About That Night

By Natalie Ward

Published by Natalie Ward

ISBN-13: 978-0-9874159-5-0

Copyright 2017 Natalie Ward

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect for this is appreciated.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover created by Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations.

For more information please come and visit me at http://www.natalieward.com.au

Table of Contents

That Night

The Day After That Night

About A Week After That Night

About A Year And Three Months Before That Night

Back To This Night

About One Year Before That Night

Back To This Night

About Seven Months After That Night

About Eight Months After That Night

Other books by Natalie Ward

I Love You to Death

Stubborn Love

I Love You, Always

Losing Me, Finding You

Waiting For You

Pain /noun/

An unpleasant feeling that is conveyed to the brain by sensory neurons. The discomfort signals actual or potential injury to the body. However pain can be more than just a sensation or the physical awareness of pain. It can also include perception, the subjective interpretation of discomfort.

My silence is just another word for my pain.

That Night…

~ Emma

“Time of death, six-forty-five pm.”

We all pause and look at the clock on the wall, as if to check, even though we know the time is accurate. This isn’t something you mess up and hearing the steady flat line of the heart monitor only confirms what we all knew was inevitable. There was no saving this one, no matter how hard we tried.

Still doesn’t make it any easier though. It never does.

“Shit,” the attending ER doctor says, hanging his head.

He’s one of the good ones, the empathetic ones who always takes the time to properly explain things, to both the patient and their families.

“I’ll tell the family,” I say, letting go of the clamps I was instructed to hang on to and don’t let go. It won’t matter anymore.

Dr Jason Langham lifts his head and looks at me, his face washed with exhaustion. “I’ll do it,” he says, like I knew he would.

I nod and we all silently stop what we’re doing and get the body ready. His family will want to see him, even though it’s not always something we recommend. In this case, it’s okay because from the shoulders up, he looks fine, as though he’s sleeping. It’s everything below that’s a mess, the impact of the collision all but destroying the chest and abdomen.

Blunt force trauma will be the cause of death. 

I can’t even imagine what that would feel like, the crushing impact, the feeling of bones breaking, organs collapsing, the life being pushed out of you.

Blunt. Force. Trauma.

Not something I ever want to experience.

Jason and I walk silently out of the cubicle, both of us pulling off our blood soaked aprons. It’s been six months since I joined the ER and I’m still not sure it’s where I want to be. It has its good points, the non-stop adrenaline rush as I get to practice every form of medicine I’ve ever been taught, but it has it’s downsides too.

The death being the obvious one.

It’s far too common and I’m not sure I’m cut out for it. I only have to look at Jason and see how taxing it is. He’s forty-two years old but already he looks closer to sixty.

Death ages you and there are times I think I can already feel it happening to me.

“Emma, you good?”

I look up at him; see the sympathy on his face. I nod once, because even though we both know neither of us is good right now, we both know we somehow have to be. This isn’t just our loss, and for the family, it’s a loss that’s far worse. So we put on a brave face. The face that tells them we did everything we possibly could, and their son didn’t suffer, and we’re very sorry for their loss, but now a social worker is here to help them try to move on with their lives.

It’s all bullshit. They know it and we know it. But it’s what we all have to do. As though all of this is some sort of game or something.

Jason exhales and I follow him down the corridor and out into the waiting room that’s reserved for emergency cases. It’s half full but I instantly know which family belongs to our patient. The mother is crying, wrapped against what I assume is her husband, the deceased man’s father. There are two girls, sisters I guess, who are also crying.

Jason does his thing and I stand silently beside him, watching as the family moves between denial and grief and shock and anger and then back to grief again. What little strength and resolve they had dissolves and by the end of it, they’re all in tears as they thank us profusely for everything we did. Or didn’t do as it turns out.

We turn and leave them with the social worker knowing neither of us will ever see any of them again. It’s cold, the way we work. Hands busy clamping vessels and massaging hearts and trying everything we can to hold on to somebody’s life and at the end, we deliver our verdict, say our condolences and walk away. Done. It always leaves me feeling empty too, cold and empty, as though I’m somehow missing something more in all of this.

After all, how can it be so easy to deal in death the way we do? Surely I should be feeling something more. Surely I should be reacting to this, feeling something, anything after everything I’ve just witnessed, everything I’ve just done.

“You did good tonight,” Jason says, a hand on my shoulder.

I glance up, wonder how it’s possible to do good and still have the patient die.

“You’d make a great ER attending, Emma,” he continues and I know he’s trying to get me to stay. “You should seriously consider making this your specialty.”

I nod, because I’m not sure what else to say. At the moment I’m undecided about what kind of medicine I want to specialise in. I’m undecided about a lot of things, including whether I can handle this…this loss on such a regular basis. But I don’t admit this to Jason, because showing weakness is never a good idea.

When we pass the on-call room, he nudges me towards it. “Head home,” he says. “Your shift was over two hours ago and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do on a Saturday night.”

“I’m happy to stay longer,” I lie.

Jason smiles and shakes his head. “Go. Go before you burn out completely and we lose you.”

I nod, wondering if it’s not too late for that. Because sometimes, it’s really hard not to feel like I’ve reached that point already.

Shaking my head, I force myself to take a deep breath as I walk towards my locker. I spin the lock, my fingers automatically moving through the combination without my mind having to even think about it. How nice it would be if everything in this place were that easy. To be able to just switch off my brain and not think about what my hands, my fingers were doing.

But it’s impossible, and as I swing open the metal door my brain doesn’t fail to realise what tonight’s loss is.

Number thirteen.

Thirteen in six months.

The realisation actually makes me laugh out loud, the sound harsh, even as it echoes back at me. Thirteen deaths are what I’ve faced in the six months I’ve worked in the ER. God knows how many Jason’s gone through; god knows how the hell it is he manages to drag himself into work each day, knowing that every new day brings the possibility of another one.

I close my eyes and take another deep breath as I reach for my bag, my other hand automatically wrapping around the phone in the pocket of my scrubs, a habit I can’t ever remember making, let alone breaking. I lift it so I can check for new messages, even though I know nothing has come through and technically I’m off work anyway.

But I’m wrong, because there are two new messages; only these are ones from the outside world. A world I’m supposed to be heading back out into tonight, but a world I’m feeling increasingly removed from with every day I spend in here.

“Shit,” I murmur, sliding the phone into my pocket without bothering to respond.

~ Nick

“Eight cock-sucking cowboys please.”

I force my eyes to focus on the overly made-up face and not the cleavage that’s pressed against the bar and ordering these ridiculous drinks. It’s an effort not to roll my eyes and tell her to order a real drink, but I know I can’t afford to be an arsehole.

Sometimes it’s hard though. Hard to know if they genuinely think they’re the first girl to try and seductively order a suggestive drink like this or they just think it’s that funny when they do and I won’t mind hearing it for the millionth fucking time. I want to tell them they’re not and I do and that it’s really not as sexy as they think it is. But like I said, I can’t afford to be an arsehole.

“Sure thing,” I say, forcing a smile. “Special occasion?” I ask, waving a hand in her general direction as though I actually care.

Her smile widens, her chest pressing a bit harder against the bar as though the sight of her tits, barely contained within her dress, is what I want to see right now. It’s not that I don’t appreciate a nice set of tits; of course I do, but not like this.

“She’s getting married,” she gushes, gesturing to the skinny brunette wearing a red lace veil and sash with the words Bride-To-Be flashing across it.

“Right,” I say, half sarcastically. Too dumb and too drunk.

I turn away and busy myself making the shots, wondering how it is my bar has ended up being a haven for bachelorette parties. This is not how I envisaged things would be when I opened the place and there’s a part of me that would like to ban them. Half the time it’s nothing but screeching, yelling girls, who buy hardly any drinks and somehow walk out of here leaving trails of glitter and other shit in their wake. It’s annoying as fuck. But then the other part of me knows that the sight of half dressed women brings in plenty of other customers too. Ones that not only order real drinks, but pay for them too.

“Here we go,” I say, turning back with the drinks.

The girl smiles at me again, fluttering her eyelashes as she pulls a couple of notes from between her breasts and hands them to me.

I play the game, cocking an eyebrow at her because I know that’s what she expects and when I turn to the cash register, she leans over the bar and smacks me on the arse, the move earning her a round of cheers from her friends. This time I don’t stop the eye roll, shoving the money in the register and not even bothering with her change. She’s too drunk to notice anyway.

“Looks like you’re in, mate,” Tony says.

I shoot him a look that says; don’t encourage them, and he only laughs. He doesn’t hate this stuff as much as I do, mostly because my lack of interest means easy targets for him I guess. These girls throw themselves at bartenders, shamelessly, and I guarantee he’ll finish work tonight with at least a couple of phone numbers, all of which he’ll no doubt use too.

“They’re all yours,” I say, pushing him towards their end of the bar.

Tony laughs as he swaggers towards them and I take the opportunity to duck out the back to my office.

I close the door behind me and sit down at my desk, throwing a half interested look over the piles of orders and bills I have; the framed photo that sits behind them. Reaching into my drawer, I pull out the bottle of eighteen-year-old MacCallan that was a promised gift when I opened this place and pour myself a glass.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know,” I say to the photo, raising my drink in salute.

