Chapter Fourteen
693 Words
The hangover wasn’t helping.
Not a proper hangover.
Just enough of one to make me question every decision I’d made in the last twenty-four hours.
Particularly the final one.
The really stupid one.
I stared at the ceiling.
Willing myself not to think about it.
Unfortunately my brain had other plans.
⸻
The kiss.
⸻
I groaned.
Pulled the duvet over my face.
As though that might somehow erase the memory.
It didn’t.
Typical.
⸻
For one brief moment I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.
Then I remembered Christopher’s face afterwards.
The way he’d stepped back.
The way he’d looked at me.
The way he’d left.
Definitely real.
Unfortunately.
⸻
“What an idiot.”
The words disappeared into the pillow.
I wasn’t entirely sure whether I meant Christopher or myself.
Probably myself.
⸻
Actually, definitely myself.
⸻
I threw the duvet aside and sat up.
Immediately regretting it.
The room spun slightly.
Wonderful.
Exactly what I deserved.
⸻
The problem wasn’t the kiss.
Not really.
The problem was what had led to it.
Three glasses of wine.
An anniversary.
Too much grief.
Too much nostalgia.
Too many old photographs.
A perfect recipe for bad decisions.
⸻
I buried my face in my hands.
Slowly.
Painfully.
The pieces started fitting together.
And somehow every conclusion made things worse.
⸻
Of course.
Of course Christopher had kissed me back.
What was he supposed to do?
Push me away?
Tell me to get a grip?
Run for the door?
The man had spent years taking care of everyone else.
He’d probably seen me crying.
Seen the wine.
Seen the photographs.
Seen what a mess I was.
And felt sorry for me.
⸻
The thought landed like a punch.
Because pity was somehow worse.
Much worse.
⸻
I stood.
Walked downstairs.
Made coffee.
Burned the toast.
Made more coffee.
Burned more toast.
Apparently humiliation affected my ability to function.
Good to know.
⸻
My phone sat on the kitchen counter.
Silent.
Suspiciously silent.
I glared at it.
The phone remained unmoved.
⸻
No message.
No explanation.
No awkward apology.
Nothing.
⸻
Of course.
What exactly was he supposed to say?
Morning. Sorry about accidentally kissing you while you were emotionally compromised.
Not exactly a standard text.
⸻
I groaned again.
Louder this time.
⸻
The front door opened upstairs.
A few seconds later Sofia appeared.
Fresh from her sleepover.
Far too cheerful for a Sunday morning.
“Morning!”
I squinted at her.
“Why are you shouting?”
“I’m not shouting.”
She was.
Definitely shouting.
⸻
Sofia dropped her overnight bag by the kitchen table.
Then immediately narrowed her eyes.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
That look usually meant she’d noticed something.
⸻
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The answer came too quickly.
Mistake.
A rookie mistake.
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Sofia frowned.
“You look weird.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
⸻
I pointed towards the cereal cupboard.
“Food.”
“Okay.”
She continued staring.
Suspicious child.
⸻
Eventually she wandered off.
Still unconvinced.
⸻
The second she disappeared, I grabbed my coffee.
And stared out the kitchen window.
Trying very hard not to think about Christopher.
Trying even harder not to wonder whether he was thinking about me.
⸻
The answer was probably no.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
⸻
Because deep down I already knew what would happen next.
Tomorrow we’d both go to work.
Pretend nothing had happened.
Ignore it.
Bury it.
Move on.
Professional adults.
Exactly as we’d always done.
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The sensible part of me knew that was for the best.
The sensible part of me was usually right.
Unfortunately, another part of me couldn’t stop remembering the way he’d looked at me before everything went wrong.
Before the guilt.
Before he left.
Before reality came crashing back.
⸻
I closed my eyes.
Took a long sip of coffee.
And made a decision.
A very sensible decision.
The kind adults made every day.
⸻
I was never speaking about last night again.
Ever.
The trouble was, even as I made the promise, I wasn’t entirely sure I believed myself.
- Writer
