Page 12 of Escape

“Morning,” he replies, glancing up with a smirk. “You’ve got the zombie look down this morning.”

I glare at him through half-open eyes, flipping the kettle back on. “Not everyone wakes up looking like a Pinterest ad, Owen.”

He grins, all mockery and flourishes as he gestures to himself. “Ah, but it’s all natural.”

Yes, yes it bloody is, isn’t it.The corners of my mouth twitch despite myself, even if I don’t want to show him that he yet again has cheered me up. The kettle starts humming, and I lean against the counter, waiting for it to boil.

He’s watching me, I can feel it, the way his eyes flick back and forth between his phone and me, like he’s winding up to say something.

“Hey,” he says finally, setting his plate down. “What do you reckon about another movie night tonight? We’ve still got popcorn. Could make it a tradition.”

I glance at him, my hands cradling the mug I’ve just pulled from the cupboard. “Tempting,” I say, letting a playful smile slip onto my face. “But I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” He raises an eyebrow, setting his phone down now, fully engaged.

“Yes, Owen, plans,” I snap, pouring hot water into my mug. “Things people do outside of this flat. Shocking, I know.”

“Wow. You seem to forget that I’m your friend here. I think we are approaching the limit of times I’ll let you bite my head off over me trying to look out for you,” his voice is firm and I can see that I’ve hurt him. My cheeks heat up in shame. It takes a lot for Owen to stop being Mr Nice-Guy and it kills me that I treat him like this. He is right, he has been nothing but supportive, yet here I am snapping at him like he is the enemy.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, tears stinging my eyes.

“Besides, I’m very outdoorsy,” he finally announces with a forced smirk. “I open windows all the time.”

I snort, stirring my tea. “Sure. That’s practically wilderness survival.”Yeah let’s pretend all is fine again.

His grin stays in place, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression, something quieter. I sip my tea, keeping my own face neutral, but I know he’s not letting it go.

“Just be careful,” he whispers.

I lower the mug, staring at him. “Careful?”

He shrugs, looking at his toast as if it holds all the answers. “You know. Late nights, strangers, all that.”

“I will,” I try assure him. “I have to go to work.”

My pulse is thrumming with irritation as I leave the kitchen but I am not sure if it is because I am annoyed at Owen or annoyed at myself.

The pavement’s damp underfoot, glistening in the weak morning sunlight, but I don’t slow down. My bag bumps against my hip with every step, the strap digging into my shoulder. The cool air stings my face, but it does nothing to cool the heat bubbling under my skin.

What is he so worried about?

The thought loops in my head, sharp and biting.Be careful,he said, like I’m some reckless teenager who doesn’t know better. Like I need his approval to live my own life.

I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, my strides quick and deliberate.The nerve of him, sitting there with his smug little grin, like he’s got it all figured out. He doesn’t get it. He can’t.

The tube station looms ahead, a blur of grey and movement, but I don’t stop walking, my pace matching the thrumming in my chest.

I’m fine. I’m doing fine. He doesn’t need to—

My thoughts falter, the words crumbling as a different voice slips in, quieter but no less persistent.Are you, though?

My pace slows, just slightly, as the question lodges itself in my mind.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, scrolling aimlessly, looking for some distraction, but it’s no use. The question’s there now, and it’s not going away.

Why am I doing this?

I bite my lip, my footsteps slowing. The truth feels like a slippery thing, something I’ve been avoiding ever since I got back. I tell myself it’s just fun, just a distraction, but if that’s true, why does it feel so... hollow?

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