I stare at the image, wondering how differently things could’ve been if they hadn’t ended up the way they are now. We were supposed to do this together, that had always been the dream. But then she’d left and even though she made sure I was all set up to do this alone, that still wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

I exhale hard, throwing back my drink. It doesn’t matter how many times I stare at the picture, looking for answers, I know I’m never going to find them. I also know I need to get back out to the front and help Tony. As much as he might like the drunken girls and their parties, it’s Saturday night and there are plenty of other customers who need drinks.

I push out of my chair, carrying the glass as I head back out to the bar, hoping the party of girls moves on soon.

Wondering if there will ever come a time when I can too.

~ Emma

I know I’m late from the second I arrive home and it has nothing to do with my roommate Owen yelling out, “You’re late,” as soon as I walk in the door. In fact, him yelling it only serves to annoy me more. I don’t care that I’m late because I don’t even want to go. I ignore him as I walk into the kitchen, knowing the look he’ll be giving me as he follows me in there.

“You okay?” he asks, as I throw my bag down and reach into the fridge for a drink. “Em?”

I shrug, grabbing a bottle of water. “Tired.”

“Long day at work?” he asks.

I glance back at him knowing he doesn’t know the half of it. Not that it’s Owen’s fault. I’m not exactly an open book when it comes to talking about the shit I see and deal with. It’s bad enough I go through it, why would I want to subject Owen to that stuff too.

“It was okay,” I say, shrugging as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Owen watches me for a second, almost as though he’s debating about whether to ask me more, like he doesn’t believe I’m being honest. I twist the cap off my bottle and take a long sip, hoping he’ll drop it. As long as I can make it to my room without any more questions, I know I’ll be good. And the only way I’ll do that is if I act as normal as possible.

Owen opens his mouth and I immediately cut him off as I ask, “How was your day?”

He stops, closing his mouth before he says, “Fine, same as usual.”

Owen’s a graphic designer, a good one too. He works with another guy in a company they started up together about three years ago. They’re still pretty local but they’ve been slowly building a following, which is why he’s working long hours and weekends at the moment. It fits in with my hours and makes us perfect friends and roommates because we’re both never here and when we are, we are both happy to veg on the couch and do nothing. Still, I know this won’t last for him. Eventually things will settle down and he’ll work more standard nine-to-five hours.

Me on the other hand, who knows.

“Go and take a shower,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand and shutting the fridge door.

“I think I’m just going to skip it,” I say, re-opening the fridge.

“Em,” he says, shutting it again. “You know you have to go.”

“Why?”

He grabs my shoulders, spinning me so that we’re face to face. “She’s your best friend. You have to go.”

I lean forward and rest my head against his chest, my eyes closing. “You’re my best friend, I should just stay here with you.”

Owen chuckles as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. He’s warm, familiar, comforting. “She’s getting married, Em, you’re her bridesmaid, you need to be there for this.”

“The wedding’s not for eight months,” I protest, my eyes closing as I sink further against him. “Who the hell has a bachelorette party eight months before their wedding?”

I feel Owen’s kiss against the top of my head even though I’ve just come off a fifteen-hour shift and must stink. I really need to go and take a shower, regardless of whether I’m going out.

“Sarah does,” he says. “And given it’s her wedding, I’m thinking she can pretty much do whatever she wants, including expect her best friend to show up tonight.”

I shrug, knowing he’s partly right.

Sarah is my best friend. The problem is we hardly see each other anymore. It’s not intentional; it’s just that so many other things always seem to get in the way.

Like work.

Being a resident at a major city hospital isn’t exactly conducive to maintaining the lifestyle I had during my days at university. Sarah gets it, mostly, I mean she works too, but I’m starting to wonder if my endless excuses to skip whatever pre-wedding event she’s organised aren’t starting to wear thin.

I do try. But even I can admit my enthusiasm is a bit half arsed at times. It doesn’t help that she actually has three other bridesmaids and doesn’t really need me there.

“Come on,” he says, pulling away as he turns and pushes me in the direction of my bedroom. “You do need a shower,” he says, swatting me on the arse. “Go and get yourself pretty.”

I let out a frustrated groan knowing I’d like nothing more than a shower and a night on the couch watching some mindless TV show that I’ve not been following and have no hope of understanding, despite how much Owen tries to get me up to speed. But I also know Owen’s not going to let me get away with that, so I drag myself into a scalding hot shower and try to wash away all of the crap that happened today.

Afterwards, I walk into my room to find my outfit for the night already laid out on my bed. I can’t help but roll my eyes, knowing that having a gay roommate can have both its perks and its annoyances. Regardless, I pull on the dress he’s chosen for me, knowing he will of course have gotten it right. In the bathroom, I slap on some eyeliner and mascara, a touch of lip-gloss, before quickly running the hair dryer through my hair.

When I’m finally done, I stand back and survey how I look.

Like shit.

There are dark circles under my eyes from too little sleep. My skin is pale, almost translucent, from too many hours spent indoors and I’m sure this dress wasn’t this loose when I bought it. Either way, it will have to do because it’s too late to change now. I’m already far too late as it is.

“Taxi is waiting for you downstairs,” Owen says handing me my coat as I walk into the living room. “You look great, Em,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.

“You’re such a liar,” I say, playfully punching him in the stomach. “But thanks.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “Go, have fun,” he tells me. “For once don’t think about work or how much you don’t want to be out tonight, okay?”

I shrug. “I’ll try.”

Owen shakes his head. “There is no try, only do.”

I roll my eyes at him, not even bothering with a response as I walk out the door and head downstairs, wondering if it’s even possible for me to have fun anymore.

~ Nick

The girls finally leave around nine, a stretch limo pulling up outside the bar that has them all screaming again at what I can only assume are levels dogs routinely hear. There’s a final last minute flurry of trips to the bathroom and checking their lipstick before they all call out goodbye to Tony and me and walk out the door.

“Fuck me,” I mutter, gathering up the mess of half drunk glasses they’ve left behind.

Tony laughs. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” he says, pulling a beer for an older customer who looks equally relieved the girls have gone.

“Yeah, right, I love it,” I say sarcastically, emptying their glasses as I stack them in the dishwasher.

“You know, you could try,” he says, no longer joking. “You are actually allowed to have fun in this job.”

I busy myself unpacking the clean glasses, refusing to meet Tony’s stare because I know exactly what he’s thinking and exactly what else he wants to say. It’s not that I don’t appreciate his efforts; it’s just that while he seems to feel this is the best course of action for him, it’s not something that’s ever going to happen for me.

Not anymore anyway.

“Nick?” he says, waiting for me to answer.

I shoot him a quick glance, shrugging my shoulders as I say, “I do have fun.”

“Right,” he scoffs, moving on to serve a group of guys who’ve just walked in.

I ignore his comment as I turn back to wipe down the bar. There’s a napkin with a name and number scrawled on it, which I scrunch up and throw in the bin. The older guy drinking his beer chuckles a little as I do and I look up and ask, “You want it?”

He laughs even harder now, swallowing half his beer in one long gulp. “Too young for me,” he says. “But what’s your story with it all?”

I serve some customers as this guy continues to watch me, waiting for an answer. I’m not sure what he’s expecting me to say or why he thinks he can ask me about it, but in the end, I just shrug and say, “Not my style.”

“Doesn’t have to be your style,” the guy says, finishing off his beer. “But your friend’s right, you are allowed to have fun.”

I watch as he stands and grabs his coat from the back of the bar stool. He grins at me, before turning and walking out of the bar. “Random,” I mutter, watching as he holds the door open for a woman who looks unsure about whether she even wants to come inside. I watch her, wondering what makes her so uncertain, but then she shakes her head at my last customer, stepping backwards as she turns and glances down the street as though she’s looking for something.

I keep watching her as she stands outside on the cold street, alternatively glancing at the door and the curb where taxis are waiting. She’s hesitant, as though she can’t decide if she should stay or go.

Eventually though, she does neither, instead pulling a phone from her bag, thumbing through some keys and lifting it to her ear. She turns away from me and leans back against the front window of the bar.

She’s wearing a long black coat, her long blonde hair still half wet as it blows in the cold night air. I can’t see her face as she talks, but after a few minutes her head falls, the hand not holding the phone running through her hair in frustration or despair maybe.

Even from behind, she looks lonely and for some reason, a part of me wants to walk outside and see that she’s okay. Maybe tell her to come inside where it’s warm, so I can pour her a drink and she doesn’t have to feel so alone. I shove the towel in my back pocket, unsure about what’s driving me to want to go out to her.

“Excuse me?”

I turn, see a group of four standing at the bar, one of them looking expectantly at me. I shake my head, knowing I’ve got no business going outside to ask if this woman is alright. I’ve got a bar to run, customers to serve. Shaking my head, I plaster on a smile. “Sorry, what can I get for you?”

By the time I’ve got them their drinks, the mystery woman is no longer outside my bar, the window empty with nothing but the faintest wet marks where she leant her wet hair against the glass. I’m surprised by a sudden feeling of loss, as though I’ve somehow missed out on something by her not walking in here.

It’s weird and I turn away from the window, busy myself making sure all of my customers are served, that everyone’s drinks are full.

