Page 68 of Skin and Bones

I was going home.

My hands were screaming with the weight of my shopping haul as I fished a key out of my pocket and let myself into the flat that felt more like home than even my parents’ house down south. I loved my childhood room, but that space belonged to a different Hugo. One who no longer seemed to exist, having become a faint shadow at the back of my mind.

I was alone, but the place screamed of Ben. Ben and Me. His piles of clothing in the hallway. My stuff piled neatly on the floor next to the sofa. The kitchen table was full of crumbs and an abandoned teacup. Ben had not even tried to tidy up. As for the bed…

Sigh.

I flicked the kettle on and put the lights on in the small room where he slept. Whereweslept. I got it. It was dark and safe and comfortable, the old oak panelling on the walls still bearing marks from where shelves had once hung. It had been painted since then, and the flooring was fresh and clean, or certainly clean enough for me to pile the mattress and blankets onto it.

That done, I made myself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table like a normal person, ripping all the packaging from my purchases, every so often forcing myself to stop and take a sip. I was learning to be kind to myself, drinking things other than water and following my meal plan. I also had to eat dinner at some point, but I’d already spotted some new boxes of food in the fridge, so that hurdle would be an easy one to master.

The bed bounced as I was crawling around in the small space arranging the pillows just right, spreading blankets over the crisp duvet cover and fluffing the scatter cushions until they sat on the top like plush yellow beachballs.

I’d gone for soft yellows because the colour made me happy and my friendly shop assistant had said it brought happiness. I had to agree with that: the previously dark, dank room looked unbelievably cosy now.

I felt surprisingly normal, like a fully functioning human being as I walked down the stairs and deposited all the packaging in the recycling bin. It was only on the way back up that I realised I hadn’t counted the steps. I couldn’t remember the last time I had, and it scared me a little that I’d thought about it now because all those ghosts from the past were dangerous. I slammed the door behind me and spoke out loud.

“Nothing bad can happen to me here.”

Then I laughed, because I knew, somehow, I knew that was true, and I ate my dinner, grinning at the chickpeas he’d hidden under the small pile of rice smothered in a warmly flavoured sauce that melted pleasantly on my tongue. As if I wouldn’t notice that he’d introduced something new into my diet. Oh, and a single tomato. He knew me. Knew what I could handle.

Still smiling—I smiled a lot these days—I crawled into the bed with my phone. I didn’t miss having a TV at all, although I could imagine having one in here.

I’m so proud of you, my sister texted, like she was in the room and could see me. I thumbed the reply button…

Next thing, I woke up in the middle of the night as he crawled into bed, grunting and huffing in a failed attempt at not waking me up. The bed was a double, and the whole mattress was bouncing like I was an iceberg and he was the bloodyTitanic.

I said that out loud, still drowsy from sleep, and he laughed.

“I love what you’ve done to the bed. It’s like a mountain of yellow fluffy happiness.”

“Told you I’d completely revamp this place. Now we just need matching bedside tables and a TV on the wall.”

“You want a TV on the wall?”

“Maybe? Then we can lie in bed and watch stuff. Like films. The news.”

“That sounds very grown up.”

I loved that he didn’t shoot me down. That he just laughed as I shuffled around, poking my arm out from under the weighted blanket. I was hot, actually. Too many blankets, and the duvet weighed a tonne.

Then suddenly, I had Ben’s head on my shoulder, his arm around my stomach.

“Cuddles,” he muttered. “I’ve been waiting all day to come home and give you a hug, and now we’re in bed, so I suppose this counts as hugging cuddles of some kind.”

“Hugging cuddles?” Yeah. Apparently. I carefully wrapped my arm around his head, my fingers landing in his hair. “Well, no, it’s actually hugging but lying down. So…” What on earth was I on about? “Yeah, I suppose that’s it. Cuddles.”

“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked, his voice somewhere in my neck. It made me shiver, the soft movements of his lips tickling my skin.

“Nah. Day off.” I danced my fingers through the smooth, soft strands of his hair, and he smiled. I could feel it. He smelled nice. His hair smelled nice, and before I knew it, my lips were in his mop and I kissed the top of his head. Christ Almighty. What was this supposed to be?

“Me too.” He sighed contentedly and somehow managed to get even closer to me, like he was trying to crawl under my clothes, although he wasn’t. He tugged at the blankets until he was right there next to me, his T-shirt against my hoodie. Okay, his hoodie. The scent of him was overwhelming but in a good way.

“Can I…” he started. Then he coughed, snuggled back where he belonged. “This cough is apparently from the lack of nicotine. All the junk coming up from my lungs.”

“Well done.” I kissed the top of his head again. Fuck my life.

“Can I take you out tomorrow? Would you let me? Just go for a day out, wander around. Have something to eat?”

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