all of us.”
“Is he?”
“He is in this scenario.” Milo gently pushed me down and I flopped onto the sofa. It was a deep orange velvet with a sort-of shell back pattern and cushions you sank into. Milo’s taste in home furnishings was very like him: bright and kitsch and almost outrageous, but with a warm cosiness to it too.
“Do you want a drink?” Milo asked as I gazed around the room, realising he’d added more prints and random knick-knacks since I’d last been here. There were colourful vases filled with fake sunflowers, shells from the beach, and a slightly tacky souvenir seagull propped up on the mantlepiece against a crocheted plant.
“Um, maybe some water?”
“Sure? I have wine. Or beer. Or Jack Daniels. I think I’ve still got some sticky toffee vodka from last Christmas too, if you want that with some apple juice.”
“Is it good?”