When I turn down to the end of the bar though, to the stool the guy offering me relationship advice sat in, I’m shocked to see her sitting there. She’s still wearing her coat; the collar turned up to her chin even though the heating in here ensures the bar is nice and warm. Now she’s up close, I can see I was right about the frustration and despair. It’s written all over her face, along with a healthy dose of exhaustion too. She looks nervously around the room as though she’s going to bolt any second and for some unknown reason, I find myself moving towards her.

Wanting her to stay.

~ Emma

I’m sitting in the bar.

I have no idea what I’m doing here.

Because I’m sitting in a bar where I know the girls no longer are and I know absolutely no one. I knew it before I even walked in the door, it was clear they’d gone, the room is small enough that I could see all the way to the back, where I’m now sitting. It’s almost a relief to know that I don’t have to put on a fake smile and pretend to be happy to be here, but just as soon as I think this, I realise I also can’t go home. If I go home Owen will only find a way to make me go back out, to find out where Sarah is and go meet them.

I’m not sure which option is less appealing right now.

The place is all exposed brick and dark wood. The left side is dominated by a long bar, the wall behind it lined with a waist high bench and the space above filled with glass shelves and bottles. There are glasses hanging from racks and bowls of lime slices, sprigs of herbs and all sorts of other fancy garnishes. There’s no tacky neon signs, no beer advertising and no TV screens showing sports either, just a row of high-backed bar stools, most of which are filled with customers.

The right side of the room has a row of cozy booths and the odd bar table and stool. At the back is a dark corridor, which I’m assuming lead to the bathrooms, next to which sits an old-fashioned jukebox. The music is old school, hip enough to still be trendy but low enough that the customers can still talk. Long bulbs hang from the ceiling, their elements dimmed so the whole place takes on that mysterious darkened room vibe. I can see why Sarah would’ve liked this place.

Tightening my coat, I turn my phone in my hands, trying to work out what the hell I should do now. I can’t go home and I clearly can’t stay here either. But I’m distracted by the call I made before coming in here. The call I couldn’t stop myself from making. The call I make after every shift is over, despite how many times I’m told not to. Or how many times I try and convince myself I don’t need to.

Work.

Of course I’d called back, asking to speak to Jason, to see if the family was okay, that the social worker had taken care of them. What I hadn’t expected was him telling me about the father of the boy we hadn’t been able to save earlier tonight. How he’d had a heart attack and was now in the ICU being monitored. It was lucky he’d been in the hospital when it happened, but I guess you could say it was unlucky he’d been in the hospital in the first place.

Blunt force trauma.

The words ring through my head, even now.

“Emma, you don’t need to worry about this,” Jason had said, even though he knows I will.

“I do,” I’d said, shaking my head. “I should’ve stayed. Will he be alright?”

Jason had let out an exhausted sigh down the line. “Unclear, but he’s stable for now.”

I’d nodded, knowing that the next twenty-four hours would be crucial; that the full extent of the damage to his heart wouldn’t be known right away. Although given everything that had happened to this man’s family tonight, I’m not sure if his heart wasn’t already completely broken anyway.

“Okay, well keep me posted.”

Jason had exhaled again. “Go and have a night off, Emma,” he’d said. You deserve a break.”

“You do too,” I’d said.

Jason had laughed and we both knew what that meant. We did deserve a break, but we were never really going to get one. Our kind of job doesn’t come with an off switch, no matter how many times we walk out the door and try to forget about it.

As clichéd and egotistical as it all sounds, people’s lives were and are, literally in our hands and it’s really hard to just ‘clock off’ and hand that kind of responsibility over to someone else to take care of.

Now though, my phone lights up with a text indicating the missed call and voicemail from Sarah. I’m not sure I have the stomach to listen to it. I know it’s only going to be filled with questions. Questions like ‘where are you?’ and ‘how could you do this to me?’ And they are all questions that I don’t know how to answer.

So instead, I slide my phone back into my bag, wondering what the hell I should do next.

“Drink?” a voice says.

I look up; see the bartender standing in front of me a bottle of beer in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. I look at his face, see the questioning look as he stares at me. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, I shake my head, knowing this is a mistake. I can’t sit here alone in some bar drinking. I need to go home. I’ll call Sarah and hope it goes to voicemail, leave her a message that tries to explain I’ve had a shit day at work and celebrating her wedding, which is still eight months away, is not what I feel like doing right now.

“You sure,” he says, setting the bottles on the bar. “You look like you need it?”

I feel a sudden ache of sadness in my chest, my throat tightening as long-forgotten tears threaten to fall. I blink rapidly, trying to make them disappear so I don’t make a complete fool of myself in public. The bartender says nothing, just reaches for a napkin, which he sets wordlessly on the bar in front of me. He then turns and opens the beer, putting it in front of me next to a glass which he fills with a generous pour of the scotch.

“Either or both,” he says, gently pushing them towards me. “On me.”

I say nothing and he walks away. Grateful, I quickly pick up the napkin; blot tears I haven’t shed in as long as I can remember. I don’t even know where they are coming from. I don’t usually cry over things that happen at work.

As cold as it seems, it’s something you quickly learn to block out. Pushing your emotions down until they’re buried somewhere so deep they can’t ever escape. It’s what lets us do our job without falling apart, lets us focus on saving a life when everything appears to be lost.

Sometimes it’s hard not to wonder about the impact it has on our own life though. Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t buried all of these feelings so deep, I’ll never find them again.

I pick up the beer and swallow a long gulp, grateful for the coolness of the liquid as it washes down my throat. I immediately feel better and by the time he wanders back, I’m halfway through the bottle.

“Not a scotch drinker, huh?” he says, gesturing at the glass.

I swallow, glancing up at him. He watches me, a look on his face that I can’t decipher.

He’s good looking in that rugged, manly kind of way. Dark hair, that’s pulled back into one of those fashionable man buns that every guy seems to be sporting these days. It suits him though. His eyes are even darker, but I can’t quite see what colour they are in the low lighting. There’s faintest dusting of stubble on the kind of face that undoubtedly serves him very well in this job. The dark eyes are kind too; eyes that no doubt invite customers to both talk and flirt.

He raises an eyebrow in question and I realise I’ve been staring at him and I have no idea what he just asked me.

“What?” I blurt out.

“Not a scotch drinker?” he asks, gesturing towards my untouched glass.

I shake my head, trying to clear whatever that was just now. “Um…I ah, I like it with ice.”

“Ice, huh?” he says, eyebrows scrunched in question. “Not sure how the Scots would feel about that, but if that’s what you like, what would they know.”

He sets a glass of ice on the bar next to my scotch. I scoop up two cubes and drop them into my drink, hearing them clink against the glass. He watches me the whole time, smiling when I look up at him again.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

My stomach rumbles reminding me that I haven’t eaten for nearly fifteen hours. Between the litres of coffee I’ve had and now the beer and scotch on an empty stomach, I’m going to be on the floor very soon. Given I almost burst into tears when this guy offered me a drink, passing out on the floor of the bar he works in is not something I’m keen on following that up with.

“Do you have any food?” I ask, glancing around the room. There is what looks like a kitchen at the back behind me, but it’s dark, no signs of life.

“We don’t,” he says, apologetically. “But I’m about to order some dinner, want me to get you something too?”

I look up at him; see the concerned look on his face now. I’m about to shake my head no, that I don’t need any special treatment when he pulls a take-away menu from under the bar and slides it in front of me. “They deliver,” he says, as though that solves everything. “We order from them all the time, it’s fine.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, looking down at the options as he stands there watching me. I pick the first thing I see, pointing to it as I slide it over. I reach for my purse, but the guy shakes his head, as if to say it doesn’t matter, before he wanders over to the phone, waving the menu at the other bartender to ask if he wants anything. As I watch him, I can’t help but wonder why he’s being so nice to me. Surely it’s not the standard routine, giving a girl free drinks and a meal just to get them into bed. He’d be out of a job if that were his MO.

No, I’m sure he’s just playing the role, taking pity on someone who’s clearly had a shit day. Maybe he figures if he gives me some free drinks now, I’ll stay and order more.

But as I glance around the room, looking at all of the people in here tonight, the couples, groups of friends, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’m even doing here. I don’t belong in this place because I am nothing like these people. I’m not sure if I ever was or if somehow, I just lost it along the way. The room is full but not so much that it’s packed, it’s just full of life and laughter and happiness. Things that are definitely missing in me these days.

I should leave. I have no place being here and the easiest thing to do would be to go home and try to forget about everything that happened. Wipe the slate clean with sleep so I can get up and do it all again tomorrow.

I stand up, ready to go.

And then for unknown reasons, I slide off my coat and hang it on the back of my chair.

The warmth of the room envelops me, almost like an embrace. As awkward as this all feels, I know the loneliness of anonymity is far better then the loneliness of being at home.

So I sit back down. But when I glance up, I catch the bartender staring at me and I wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

~ Nick

“Hot,” comes Tony’s voice at the same time his elbow jabs me in the ribs.

Distracted, I turn to face him, see the grin as he eyes the girl sitting at the end of my bar and then me. A sudden protective instinct surges through me, an urgent impulse to stop him from going over and trying anything on with her. I’m not sure she’d be up for it, but I’m not sure I would be either.

“Mmmm,” I say feigning disinterest.

Tony laughs because he knows I’m full of shit. Of course she’s hot, she’s fucking beautiful, but I’m not about to admit that to him. “Well, if you’re not going to,” he says, eyebrows raised in question.

