Page 38 of Forever Not Yours

Well, Saturday had been interesting. Sunday, I’d pissed off like the scared brat I was and spent most of the day at Juliet’s flat packing up my stuff. She’d started on some of it and then kindly removed herself for the day so I could do my duty as the ex, the one who was being kicked out, the guilty party.

I’d sorted things out, thrown things away that were no longer mine to keep, packed everything into the boxes Juliet had organised for me and then loaded them neatly into my car.

There were still a few more to pick up—a chair and side table that were apparently mine. I didn’t remember, but she wanted them gone, so I wasn’t going to argue, but there was only so much I could cram into Jake’s hallway, and I’d already movedmy bags and clothes onto the floor next to the treadmill, taking up space.Hisspace.Perhaps I should rent a storage room, maybe I should look for a place of my own—that thought made me cold with fear, so perhaps not. No.

Juliet. Jake.Enough thinking. I shuddered.

We seemed to function, Juliet and me, avoiding spending time together as skilfully as we were at avoiding the questions none of our colleagues dared to voice. I knew they were there, whispered in hushed conversations, texted in muted group chats, words said in private behind our backs.

Things would calm down; newer tastier morsels of gossip would overtake the current drama, and soon, people would be laughing down the pub, saying,“Remember that Bash Dewaert? Shagged Juliet for years, then dumped her two weeks before the wedding?” “Yeah, heard he got off with someone else on his stag night. Served him right, the bastard. Juliet kicked him to the curb.”

I could almost hear the voices, the laughter. It stung now and always would, but eventually, it would fade, become easier on the palate.

I shuffled carefully in my seat. My backside wasn’t too bad, just sore and tender, the skin protesting if I sat down for too long, like it was trying to heal but I just couldn’t stop cracking it back open.

I’d liked it, yes. That…tingling in my groin returned every time I remembered that he’d had me over his lap, held me down, helpless and pathetic, his hands on my skin, the rush of the pain, the whoosh of his hand descending through the air, my skin feeling the impact. Then afterwards…

I hadn’t spoken to Jake at all. I’d snuck in late Sunday evening and gone straight to bed, then left this morning before he’d had the chance to stop me.

I wasn’t ready for what would inevitably come next. Things needed to be processed, and I really needed to figure out what the hell I was doing.

Fuck, he’d totally ruined me, and I’d liked it, and now I was reaping the consequences, not being able to sit down properly and looking like a twat, leaning sideways on my chair when my intern came in with my smoothie.

I hated the smoothies yet asked for them because they were good for me, stabilised my blood sugars andall that crap. Green stuff, all the nutrition my body craved.

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

She cocked her head at me. “Are you all right, Mr Dewaert?”

I smirked.Mr Dewaertwas my granddad, and I still wasn’t used to being called that. I insisted on Bash, even at work, not that the intern had got that memo, and I’d already forgotten what she’d asked as I moved in my seat and winced. Everything hurt, that dull ache flaring whenever I moved. I lifted slightly off the seat and shifted onto my other side. Still hurt.

“Can I do anything? Need help?”

“Sort my life out?” I joked, trying to align my arse with the chair and sit like a normal person. “Overdid it at the gym.”

Lame, but plausible, even though her raised eyebrow told me she didn’t believe a word I was saying.

“Can I speak freely?” Closing the door behind her, she moved around the desk and motioned to the seat.

Not her place, not the done thing, but I nodded, a touch dismissively, but whatever. She had something to say. Who was I not to listen?

She was a pretty girl, dark hair swirled into a neat bun. Curves. Well presented. The kind of intern who could easily fall prey to the sharks in this goddamn tank—they were always circling here. Kieron had form. So did Ollie. A few drinks after work and this girl would be groped in some pub, her well-meaning innocence replaced with a good dose of dick and the grief that inevitably followed.

Not that she was my problem. I had to swallow a bitter laugh.

“CanI speak freely?” she repeated.

More nods. I was a man of few words around here too.

“I haven’t been here very long, but I’m finding things I’m not happy with. I understand office culture and all that, and people having a laugh and taking the piss, but sometimes we have to stand up for ourselves. And so far, I haven’t, but I think it’s time I do.”

“Go on?” I said and shuffled again. God, this was uncomfortable, both the chair and having her here, doing the talking thing. Double whammy.Just leave already.

“There’ve been several instances this week of colleagues openly and rudely mocking Juliet Delaware, unpleasant allegations and rumours I refuse to repeat. She’s in charge here, and that calls for a certain degree of having to deal with things like this, but from where I’m standing, Ms Delaware should be treated with professional respect, the same way I deserve not to be propositioned in the breakroom on a daily basis. And, having to hold myself back, figuratively speaking, from punching people in the face, is draining, if you see my point.”

She sighed. The girl had guts. This was the kind of thing that got interns fired on day one. Speaking up. Meddling. Not playing the game.

“What’s your name, again?” Here I was too, the idiot who processed them, one intern after the other, and never committed their names to memory.

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