Page 70 of Hired Help

But I need to be careful. I need to be sure. I need to not fuck it up the same way I’ve fucked so many things in the past.

I insert my credit card into the vending machine, punching in numbers until the spirals threaten to tangle. With my snacks in hand, I make myself comfy on the large sofa. The absence of other students makes the space larger. Sounds echo along the corridors, unencumbered.

The static that’s crowded thoughts from my brain for the past month has disappeared. I finally have room to think, to plan rather than react.

Harrison could be mine again. All his anger, his ridicule, his weaponisation of his friends could be over.

After the long weeks of devastation, my impulse is to jump at the chance. To forgive him without question, losing myself in his embrace and putting a full stop to this terrible part of my life.

The more sensible pieces of me rear back at the thought. The bits of me still in pain, that still need to know what happened. What I did to make him push me away.

I eat my way through the snacks, doom scrolling on my phone, then clicking into my messages. There’s one there from my solicitor, really my dad’s but agreeable enough to perform a piece of work for me, knowing the certainty that he’d get paid.

The results of what I asked him are there in black and white.

The certificate of title to Daegan’s home.

I know he wants to purchase the property himself, but the crawling uncertainty that’s littered my recent history means I feel safer having control of it myself. To have control ofanythingis such a radical departure from the status quo that it gives me a sense of accomplishment, even if I haven’t done anything except move some of my trust fund around.

I curl my legs up, wincing as the cut Harrison made in my flesh sends out a stinging word of warning. Maybe not a sign of endearment to anyone else, but it sends a warm pulse of satisfaction into my heart.

School doesn’t mean enough to me to worry about skipping a day, so I send a text to Daegan, asking if I can bring our planned Saturday meeting forward to today. I finish my snacks, except for a packet of Twisties, Harrison’s favourite, and head back to my room.

When I unlock my door, Harrison sits on the edge of the bed, tense shoulders relaxing as I walk inside.

“Here,” I say, tossing him the bag. “After missing dinner last night, I needed something to eat.”

He opens it as I join him on the bed, his fingers turning orange with cheese dust. “Lie down,” he orders me. “Take off your clothes.”

“I’m not having sex with you,” I tell him while complying with his request. “Just so you know.”

He ignores me, placing a line of individual twisties along my body, sticking out of my belly button, resting along the line of my sternum.

“Oh, so you’re one ofthosemillionaires, are you?”

“What millionaires?” he asks before dipping his head to bite one of the snacks off my chest.

“The type who insist on putting food on top of naked girls like they’ve mistaken them for serving platters.”

“Mm.” He sucks another one into his mouth, swallowing, then licking off the few crumbs of bright orange with far more attention than they deserve. “They sound like dicks.”

“Says the man eating food off his naked girlfriend.”

My stomach clenches as I hear the word slip out, tensing until he moves onto the next snack, cleaning me with the intensity of a cat.

“It’s a pity these packets are so small,” he complains. “There are so many other places I want to eat tiny treats off you.”

He snatches the belly button one with his lips, moving up to offer it to me, smiling as I eat it despite where it’s been. “So obedient,” he murmurs. “What was that you were saying before? Something about staying in bed all day to have sex.”

I feel the temptation. To pass the day and the coming weekend with lazy games and tall stories, getting lost in each other the way we used to.

But if I act like nothing’s changed, nothing will.

I cup his head, giving him a long kiss, then push him off the bed, moving into the bathroom to shower and locking the door to make sure I don’t have to share my tiny cubicle.

Once dry, I put two plasters across the wound on my rear, hoping that’ll be enough to keep it clean. Daegan has replied to my message, saying he has time free this afternoon.

Until then, I can go to a library café in town and sit for hours while I think about what I want to ask him. Back in my room, I quickly dress, smiling as Harrison sprawls on my bed like he’s forgotten the way back to his own.

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