Page 32 of Lust

My thoughts whirl, tossing me from one to another in rapid succession as nausea thrives in the pit of my stomach. I push my brain, reaching for that first memory Roman was so keen for me to remember. But I’ve got nothing. Nothing before a bright, sunny day and a sparkling silver bike with a yellow basket and bell. Pa held the seat and ran along beside me as I pedalled my little legs. I must have been around five or six, early in my school life, because I remember falling off and grazing my knee, then proudly showing friends at school the next week.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the gritty dryness of having shed so many tears, and my chest aches like someone took a crowbar and cracked it open. As my short, stuttered, panting breaths slow, I unfurl. Releasing the cross around my neck, pain blooms in my palm, and I look down to see two tiny red indents where it dug into my skin. Rubbing at them, I shuffling to a sitting position, drawing my knees up to my chest and restingmy chin on them. After a couple of minutes, I turn to lay my head on my knees, facing the dark window. The curtains are open and streetlights glint off the glass, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. Another tear falls as I think about my outburst. I know it’s a sign of my recent conflict over my faith. I’ve been questioning everything lately, and the arrival of Roman and Blake in my life seems to have only furthered my confusing thoughts and feelings.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, but I know my backside is numb and I have pins and needles in my arms. I wouldn’t have bothered to move, enjoying the numbness, if it wasn’t for the clatter of plates coming from my kitchen.

I guess that means Blake is still here. I sigh at the idea of facing either of them, especially after Blake’s mood in the car earlier. These men are too confusing for me to figure out with everything else that’s going on.

One thing I do know is that I need to get them out of my house.

My earlier headache has worsened thanks to all the crying I’ve done, and I’m in desperate need of a drink and some painkillers. I’m sure I’m hungry too but that can wait.

My muscles ache in protest as I stretch and rise to my feet. I pull the curtains, and feeling chilly, I snatch a jumper from my wardrobe, throwing it on, before quietly opening my door. The aroma of stone baked dough and melted cheese assaults my nostrils. Mmmm, pizza. My stomach growls in response.

Entering the living room, I find Blake casually stretched out on my sofa, stuffing pizza in his mouth. The TV is on low with some action film playing, and there is a bottle of beer on the table.

He can’t see me from my position, and I watch him. Some part of me should be offended he’s made himself so at home, but another part, the part I’ve been denying for so long, quite likesseeing a man as handsome as him in my house. He’s easy on the eye, as is Roman, and a league above Paul, my ex. I cut short thoughts on other areas they’re better than Paul in.

“You going to stand there all night, or come and eat?” Blake’s voice startles me, and I wonder how he knew I was there.

“I’m not hungry, but make yourself at home, yeah,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. Moving into the kitchen, I grab a glass and fill it with water. “How did you know I was there?” I ask, spinning to look at the back of his head.

He points to the TV. It takes me a second to understand why, but the longer I look, the clearer my reflection on the screen becomes.

“Not so smart and spatially aware as you thought, huh?” I find some headache tablets in the medicine cupboard and pop two into my hand, swallowing them down with a large glug of water.

Deciding to leave him to it, despite the warning in my head that I should send him away, I head back towards my room.

“Syd, you need to eat,” he says as I reach the hall.

I pause, weighing up the pros and cons of joining him. Stepping back into the room, I say, “No, I really don’t. I’d tell you to go if I thought you might listen, but in lieu of that, I’d rather go to bed hungry.”

“We need to talk,” he states, now turning to face me, slinging an arm of the back of the sofa.

“Again, no, we don’t. There is nothing to talk about.” Before I’ve finished talking, he’s leapt over the sofa and standing in front of me a second later.

“There is, but for now, just listen. Please?” He raises a hand as though to reach out to me but thinks better of it and stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. Blake isn’t perturbed and takes me still standing here as a sign to continue.

“Sit?” he asks, waving to the sofa, but I cross my arms and glare at him. “Okay, here then. Look, firstly, I want to apologise for my reaction in the car earlier. It’s not on you.” Blake scans my face for…acceptance, maybe. I nod. “I’m not apologising for Ro, because that’s for him to do, but—” The shattering of glass from the hall cuts off the rest of Blake’s words, and he reacts instantly, pulling me behind him.

“What—”

“Shhh,” Blake holds a finger to his lips. With one arm stretched wide, keeping me behind him, we move towards the hall. A cold breeze blows in through the smashed upper window of my front door and flames flare to life, growing bigger by the second.

“Fuck!” Blake curses. “Back door.”

I slowly back up as Blake closes the living room door, then scans the room, searching for something. I move for my bag on the kitchen counter at the same time as Blake reaches for the throw on the back of the sofa and begins packing it at the bottom of the door.

A loud pop from the hall makes me jump, and I let out a small squeak. Blake, grabs my wrist, tugging me to the small utility room off the kitchen where the back door is. I almost trip over my own feet, and my heart races. Reaching the back door, Blake yanks it open and steps out, still holding my wrist, but the second his foot hits the back step, his body jolts, falling backwards and crashing into me with a grunt.

“Mother fucker,” he roars.

“Blake,” I cry as he steers me against the wall, covering me with his body. I’ve no idea what happened until I feel the warmth of something wet beneath my hand resting on the front of his shoulder. “Is that…oh my god. You’re bleeding.” I scrub my hand down my top and fumble in my bag for my phone. I know it’s in there. It has to be in there. Blake groans as I knock into him,jostling his shoulder. “Where the hell is it?” I demand of nobody, my frustration getting the better of me. “Got it. Hold on. I’m calling for help, Blake.” I dial 999, but before it has even had a chance to connect, Blake snatches the phone from me. “Hey! Wh?—”

“No cops! Call Ro.” I glare at him in disbelief. “Syd, trust me. Just call Ro,” he implores, wincing as he adjusts our position, moving us further away from the door.

But it’s not further from danger as smoke begins to fill the kitchen, slowly seeping into the utility room. With no option but to listen to him, I hold out a hand for my phone.

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