That protective instinct fires up a gear and I step sideways, blocking his view of her. “Leave it, Tony,” I say, my voice firm.

He looks at me, confused. I’ve never stopped him before, mostly because I’ve never cared before. Hell, a year ago I’d have been the one doing all the flirting while Tony hung back and did nothing.

But that’s all changed.

And while it’s now Tony who’s the one flirting with the customers, I also know he’s a good guy about it. He’s not going to fuck them over or treat them like shit because he’s just not that kind of guy.

But this girl feels different, or maybe too familiar in a way I don’t want to think about right now. Whatever it is, she seems far too vulnerable and while I don’t doubt she can take care of herself, tonight I don’t want her to have to.

“Okay,” he says, shrugging. “She’s all yours. You ordering food?” he asks, already distracted.

“Yeah,” I nod. “You want something?”

Tony grabs the menu even though he’ll order the same thing he always does. I’m already on the phone when he hands the menu back, telling me, “Burger, fries, onion rings.”

I nod, waiting for the next part.

“You know this would be a hell of a lot easier if we just opened the kitchen back up.”

I shake my head even as he looks as me with that frustrated why not, you know she’d want you to look on his face he always has when we have this discussion. I know he’s right; things would be easier if we re-opened the kitchen. Business would probably be better too; drinks and food are generally a winning combination. But re-opening the kitchen is something I’ve never been able to do. Not now, especially since that was always her part of the dream.

Still, I also know that me ordering food for this customer is going to create problems. People are going to start wanting their own meals, at least something more than the basic shit we’ve been reduced to serving now that I no longer have a chef.

I glance up at her, this customer that already has me breaking the rules. She’s standing beside her chair, and I can see from the look on her face that she’s about two seconds from walking out of my bar. I step towards her, even with the phone pressed to my ear, ready to say anything to get her to stay, but in that second, something changes. Something in her face shifts, and instead of leaving, she peels off her coat, revealing a strapless black dress. She looks incredibly self-conscious as she sits back down, crossing her arms in front of her body as though she’s trying to hide.

My heart thuds in my chest and I want to tell her she looks beautiful, that she shouldn’t hide. But when she glances up at me, her eyes locking with mine, I can’t move, my body freezing as I try to work out how, after just a short amount of time, she’s able to cause this kind of reaction in me.

“Hello?”

It’s said in a way that tells me it’s not the first time it’s been said and I realise I’ve been standing here, staring at this girl while someone on the other end of the line waits for me to place my order. Shaking my head, trying to clear whatever the fuck is going on with me, I turn away, quickly reeling off our orders before hanging up and going back to looking after my other customers.

By the time our food shows up, the girl has finished both of her drinks. I grab her another beer, opening it as I take her food down to her.

“Here,” I say, smiling as I place it all in front of her. She looks up, surprised as though she’d forgotten she ordered something or that she was even in my bar at all.

“Thanks,” she says, reaching for her bag. “How much do I owe you?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

She looks up at me. “I can’t not pay,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask, wiping my hands on the towel in my back pocket before reaching for my own beer. I twist off the cap, throwing it towards the bucket at the back of the bar that collects all the bottle tops.

“Because,” she starts, pausing as though she isn’t sure of the reasons either. “You’ll lose your job if you keep giving me free drinks.”

I laugh at this, shaking my head as I tell her. “Don’t worry, it’s all good.”

The girl shakes her head again. “No, really. I can’t.” She pulls out her wallet, removing two twenties and sliding them across the bar towards me. It’s not quite enough, but then I’m not expecting anything from her.

I put my hand down, stopping her. “It’s good, really.” She shakes her head again, a determined look on her face. It does something, that look, something I can’t explain but which must be the reason for what I say next.

“Alright, I’ll tell you what,” I say, lifting my hand. “I’ll let you pay, if you tell me your name?”

The look on her face changes now, shifting to surprise and then maybe embarrassment. The lighting in the bar is low, but I swear her cheeks blush a little. Just when I think she’s about to cave and let me buy her dinner and drinks, she swallows hard and says, “Emma. My name is Emma.”

I grin, lifting up my beer as I clink it against hers. “Nice to meet you, Emma,” I say. “I’m Nick.”

Emma nods, lifting her beer up and taking a long pull. I watch as her head tilts back, the movement of her throat as she swallows. My body reacts, instantly and in a way that I can’t explain. Suddenly the room feels like it’s a hundred degrees and I have to force myself to look away, take a long drink of the cold beer before I ask her something even more fucking stupid than I already have.

We eat our meal in silence, me occasionally walking off to serve a customer or take care of something. It’s late now, but it’s still a steady night. Not too busy that I can’t stop and eat with the hope that she actually starts talking to me. When it becomes apparent she’s not going to, I wrack my brains with something I can ask her. I’m usually pretty good at the small talk stuff; it’s kind of a necessity for working in a bar.

With her though, I have no idea what to say. Of course there are a million things I want to ask her, most of which relate to the phone call she made outside, the reaction she had when I first offered her a drink or why she’s here tonight, alone.

But I don’t, mostly because of the closed off vibe she’s giving me, her arms wrapped around her body when she isn’t eating or having a drink, that say, don’t approach and don’t pry too hard. I wonder what’s made her feel this way and whether it’s just tonight, if it’s just with me, or if she’s like this all the time.

I also wonder why she’s alone. How a woman who’s dressed like that and who looks like her, could possibly be sitting alone in a bar on a Saturday night.

But I don’t ask her any of this and she doesn’t volunteer anything in return. Instead she sits and I stand, both of us eating in silence and seemingly trying our hardest to avoid looking at each other. I steal occasional glances though, looking for an in, a way to get her to open up, even though it’s the last thing I should be doing.

When she’s finished her burger, she wraps the paper into a ball, scrunching it tight before she takes aim at the rubbish bin halfway down the bar. I watch as she launches it through the air, landing it squarely in the bin in an almost effortless move.

“Impressive,” I say, smiling.

She gives me a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, before she picks up her beer and finishes it. There’s something about the movement that suggests finality, as though now she’s finished her dinner and drinks, she’s paid her dues and it’s time to go. For reasons I can’t even begin to explain or understand, I realise I actually don’t want her to leave.

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask, the question the first thing to pop into my head.

She freezes, as she’s reaching for her jacket. “No,” she answers.

“Waiting for someone then?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible that I can keep coming up with such ridiculous questions.

She shakes her head. “I’ve already missed them,” she says, standing.

I stare at her, urge her to sit back down and stay. But she moves to put on her coat, moves to cover up the curves of her body that are barely hidden beneath the short black dress she wears.

And that’s when it hits me.

“You were supposed to be here for the wedding thing?” I ask.

Emma stops, her head falling before she forces herself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” she says quietly. “But I was late, and they left without me.”

“They couldn’t wait for you?” I ask, shocked.

She looks up at me, exhausted sadness on her face as she says, “I’m always late. They get tired of waiting for me.”

Fuck, that’s a pretty shit thing to do. I mean, I have no idea why she was late, but I’m sure she has a good excuse. Something’s clearly happened to her today that’s hurt her, made her sad in a way that very few people ever feel. It sends a pang of sympathy through me, knowing what that sadness feels like, knowing how little other people get it.

“So what are you going to do?” I ask. “Will you go and meet them?”

Emma shakes her head, pulling her coat tighter. “I think I’m just going to go home,” she says. “Call it a night.”

I’m shaking my head at her, unwilling to let her leave, for some reason, unable to say goodbye. “Don’t,” I say, the word out before I can stop it.

She stares at me as though confused and I don’t blame her. “What?”

“Don’t go,” I say, pulling the towel from my back pocket as I wipe down invisible spots on the bar. “Stay, have another drink.”

She picks up her bag and I can feel the inevitable drawing closer. “I can’t do that,” she says.

“Yeah you can,” I tell her. “All you have to do is take off your coat and sit back down.” I’m already reaching for another bottle of beer, enticing her to stay when I have no fucking right to.

“And sit here alone?” she asks, her words filled with loneliness.

I smile now, twisting the cap off the bottle. “You wouldn’t be all alone,” I say, placing it in front of her. She glances around the room as though wondering exactly who it is she’d be here with. Everyone else in the bar is with someone else. Couples, groups of friends, all here together. The room is filled with laughter and chatter and everything that Emma is not.

“Who would I talk to?” she asks and I can sense the hesitation, the tiny spark that suggests she might just be open to changing her mind if I can somehow come up with an answer.

I clear away her empty bottles, gesturing for her to sit again as I slide the fresh beer closer and say, “You can talk to me.”

~ Emma

Nick stares at me as I try to decide what to do. Try and decipher what his words mean.

You can talk to me.

What would we even talk about? I’m not much of a talker and besides, he’s busy running the bar and serving customers. Why would he possibly want the distraction of a lonely, exhausted girl that he feels compelled to talk to?

Just as I’m about to thank him and go, he turns so he’s fully facing me. I watch as he puts his hands on the bar, leans forward and looks me square in the eye.

“Will sitting at home alone make this any better?” he asks, his words so quiet, I barely hear them.

I swallow, knowing he’s both right and wrong. I wouldn’t be alone, not entirely. Owen’s there and even though I’m sure his boyfriend Will was coming over, I know they’d let me hang out with them if that’s what I wanted. But at the same time, I would still be alone, because it would be them and me. Always the third wheel, always alone. And for some reason, tonight I don’t want that. Not after everything that’s happened.

