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Ben walked through the door just after one in the morning, and I should really have been in bed ready for my morning shift, but there was no way I could have even attempted to sleep. I’d managed to somehow wind myself into a state where I threw myself at him as soon as he closed the door.
“Hugo,” he said softly, and my insides screamed. I grabbed his face with both hands and mauled his lips, landing rough, desperate kisses while he lifted me until he was carrying me, my legs crossed behind his back as he kicked off his shoes and kissed me breathless right there, my back pushed so firmly into the wall I was sure I’d leave an impression.
“Take me to bed,” I panted out.
He set me down on my bare feet.
“Hugo,” he said again, his tone sterner now.
I ripped his hoodie over his head, followed by his T-shirt, which went flying across the kitchen as I manhandled him past the table, tipping over a chair in our wake, backwards towards the bed. Kissing his chest, I shoved his joggers down.
“Hugo.” His voice a little stronger, but I wasn’t listening. I was just lost. Lost in something I didn’t want to acknowledge. I was doing this because…
Because this was what normal people did.
I gave him a gentle shove, and he bounced down on the bed, me following, straddling his body as he gripped my hips and held me in place. Strokingmy fingers over the soft hair covering his chest, I bent down and tried to kiss him.
He turned away.
I still couldn’t stop. I didn’t know what was wrong with me because my brain was shouting at me, but my limbs just wouldn’t listen, and I had no way of figuring out how to make this right. Because this wasn’t right. Not at all.
“Hugo!” he shouted.
I stopped. Thank God. Slid off him in terrified shame as he rolled away from me and curled himself up into a ball, his hands covering his face.
I sat there in shock.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The chaos in my brain too overwhelming to even acknowledge.
I was a horrible person. An insane person, capable of despicable things.
I didn’t deserve anything good.
Thirty-four.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth. The panic in my chest threatening to overwhelm me.
Thirty-four.
I’d got to…Thirty-four.
Breathe, Hugo. Fucking breathe.
The clockon the wall showed 1:22.
Thirty-four.
I didn’t want this. I never ever wanted this. Ever again. I’d never wanted it in the first place. Why the hell I’d even…fuck…I wanted to cry. Scream. Shout.
Apologise.
I couldn’t even think how. What to say.
His back was shuddering with every breath he took. What the hell had I been thinking? Because I’d known. I’d always known. And why I’d behaved like this was horrible.
Thirty-four.
