Page 44 of Sleep

My fragile ego. Bullshit. I was no good at this, not anymore. In my youth, I would have stripped and had my mouth around that cock of his within minutes. Now…

Or perhaps I was once again reading this all wrong.

I shivered as I locked the bathroom door. The stark light hit my face like a whip, my eyes struggling to adjust. I was pale, my hair all over the place, no make-up today. I hadn’t needed it, feeling comfortable in my own skin earlier, which made my sudden, massive discomfort with myself even harder to stomach.

I wasn’t beautiful. I was…full of fear. Of weird feelings I had no control over. What the hell was I doing here? Had I subconsciously been contemplating this kind of scenario earlier, turning up with a tote bag full of empty promises and toothbrushes and clean underwear? What had I been thinking?

What had my father been thinking, once again throwing me out in the real world unsupervised?

Perhaps he was right. I had completely lost it.

And perhaps Jonny was just as scared as I was, lying out there in an empty bed with starched fresh sheets, smelling of nothing but fear. Because I could still smell it, that straight-out-of-the-packet scent, a moment when nothing was certain, when those sheets could bring happiness…or be the ones where you cried into the pillowcases, your make-up-stained tears forever there to remind you of your failings.

Good grief, indeed, Mabel.

As I grasped the edge of the bathroom sink, my shoes slipped on the still-wet floor, and something off the sink went flying, making an awful racket.

“You okay, Pickle?” came from the room next door, pulling me out of my navel-gazing depressing thoughts. I was an adult. I could do this. I could.

I stomped back out into the room, finding my bag by touch, switched my clothes for pyjamas, grabbed my toothbrush, and padded back into the wet bathroom in my bare feet so I could brush my teeth and give my face a wash. I looked like shit, but who cared? The flat was dark, and it was just him. Just Jonny. A friend. Even my father had told me that. A nice man who had looked after me. It was only right to look after him back. No cock-sucking required.

I killed the light, leaving my toothbrush on the side, and walked back into the bedroom, where I gently sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively feeling out the space with my hand, hoping for an inclination of what he was expecting here.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he said. Good. “You didn’t leave yourself any pillows in the guest room, so I assumed you had this in mind.”

“Yes,” I said with more determination than I felt. “We’re adults. We can share a bed. And if you don’t sleep, I’m right here to keep you company. Wasn’t that the deal you offered?”

It probably hadn’t been quite what he’d had in mind, but what was the point of all this anyway? He wanted company, and I hated being alone.

Admitting that to myself was nothing new. I wasn’t going to say no to a warm body in a nice clean bed.

Not in that way.

“I don’t mean it in a…you know,” I stuttered out.

“Mabel, I don’t either. We’re not there…yet.”

“But you’d like to?”

Way to dive-bomb straight into another uncomfortable disaster conversation.

He moved, just a little, making space for me. I lay down and sat up again.

“I’m buying you better pillows,” I said, attempting to plump the thing or punch the life out of it, I wasn’t sure which. “No wonder you don’t sleep with these monstrosities under your head.” I lay down again.

“They were the best-selling pillow on the John Lewis website. Memory foam.”

“I’m sure they were. If you’re a masochist, they’re probably perfect.” It was already hurting my head. I shuffled around a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. The room was cool, and the light from outside comforting, but the pillows…they had to go.

He turned onto his side with his back to me, his breathing sharp and shallow.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“More than okay.” He didn’t sound too sure about that. I wasn’t either, but he’d called me beautiful, offered me a place to stay—an offer I was a fool to take up, an even bigger fool not to. For fuck’s sake.

I wasn’t an impulsive person. I was a hard-working, sensible human being. I had standards. Morals. Rules.

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