So I nod, trying not to think about what this means as I remove my coat and sit back down, finally lifting my eyes as I reach for the new beer he’s put in front of me. When I do, I catch Nick staring at me, staring at my bare shoulder, captivated by whatever it is he thinks he sees there. It’s unnerving; the way he’s looking at me, and it’s only the sound of smashing glass that brings him out of his trance. Turning, he glances down the bar to the group of guys at the end, the broken glass that now litters the top of the bar.

“I’ll be back,” he says, glancing quickly back at me before he walks away.

I want to tell him it’s fine, take his time; he doesn’t need to stay and babysit me. But he’s gone before I even get a chance.

I watch him though. Watch the way he interacts with the customers, waving off the apologies from the guys as he cleans up the mess. He’s just the right mix of friendly and laid back and exactly what a bartender should be. Not that I’d know of course, but watching him, it’s clear he’s good at his job. It’s clear he has the respect of the people he works with too. There’s only the two of them behind the bar, Nick and the guy he talked with when he offered to get me something to eat. From what I can tell, Nick seems like he’s in charge. There’s a couple of others, wandering around the room; taking orders, delivering drinks and clearing up empty glasses. The bar is busy, but not too crowded, the kind of business that would make any owner happy.

“Hey, can I buy you another drink?”

I turn, just as the stranger offering to buy me another drink slides into the stool next to mine. He’s smiling at me, his arm already resting on the back of my chair as he leans in close. I can smell his cologne, overpowering and almost masking the alcohol that’s on his breath.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure are,” he says, leaning closer. “You here alone?”

I shake my head, leaning away as I hope this guy gets the message and leaves. I’m not in the mood for this shit but I’m so out of practice with getting hit on at a bar that I have no idea what to do to let him know that.

“You look like you’re alone,” he says, wedging his knee against my leg, crowding me in.

A feeling of claustrophobia washes over me. I feel trapped in my corner of the bar, pinned against wood and stone with the heavy presence of this half drunk guy leaning over me. I want to scream at him to get away from me, push him off me and run out into the street.

“Come on,” he says, his breath hot on my skin. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Hey,” comes the voice. “She said she wasn’t interested.”

I look up, surprised. Nick is standing beside us now, a look on his face that suggests he might rip this guy’s arms off if he doesn’t do as he says.

“Mind your own business,” the guy says, his eyes still on me.

I see the hand as it grabs the back of this guy’s collar, hear the gruff voice that says, “This is my business, mate. So you can just fuck off and get out of here.”

“Hey, what the fuck?” this guy says as he’s yanked from his chair.

“You’re out,” Nick says, anger on his face as looks right at this guy. He squirms in his grip, trying to get free, but he can’t. I can see the white knuckles of Nick’s hand as he holds him by the collar. He’s probably an inch or two taller than this guy, broader too and I can see the cords of muscle in his arm, the contractions beneath his skin as he maintains his grip on this customer.

“What the fuck did I do?” the guy asks and he’s either too drunk or too stupid to understand.

Nick shoots me a quick look that’s half apologetic, half concerned before he turns this guy around and marches him towards the door. I don’t hear what he says to him, just watch as Nick opens the door and pushes him out onto the street. A couple of guys by the door laugh, pointing at this guy through the front windows. I see what must be his friends, run out to find out what happened. Watch as the customer who’s been kicked out spits at the glass, giving Nick the bird before storming off down the street.

Nick returns to the bar, grabs a cloth from the sink and heads outside, wiping down the glass until the evidence of this guy’s anger is gone. When he comes back in, he throws the cloth in the sink and looks at me. The other bartender shoves a shot of something in front of Nick, but he shakes his head, his eyes still on mine. He doesn’t move and for a second, neither of us looks away. Eventually Nick mouths a question.

Are you okay?

I nod, lifting my drink to my mouth, only to discover it’s empty.

He nods once, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the other guy and saying something to him. I watch as the other bartender moves towards me, smiling carefully as he says, “Sorry about that. Can I get you another drink?”

I glance behind him, trying to catch Nick’s eye. It strikes me that he’s more pissed off about this whole thing than I am. Which is not to say that I enjoyed any part of that guy hitting on me, but with Nick, it seemed different, almost personal.

“Is he okay?” I ask, still watching him. He’s avoiding me now, focusing instead on the customers standing on the other side of the bar.

“Yeah,” the other bartender says. “He’s fine. He just hates dickheads like that in his place.”

My eyes flick to this new bartender. “This is Nick’s place?” I ask.

The guy grins at me, nodding as he says, “Yep, it is. Which is why I can offer you a drink on the house as an apology.”

I shake my head. “He’s already bought me some drinks,” I say, looking back at Nick.

“Yeah, I noticed,” this other guy murmurs. “But still, what can I get you?”

I glance at my empty beer, trying to remember how many I’ve had. It’s not that I don’t drink; I just don’t do it that often. Mainly because there is no way I can do my job hungover. But I have the next two days off. Two days to somehow adjust my body clock from working days to working nights. It’s never enough time and I know I’ll spend the first few days of night shift trying to stay awake and on a new time zone. By the time I finally do, I’ll be back on days again and my whole system will be so far out of whack I won’t know what time or day it is.

“Something fruity, maybe,” he suggests.

I scrunch up my nose in distaste, shaking my head as I say, “I’ll just have another beer.”

The bartender nods, before reaching down to grab one for me. As he sets it down in front of me, he says, “Just give him a minute, he’ll be okay,” before wandering off and leaving me to wonder why what just happened got Nick so riled up.

~ Nick

I have no idea why I reacted like that. Overreacted, more like it. It just hit me, some weird primal protection thing that I can only assume stems from before when I should have been protecting her; even though she always told me she never needed my protection.

But this is different, because I barely know Emma and really, I have no idea whether she would have cared about this guy trying to hit on her. Maybe she was interested, although if I had to put money on it, I’d say she wasn’t.

She didn’t just look like she wasn’t interested; she looked overwhelmed, as though she had no idea how to deal with it. Which surprises me, given how attractive she is. I’m sure she gets hit on all the time.

In any case, I wasn’t quite ready to process whatever it was that came over me and I wasn’t up to facing her either. So I sent Tony down to check on her, make sure she was okay and get her another drink.

I knew he didn’t fully understand what was going on either, despite what had happened in the past. The way he’d asked, “What’s the story with this girl and you?” making that much obvious.

I hadn’t had an answer for him, because I didn’t understand it either. Instead I’d said, “Nothing, just make sure she’s alright, okay?” before I’d walked off and busied myself serving the other customers in my bar.

Eventually though, I knew I had to talk to her. I mean I’m the one who told her to stay, that she could talk to me. It would be a pretty shitty thing to say and then avoid her all night. So as a group of customers leave, I wipe down the bar where they were sitting, take a deep breath and head down to where she still sits. The bar is only half full now, the crowd thinning as people either move on to the clubs or decide to call it a night. It’s always a little slower in winter, allowing us to close on time and get home at a reasonable hour. Reasonable for a bartender anyway.

God knows the hours we keep are shit at best. Working when everyone else is having fun. Sleeping when everyone else is working. Sometimes it’s hard to work out when I get to have fun, if I even have a life. But, as I continue to remind myself, this is what I’d wanted. This was everything we’d dreamed of and worked so hard to achieve, and even though she’s now gone, leaving me to live the dream alone, it doesn’t mean that I don’t still love every minute of it.

Or feel guilty for feeling that way either.

I head down to the end of the bar where Emma is sitting. But before I reach it, I watch as she gets up out of her chair, catching my eye before turning and walking towards the back of the bar where the bathrooms are. She leaves her coat and bag behind though and the sudden knot that forms in my chest unravels as I realise she’s coming back. I move closer, to keep an eye on her things until she returns.

When she eventually slides back into her barstool, I flash her a smile. She tentatively smiles back at me, opens her mouth as though to ask me something that I’m sure will be about before. I don’t give her a chance though, spitting out the first thing that pops into my head.

“So, Emma, what is it that you do?”

Emma’s mouth snaps shut, a look of surprise on her face as though this was the last thing she expected me to ask. In reality, it was the last thing I expected to ask too, the question such a cliché, that even I want to punch myself in the mouth.

“Um, I’m a doctor,” she says, folding her arms across her stomach again. She does this a lot, as though she’s warding herself in, protecting herself and not letting anybody get too close. It makes me want to pull on her hands, gently unwrap them from her body so she can let me.

“A doctor, wow,” I say, leaning back against the bench behind my bar, crossing my feet at my ankles. “What sort of doctor?”

She tilts her head at me, as though she doesn’t understand the question or at least where I’m going with all of this. “ER at the moment,” she says.

“At the moment?” I ask, confused.

Emma nods. “Yeah, I’m doing a stint there while I try to figure out my specialty.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding like I understand. “And, what do you think, do you like it?”

I watch as she takes a deep breath, as though gathering strength. It reminds me of how she looked after the phone call when she first arrived, at the comments regarding her friends and them not waiting for her and I realise that was probably the dumbest question I could’ve asked her.

How could she like it?

Working emergency after emergency, trauma after trauma, death after death. Getting a glimpse of it the three times I was forced to go there was bad enough, I can’t imagine doing it day after day after day.

