Page 10 of Escape

“So?” she shoots back, setting the glass on the counter with a little more force than necessary.

I raise my hands, palms out. “Just saying.”

Her jaw is tense, and for a moment, there is a flicker in her eyes—defensiveness, maybe, or something sharper. She picks up the glass again, her fingers tightening around it as she takes another sip.

“I’m not judging,” I add quickly, though the knot in my chest is there all the same. “I just—”

“You just what?” she cuts in, her voice rising. “Think I can’t handle myself? Think I need you to babysit me?”

“That’s not it,” I protest. I pause, taking a breath, and try again. “I’m just worried about you, alright?”

She snorts, shaking her head as she grabs her jacket from the chair. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

I step forward without thinking, the space between us shrinking as I search her face for something—anything—that tells me she means it. But her walls are up, her expression unreadable.

“You’ve been different since—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t… please.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them, something raw, almost vulnerable, but it’s gone before I can reach it.

“I’m tired,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “I’m going to bed.”

She brushes past me, the faint scent of her shampoo trailing behind her, and I stay rooted to the spot, my fists clenching at my sides.

The door to her room clicks shut, and the flat falls silent again.

I turn back to the kettle, pouring the steaming water into my mug. The tea bag bobs up and down, the colour bleeding out into the water. For a moment, I just stare at it, the burning feeling of all the words we don’t say to each other spreading until it feels like it’s filled the whole room.

She doesn’t see it. She doesn’t see what she’s doing to herself—or to me. But how can I tell her when she doesn't want to hear it?

The smell of pizza fills the flat, mingling with the faint, buttery scent of popcorn. The mattress takes up most of the living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of cushions and blankets. I tweak the lamp one last time, tilting it so the light hits just right. Satisfied, I drop onto the mattress and grab a slice of pizza, taking a bite as I wait.

The key turns in the lock, and I straighten up as the door opens. Mel steps in, shrugging her bag off her shoulder. Her curls are escaping the bun she’s tried to wrangle them into, and there’s a crease in her forehead that makes me wonder how rough her day’s been. She insisted on going back to work, even though both her boss and I told her to take some time off. It’s too soon, but she won’t hear it. Instead, she drags herself home every day looking like she’s been through a battle, with dull eyes and slumped shoulders, completely drained.

When she sees me on the floor she stops mid-step, her eyes darting to the mattress and the rest of the setup.

“What is this?” she asks, her tone sceptical.

“This,” I say, gesturing grandly at the room, “is a peace offering. Movie night! A proper one. Pizza, popcorn, cushions, the works.”

Her eyebrow arches, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You dragged the mattress out?”

“You can’t have a real movie night on the sofa,” I reply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s amateur-level lounging. This is elite.”

She crosses her arms, pretending to consider. “Pizza smells good. Is it bribe-level good?”

“Only one way to find out,” I say, waving a slice in her direction.

She shakes her head, a small laugh slipping through, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that wasn’t there when she walked in.

“I’ll be back in five,” she says, grabbing her bag and heading down the hall.

When she comes back, she’s swapped her work clothes for joggers and an old sweatshirt that’s a little too big for her. Her hair’s loose now, a soft mess of curls that makes her look more like the Mel I know, the Mel I’ve missed.

She flops onto the mattress, grabs a slice of pizza, and takes a bite without a word.

“Good?” I ask, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

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