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“Are you ok, Rosie?”
The bass was still thumping out from my apartment, but I shrugged and dropped my eyes.
He’d told me to stay away from him, so I would stick to it.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Julian gestured to my door.
“Is he in there?”
I didn’t want to confess the obvious, so I shrugged again.
“I don’t know. She’s in there with someone.”
The man upstairs didn’t even humour my lie.
“Have you got nowhere else to go to stay away from him?”
“What does it matter? He’ll still be here in the morning.”
Julian crouched down, right in front of me.
“It matters a lot.”
I couldn’t help but crack a hurt grin.
“Yeah, sure it does. Don’t worry, I’m used to it by now.”
He looked so pissed off, I felt it in my gut.
“Is there nowhere else you can go? Nobody who’ll let you stay?”
Fuck dropping my eyes, because I couldn’t – the pull from his was just too strong. I looked right into his stare, hating how the tears sprang up before I could stop them. They’d be obvious, even behind my glasses under shitty lights.
“No,” I admitted. “There isn’t. Nowhere else I want to be.”
He looked up and down the corridor, face tormented like he was battling some inner demons.
I sure didn’t push him, just sat there, resigned to being there all night long.
I expected a goodbye when he got to his feet, but there wasn’t one. He gestured upstairs, instead. “You need to stay safe,” he said. “So, you’d best come along with me.”
Chapter Six
Rosie
I wasup from my numb ass before he could rethink his offer. My legs were stiff from how long I’d been sitting there with my back to my door.
I needed him. Just like last time.
The man upstairs didn’t speak as he led the way up. He used one single key with no keyring to let us in, stepping aside to let me pass him. He scrabbled to clear the coffee table, rushing into the kitchen with three empty mugs and a couple of shot glasses. I followed him, hating his obvious embarrassment.
I had plenty enough embarrassment of my own. If only he knew how many book heroes I’d imagined him as…
“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
His kitchen was practically barren, like the rest of his place. His fridge was buzzing loudly, and his microwave looked about twenty years old, and there was no sign of a dishwasher, just an old sink with a dripping tap. He put the mugs in there and rinsed them clean while I leant against his big, white washing machine.