“Sorry, that was a shitty question,” I quickly say, scrubbing a hand down my face.

She looks at me as though she wants to ask me something, but then she shakes her head and says, “No, it’s fine. And to answer, yeah I do like it, but it’s tough too. Some days it’s really tough.”

“I take it today was one of those days?” I ask.

Emma nods. “It was.”

I take a deep breath, wondering why I am so interested in this girl or her life. Why I’m pushing this. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She bites her bottom lip. “No,” she says, hesitantly. “It’s okay.”

“You can if you want,” I say, knowing how many times in the past I’ve been a sounding board for my customers. How them being able to give voice to whatever is troubling them is usually much more helpful than the alcohol they come in here looking for. The alcohol they assume will dull the pain of whatever burden they’re carrying.

I also know how much of a hypocrite that logic makes me given everything I refuse to talk about, but I ignore that part of my brain, pushing the voice aside as I wait for Emma to talk instead.

She chews on her bottom lip for a second, as though contemplating whether she should. I’m not sure whether it’s the anonymity of the bar or the knowledge that we will likely never see each other again that does it, but eventually she takes a sip of her beer and starts to speak.

“I lost a patient today,” she says. “He died,” she adds as though it needs clarification.

Almost immediately I can feel the familiar stab of pain through my heart, twisting on itself as though to remind me that it’s still there, that it never really goes away no matter how much I might like to pretend it does.

“A young guy, maybe twenty-one,” she continues, the pain in my chest slowly spreading. “He’d been in a car accident, a bad one. The engine block had pushed the whole steering column into his sternum, crushing him. We tried everything we could, but it was just too much. Too much trauma,” she says, in a voice that sounds oddly detached.

Too much trauma.

The familiarity of those words makes my head spin and I can feel the churning of my dinner as it threatens to make an appearance all over my bar.

“It wasn’t even his fault,” she continues, oblivious to what I’m now feeling. “Some guy in a van ran a red light, pushed him into a brick wall. High impact blunt force trauma,” she says. “No chance.”

I force myself to swallow, to look at her as she tells me about this, so clinically and so cold, as though she’s completely removed from the situation. It was like this before, when the doctors told me it was too late to save her, too late because the shock and the trauma of it all had literally stopped her heart. I remember wondering then if this is something they taught you in med school. How to be so cold?

“And the kicker of it all,” she continues, with a humourless laugh. “Is that after we told his family we were unable to save him, his dad had a heart attack and is now in the ICU. It’ll be touch and go as to whether he survives the night.”

She stops now and a part of me is grateful. I don’t want to listen to words like heart attack and ICU and touch and go survival. They were painful enough the last time I heard them and I don’t want to relive any it.

“Sorry you asked, huh?” she says, nudging my arm.

Her touch sends a jolt through me and it snaps me out of the memories that I usually manage to keep buried. I turn and grin, trying for normal as I say, “Not at all. And I’m really sorry. It must be hard to go through that kind of thing. It…well, it impresses me that you’re so normal given you have to deal with that stuff on a daily basis.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t be too impressed,” she says, sarcastically. “And for the record, most people would not consider me to be normal.”

I search her eyes for an explanation to this. And as I do, I’m surprised at what I find. I was wrong about the detachment, about the coldness. While it might have sounded that way as she told me about her day, her eyes betray her, giving away how she really feels. Because within their brown depths, I can see the compassion she has for her patient, the frustration at not being able to save him, her anger at the fact it happened at all. The sadness she will have to live with now as a result. It makes me feel…I don’t know, like I want to know more, like maybe I could tell her about my frustrations and anger and sadness because she knows exactly how it feels.

“Well, I think you are,” I say, trying to lighten the situation. “And I also think it was pretty shit of your friends to leave without you given the day you’ve had.”

Emma scoffs, taking another sip of beer. “They weren’t to know.”

“You didn’t tell them?” I ask, surprised.

She shakes her head. “No point.”

“Why not?”

She finishes her beer now, placing the bottle firmly on the bar before looking up at me. “Because they wouldn’t get it. Nobody does. It’s the kind of thing you can only understand when you’ve lived through it.” There’s a touch of bitterness in her voice as she says this and I get the feeling this is not the first time she’s been asked this question. I wonder why it is she felt like explaining it to me. Did she see something in me that told her I’d understand what she goes through?

I’m about to say something, anything to change the subject so we don’t go there when a voice calls out my name, a mass of red hair rushing towards me. Almost immediately, I relax and smile as the girl leans over the bar, grabs my arm and pulls me in for a hug.

“Hey, Amy,” I say, grateful for the distraction.

~ Emma

I watch as the girl calls out Nick’s name as she half runs towards him. She steps up on the foot rail running around the bottom of the bar, leaning over to grab his arm and pull him towards her. Nick smiles as she does, leaning forward as he kisses her and they embrace in an affectionate hug.

I look away, somehow feeling like I’m intruding, even as a strange pain crawls up my spine.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Nicks asks, smiling.

It’s such a rapid contrast to how he was just a few seconds ago, that it takes me a moment to adjust. When I do, I feel a shot of resentment flash through me. Resentment that he gets to so easily forget about my day and all the shit I’ve been through as soon as this girl shows up.

Because while I might pretend to people that it doesn’t get to me, that I can walk out the door of the hospital and leave everything that happened behind, I can’t. I carry the failures with me, all the time. The frustration and anger that we weren’t able to do more. The pain that I see in the families eyes when we try and explain this to them. The feelings of hopelessness that never seem to leave, no matter how much we know there really was nothing more we could do.

It never leaves, despite how much I pretend, and it pisses me off that he doesn’t get that; that he gets to so easily switch sides.

“Emma.”

I look up at the sound of my name, realise Nick and this girl are both staring at me, waiting as though they’ve said something to me that I haven’t heard.

“Yeah?”

Nick smiles as he says, “This is Amy. Amy, this is Emma.”

She sticks out her hand in my direction. I look at it, before looking back up at her face. She’s very beautiful, very alive and happy. I can see why he would like her. I swallow hard, sticking out my own hand as I reach out to shake hers. “Nice to meet you,” I lie.

She smiles at me now, glancing at Nick again before turning back to face me. Nick stands against the bar, close enough that she can keep touching him, her hand wrapped around his arm.

“So, you didn’t tell me what you’re doing here?” he asks.

She turns back to him, excluding me now from whatever’s going on between them.

“Thought I’d come and see you,” she says. “See if you wanted to hang out when you’re done.”

I tune out, not interested in hearing whatever it is Nick has to say in response. I’ve gotten good at doing that, too many nights of being the third wheel to Owen and Will, I guess. Instead, I pull my phone from my bag, wondering how bad the situation has gotten with Sarah. There are two new text messages, both from her asking where the hell I am. I don’t even remember hearing the telltale ding, which is so unlike me even I’m surprised. There’s a voicemail too and I’m absolutely certain I don’t want to listen to that. I brush my thumb over the screen as though I can somehow wipe this mess away. It doesn’t work but my phone beeps out with a new text from Owen.

You better be having a good night!

And smile, please!

I do smile at the words, wondering if he can somehow read my mind or if he just knows me that well. It’s probably a bit of both, which is why I know I can go home now. I can make up some excuse about having had a good time with the girls, but I’m tired after work so came home early. He’ll know it’s bullshit, but he’ll let me get away with it. A silent agreement we have that comes from years of knowing each other.

Owen and I met at university. Even though we were studying very different degrees, we lived in the same dormitory, right next door to each other. We bonded over our shared insomnia, both of us finding the other down in the kitchen at the end of the hall, making hot chocolate and watching late night movies or infomercials. We’d hit it off instantly and we’ve been friends ever since, getting a place together when we both scored jobs in the city. I wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow Owen just got me.

I type out a quick response to him.

I am!! I say, adding extra exclamation points just to prove it. Coming home soon though. Don’t wait up x

We always said this to each other, even though I knew he’d be awake when I got home. The insomnia thing hadn’t left us after we’d graduated and if nothing else, at least it meant we knew the other was home safe.

“Another?” Nick says, holding a beer in front of me.

I look up, sliding my phone back into my bag. Amy has gone, the only evidence she was once here, the lingering scent of her perfume and the relaxed look on Nick’s face. I shake my head, smiling to reassure him I’m all good.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, his smile disappearing.

I nod. “Yeah, I should get home,” I tell him.

“Oh come on,” he says, feigning disappointment as his hand clutches his chest like I’m somehow breaking his heart with my decision. “You can’t leave me now.”

I glance around the bar, see the crowd has thinned, only a couple of pockets of guests still drinking. I turn back to Nick, who’s still watching me. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be here much longer,” I say, waving my hand around the room.

Nick turns away, glancing around the bar before turning back to me. “Maybe not, but who’s gonna keep me company while I lock up for the night?”

I look at him questioningly, wondering what any of this means. Wondering why Amy isn’t the one here keeping him company. But she isn’t in the bar anymore and I don’t remember seeing her leave. A part of me wants to ask him where she’s gone or why she’s not the one staying to hang out with him, but at the same time, I don’t. I don’t need him to know I even care.

“Your staff?”

