Page 83 of Cream & Sugar
Destiny flaps off, leaving me alone with my whiskey and cokes and my spiralling thoughts.
The way Rory looked at me when I got home is baked into my brain. It was beyond anger, it was complete and utter disappointment, and no wonder! Fifteen grand’s worth of stuff. Plus a shit on his bed. Who knows if I’ll ever be able to pay him back.
Of one thing I’m completely certain though: he’s never going to forgive me.
24
Shaun
Freddie’shalfofthelasagne I cooked sits on the table, cold and uneaten. I’ve long since given up on him actually showing up, but I’m feeling too deflated to clear it away. My own dinner lies massacred on my plate, picked at but hardly eaten.
I push my knife and fork together. Why didn’t he show? Why didn’t he at leastmessage?
I’m sure there’s an explanation and the paranoid thoughts swirling around my head are just that. Did I come on too strong? Has he changed his mind? I really hope something bad hasn’t happened to him. A broken leg or gas explosion are two of the many grim possibilities my brain conjures up. Hopping in my car and driving by his house seems excessive. Maybe he just fell asleep?
For the five-hundredth time tonight, I check whether Freddie has seen my messages. As before, they’re sitting there, delivered but unread.
Accepting defeat, I muster the energy to clear the table. The bottle of red wine I bought for us sits unopened on the counter. I uncork it and pour out a big glass before throwing myself on the sofa in a huff.
Jester wastes no time curling up on my lap. I stick on some brain-rot telly as I scratch his ears with one hand and drink my wine with the other. It tastes sour, but I down it anyway.
Jester soon falls asleep, his soft snoring a comfort as I watch a reality couple fight over toilet paper consumption. Before long, my eyelids grow heavy. The wine warms my empty belly, a tingle spreading across my skin. Feeling sleepy, I check my phone one last time.
Nothing.
The buzz of my doorbell zaps me awake and I jolt upright with a start.
It takes me a second to place myself. I’m still on the sofa, the TV paused and taunting me with an “are you still watching?” message. Jester has retreated to his jungle gym, clearly enraged by the disturbance.
The door buzzes again.
It’s past midnight. Who the hell is calling at this hour?
Buzz-buzz-buzz.
I stand up and march to the intercom, ready to spit fire. If it’s the guys from upstairs forgetting their keys again, I’ll skin them alive. Picking up the receiver, I slam it to my ear. “Hello?”
“S-Shaun?” a familiar voice crackles back. All my rage evaporates in a heartbeat.
“Freddie? Is that you?”
“Y-yeah. Sorry, I know it’s late. C-can you let me in, please?”
His voice sounds strange. Reedy and thin.
“Of course!” I press the button to unlock the door.
“T-thanks!” Freddie says before hanging up.
It takes a second for my brain to register what’s happening. Freddie’s here. Now.
Suddenly, I’m wide awake.
I fling open the door and wait for him to appear. The distant sound of his footsteps climbing the stairs echoes along the hall, painfully slow. I watch the stairwell door, willing it to open. When it finally does, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s Freddie alright, only he looks half dead. His skin is milky white, his lips an unnatural shade of blue. Strands of hair are plastered to his forehead, dripping wet. His hands and jaw quiver with cold.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim, taking a step towards him. “Are you okay?”