Nick scrapes a hand across his jaw, the couple of days worth of stubble bristling against his palm as he licks his lips, his eyes on mine. It’s a strangely intimate move and it sends an unexpected tingle of electricity throughout my limbs, my head spinning a little as though my brain is unsure how to process my reaction to this move.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head quickly. “My turn to do lock up,” he says. “So it’s just me.”

I look at him, wondering if that’s true. “But it’s your bar,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be the one who gets to go home?”

He laughs a little. “No, we take it in turns. I’d be a dick of a boss if I made them do it every time.”

I watch him for a second longer, wondering if I should ask about Amy and why she isn’t sticking around to help him lock up and then go home with him afterwards. I don’t particularly want to know the answer, I’m sure I can guess enough of it. So instead, I shake my head and say, “I should just leave you to it.”

Nick walks towards me, his smile disappearing now as he says, “Sure?”

I glance around the room again, before returning to him. I don’t understand what’s going on right now and I’m not entirely sure I want to work it out either. But just as I’m about to say no again, my phone vibrates on the bar, indicating a new message. Without taking my eyes off Nick, I pick it up, glancing down briefly to read the text.

Don’t you dare come home before midnight!

You do and I’m changing the locks.

Love you x

I shake my head. Owen. Jesus, maybe he really can read my mind. I slide my phone back into my bag, not bothering to respond. Then, taking a deep breath, I look up, meet Nick’s gaze as I say, “Okay, fine. I’ll stay for a bit.”

~ Nick

I exhale a sigh of relief at her words, while at the same time, try to maintain some level of casual calmness that doesn’t give away how happy I am that she’s staying.

It’s ridiculous that I am this happy. I barely know this girl and I suspect even if I wanted to, she’d somehow make it really fucking hard for me. This girl gives off some serious don’t-mess-with-me vibes that make it obvious there’s some kind of barrier to break down.

And even though I swore I wouldn’t ever do this sort of thing again, I also can’t ignore that. Can’t ignore the pain and loneliness I see in her eyes that mirror the pain and loneliness I force myself to bury. So instead, I grin at her. Open my mouth to ask her something, anything, when she says, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.

Emma glances around the bar. “Don’t you want some help?”

I shake my head. “Nope. You just need to sit there and talk to me.”

She stares at me, confused. “Talk about what?”

I shrug. “Whatever you want,” I suggest. “Your job, your friends, where you see yourself in five years?”

Emma looks even more confused now and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Okay, let’s start small,” I suggest. “So, Dr Emma…?” I wait, hoping she doesn’t see right through me and my not-so-subtle attempt to find out her full name. Emma swallows hard, as though contemplating what she should say, whether she should give me this much.

“Young,” she eventually says.

I nod. “Dr Emma Young. Alright then, tell me Dr Young, in some alternate universe, if you weren’t an ER doctor, what would you be doing instead?”

Emma lets out a small breath, as though she’s relieved we’re talking about her work and not something personal. She doesn’t realise that this is personal though, that her answer will tell me so much more than she knows. Bartending 101. Lure your customer into talking about something they’re comfortable with and you’d be amazed at the other stuff that leaks out.

I watch as she shrugs. “Don’t know,” she eventually says. “Internal medicine maybe.”

“Internal medicine?” I ask, not really understanding what that means. Knowing also, that she didn’t understand my question.

“It’s like ER medicine, only without the emergencies,” she says.

“Right,” I nod, going with it. “And you like this because?”

She shrugs again and I get the feeling she isn’t actually sure she does like it. That maybe she has no idea what she wants to do. “You get to practice lots of different medicine,” she says. “I like that part of it.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “So when’s the decision need to be made?”

“I don’t know,” she eventually says. “Soon, now.”

“And…?”

She shakes her head, shifting on her seat a little. “And I don’t know what to do,” she says. “And that’s the problem.”

I nod a little as I move to serve a customer, using the time to try and work out how I can ask why without it looking like I’m prying. Eventually I return to her end of the bar, placing another beer in front of her without bothering to ask if she wants one. She eyes the new beer, before lifting her eyes to mine. I shrug, grabbing a beer for myself as though to say it’s okay, because we’re drinking together.

“So,” I eventually say. “What about a different sort of medicine then, something completely different to the ER or internal medicine thing?”

Emma shrugs again, making me wonder if any of it is what she really wants to do.

“Maybe something completely different?” I suggest, nudging her down the path. “Not medicine?”

Her eyes flick to mine giving me a look that I can’t decipher but which still burns right through me. “Have you always wanted to be a bartender?” she asks in a way that I should take offence to.

Actually, that I do take offence to.

“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “But I have always wanted to own my own bar, so you know, mission accomplished,” I add, waving my arm around the room, wondering how the fuck she can ask me something like that.

She knows nothing about me. Nothing about the things I’ve gone through to get this place. To keep it after everything went to shit. She has no idea and it pisses me off that she doesn’t, even though there’s no way she could know any of these things and it’s shit of me to pretend like she should.

Emma nods quickly, as though she realises what she’s done. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

I stare at her, notice the faint flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. I nod, even though she isn’t looking at me and I’m not sure I believe her.

“I wasn’t meaning to imply anything,” she says. “It came out wrong.”

I keep watching her, wondering if I should say something to ease her guilt even though I’m not sure I want to. I don’t care if she thinks me owning this bar isn’t a worthwhile pastime, but I do care that she judges me for it when she has no idea of the full story. But she won’t look at me, eventually lifting her eyes to look anywhere but at me.

“If anything, I envy you,” she continues. “Knowing what you want. Getting what you want,” she adds, as her eyes roam the room now. “You’re lucky.”

I continue to watch her as she surveys my bar, her eyes filled with something that isn’t loneliness anymore but might be a longing instead. It occurs to me that not only does she have no idea what it is she wants to do with her life, but she has no idea how to go about finding it either. And while she might think I’ve gotten everything I’ve always wanted, she doesn’t understand the sacrifices I’ve had to make either. All the things I’ve lost along the way.

I swallow hard, wondering if I should admit how alike we really are, even knowing that’s a can of worms I don’t want to open right now, or ever. “Maybe you need to try something else,” I suggest.

She shakes her head. “Can’t. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.”

“And?”

She finally looks back at me, her eyes on mine. “And it would be a waste to just give it all up.”

I stare back at her wondering if she really believes that or if she’s just too scared to try. “I don’t think that’s true,” I say, the words floating between us, a memory of a conversation just like this nudging at the back of my brain, reminding me I was in Emma’s shoes once and thought the exact same thing. How easy it would have been to give all this up and walk away. How pissed off she would have been with me if I’d done that.

“And you never know,” I add. “You might find whatever it is you don’t know you’re looking for.”

Emma’s dark eyes continue to stare at me, searching, almost as though she can somehow find the answers in my own eyes. I watch her carefully, wondering if I’ve gone too far, said too much. That she can somehow read all of this experience and memory and torment on my own face.

Or maybe I’ve just hit the nail right on the head, said all the things that no one else has been able to. All the things I never wanted to hear either.

I can’t work it out, but the longer she says nothing, the more uncomfortable I’m starting to feel. She has this way of watching me that makes me feel exposed, as though she doesn’t just understand all the things I’m saying, but she hears all the things I’m not saying too.

“Okay,” I say clearing my throat, knowing I need to get the focus off me before we detour into really dangerous territory. I can forget the insult about being a bartender if we can just get off this topic. “Let’s make a list.”

“A list?” she says, surprised.

I nod. “Yeah,” I say, grabbing a napkin and smoothing it out on the bar in front of her as I pull a pen from behind my ear. “Pros and cons.”

“Of what?” she asks.

I chuckle a little. “ER, internal medicine or something else entirely.”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Sure it is,” I say, writing the three options along the top of the napkin and dividing it into three columns. “Right, so ER. Get to practice lots of medicine,” I start. “But lots of bad stuff too,” I add.

Emma watches me as I write down the words, hesitation and apprehension written all over her face because I know she doesn’t want to play this game.

“What else?” I ask, glancing up at her. She shrugs, giving me nothing. “Come on,” I say, smiling in encouragement. “What else do you love about the ER?”

“Saving lives,” she says quickly.

“Right,” I nod. “Definitely a good thing. Anything else?”

She shrugs again. “The people?” she suggests, as though she isn’t sure this counts.

I smile at her. “The people, definitely important,” I say, adding this to the list. “Next?”

Emma stares at the napkin, the words scrawled on it in my barely legible handwriting. “The death,” she says next, her voice flat and detached, just like before. “The death is a bad thing.”

I watch her for a second, wondering if she really wants me to write that down or if maybe she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“The death,” she repeats, still staring at my hand. “And the failure. The letting people down, failing them.”

“Emma,” I say, putting the pen down.

“Write it down,” she says, gesturing. “We’re making a list, right?”

I watch her, watch the way she refuses to look at me now and I instantly regret suggesting we do this. It’s one thing to joke around about finding something else to do with your life, but it’s quite another thing to rehash all the reasons why. Especially given she’s already had a shit day at work and a shit night afterwards, and now I’m only adding to that. I’m a fucking idiot for suggesting this.

“It’s okay,” I say, picking up the napkin and scrunching it up. “We don’t have to.”

“No,” she says quickly, grabbing my hand.

We both freeze, our eyes on our joined hands, the edges of the napkin peeking through. Her hand feels cold against mine but it still manages to send an unexpected shot of heat up my arm. I watch as she slowly pulls back her fingers, exposing the white knuckles of mine as I grip the napkin. Without saying anything, I unlock my fingers, flatten the napkin on the bar and wait for her to continue.

Emma takes a deep breath. “The long hours too,” she starts, her voice shaking slightly. “And the nights and weekends.”

I finally look up at her and find she’s already watching me, a look on her face that I can’t read. “Where am I putting them?” I ask, the words catching in my throat.

“Both ER and Internal Medicine,” she says.

“Anything else?” I ask, already knowing the cons list for both of these careers is going to be longer and far more painful than the pro list.

“Loss of social life,” she adds. “Never being able to make plans.”

I nod, adding them to both medical careers because I know they apply to both. “Okay then,” I say, desperate to get onto something lighter. “What about no medicine and doing something else entirely?”

She stares at me, says nothing for what feels like forever before she finally says, “The wasted study. The medical degree that will mean nothing.”

I stare back at her, not writing anything down at first. And as I do, I notice for the first time, just how trapped she looks. As though she’s worked all this time for something she so desperately wanted, only to find out that it’s the very thing that’s trapped her in this life of unhappiness. And as much as she might want to change things, she has no idea how to without feeling like she’s giving up. As though she’s throwing away everything she’s worked so hard for.

Emma holds my stare, even as she lifts her beer for a sip. I finally look away; write down the cons in the empty column of the magical alternative career. But then I add some pros to the other side, things I know she would never suggest because I already know she’d never let herself think them. Things like; helping people in some other way that doesn’t mean I lose my own life and using all the things I’ve learnt in different ways. She watches me without saying anything, even as I write the third option, the riskiest one: getting to be happy.

I put the pen down and slide the napkin towards her. She looks at it, reading the words I’ve written. I watch her, watch the way she licks her bottom lip as she does, pulling it into her mouth so she’s biting down on it, as though trying to stop herself from saying anything else. Eventually she picks up the pen, adding love medicine to both the ER and Internal Medicine columns. She then slides it towards me before folding up the napkin and putting it in her purse.

I pick up the pen and slide it into my back pocket, unsure what to say next. How to find a way for her to do the thing she loves so much but also be happy and have a life. Almost as soon as I think this, I realise how much it mirrors my own life. How owning and running my own bar was something that deep down, I always wanted to do. That it was a risk we both took, a risk I thought was going to pay off but one that ultimately had a price I had to pay. A price that meant I didn’t just lose a part of my life, I also lost the part that made me happy.

“So,” Emma eventually says. “What should we talk about now?”

~ Emma

I watch Nick, waiting for his response. Wait to find out how he’s going to answer me. I already know what I want to talk about. Time to turn this little game of his on its head. I didn’t even want to play it in the first place, but if he’s going to push, then I’m going to push back.

After all, fair’s fair.

And two can play this game.

“Don’t mind,” he shrugs, pulling a tray of glasses from the small dishwasher under the bar. The steam billows out, momentarily obscuring him from view.

“Alright then,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me more about how it is you came to be the owner of this place then?”

His reaction to my question tells me what I already knew. He doesn’t want to talk about it. And I know I’m being a bitch, but right now, I don’t care. Nick didn’t care when he pushed me to answer his questions, tell him all the things I loved and hated about my job. It’s not like he even stopped when it was obvious I didn’t want to talk about it, when I felt uncomfortable about where that particular conversation was going.

Shit, he even made me cry when I first walked in here.

“Easy,” he answers, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I always wanted to open a bar, so I worked my arse off to make it happen and then I did it.”

I watch him, not believing a word he’s telling me. He won’t even look at me now and he’s suddenly weirdly focused on drying the clean glasses and putting them away. His explanation is definitely not the whole story and he doesn’t even realise how much his body language betrays him. It’s so obvious how much he doesn’t want to talk about this, how much he’s lying right now, that I can’t help but want to know more. Want to push a little harder.

“That’s it, huh?”

“Yep,” he says, glancing over as he reaches for a bottle of scotch on the shelf behind him. I watch as he pours himself a generous drink, not bothering to offer me one this time, before he picks up the glass and throws it back in one go. He winces, before pouring himself another one. Then he replaces the bottle on the shelf, staring at it for a second as though he’s wondering if that just happened.

Or maybe he’s wondering if he isn’t going to need more of it to continue this conversation.

That’s when I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“Alright then,” I say, lifting my beer to my mouth, my eyes on him as I take a long swallow of the cool liquid. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of food, the lack of sleep, or the fact that it’s been a couple of months since I drank this much in one sitting, but I’m starting to feel the effects of all this alcohol.

I’m sure it’s what gives me the confidence to say what I say next.

“So how come you’ve never really opened the bar then?”

Nick’s head snaps up, his eyes finally locking with mine. “What?” his asks, practically spitting the question at me.

“Well,” I say, lifting my hand and waving it around the now almost empty bar. “It’s like you’re ninety-five percent here and five percent missing,” I continue. “You’re not all in. Not for someone who claims to have always wanted this.”

I’m not sure if this is entirely true. Maybe the kitchen just isn’t open on certain nights. But I get the feeling there’s more to it than that. It definitely felt like them ordering in food was a common thing and given the set up for serving food is already here, it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have opened it.

Nick shakes his head at me as he pulls the towel from the back pocket of his jeans and starts wiping down imaginary marks on the bar. I can tell I’ve pissed him off with my words; the muscles in his jaw are already rippling under his skin as he tries not to speak.

It’s kinda fascinating to watch, the way he fights the urge to start a fight with me, the way his jaw clenches, the muscles pulling and contracting. I try to imagine the rapid fire of nerve impulses that are holding it all in place, the grinding of teeth as he struggles to comply with his brain’s commands.

Just when I’m about to ask again, push it that little bit further, the other bartender calls out his name. Nick’s head snaps up and even though I can’t see his face, I can practically feel the relief that flows through him at the distraction. I’m certain he’s going to walk off and ignore me, not answer my question, but then he stops, eyes staring at the wood panel in front of him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Emma.”

And then he walks off and I’m left feeling like shit for the way I just acted towards him.

I spend the next ten or so minutes sitting at the end of the bar, nursing the last of my beer as I watch Nick. He’s completely ignoring me now, pretty much ignoring everyone actually. There’s still a couple of customers left and even though he’s polite enough to them, he’s nothing like he was when I first walked in here tonight.

I know now that I’ve really have pissed him off. That maybe I went too far with my questions.

I should take it as a sign and an excuse to leave and go home. It’s late enough that Owen won’t give me shit for bailing and I’m fairly certain Nick won’t even notice I’ve gone.

In fact, I doubt he’d even care.

I’m not even sure why I care.

“What’d you say to get him so pissed off?”

I blink, realise the other bartender is now standing in front of me, hands on hips and an unimpressed look on his face.

“Nothing,” I say, shrugging as though it’s no big deal.

“Bullshit,” he says, reaching for another beer and sliding it in front of me. What is it with these two and giving me drinks all night? Are they trying to get me drunk?

I pick up the bottle, my thumb scratching at the label. “I just asked him about this place,” I say. “It was nothing.”

I’m so full of shit, it’s not funny. It wasn’t just nothing and I know it. Like any good virus, I found the weakness, the tiny little crack that lets the bad in and I exploited it, took advantage of a lowering of the defenses and used it against him.

For just a second, it surprises me how callous I can be.

I’m supposed to have some sort of empathy, a caring nature that lets me not just do my job, but do it for the right reasons.

The other bartender shakes his head, stepping closer as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say to me.

“This place isn’t nothing,” he says, his voice low, but not so low that I miss the seriousness of what he’s saying; or the anger in his words. “Don’t fuck with him about it, okay? Because you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he adds, echoing Nick’s words from earlier.

I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head at me and walks off. What the hell is this about?

By the time I finish my beer, Nick still hasn’t returned. The alcohol has definitely kicked in now and I know I should just grab a taxi and go home, forget about this night. Forget about Nick.

I slide my phone from my purse and open the taxi app so I can book one. Once it’s done, I slide on my coat and head towards the door. It’s only as I walk towards it that I notice the bar is now empty, not a single person left inside.

Nick and the other bartender are nowhere in sight and I wonder how it is I’ve missed everyone disappearing. When I reach the glass door, I pull on it, only to find it’s locked. I glance up and pull on the bolt at the top, before reaching for the one at the bottom.

“I thought you were staying?”

I freeze, my hand on the handle, unsure what to say. I thought he wanted me to go?

“Emma?”

I half glance backwards, my eyes on the floor rather than Nick. “I didn’t think you’d want me to anymore.”

I hear him step closer. “Why?”

I swallow hard, my eyes closing as I wonder what the hell is happening here. “Because I practically insulted you and your profession.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I look up confused and see Nick standing a couple of feet away from me. His eyes are watching me, but the lighting is too low for me to see what he’s thinking.

“Yeah, I did,” I say, nodding.

Nick shakes his head, stepping closer as he holds something out for me. I stare down at his hand, see the coins in his palm and watch as he reaches for my hand now. His touch startles me. The coldness of his fingers, the gentle way they lift my hand and place the coins into my palm. My eyes never leave our hands, not wanting to look up and see his face…or let him see mine.

My heart is racing in my chest, pounding against my sternum so hard it almost hurts.

“Go and pick out some music,” he whispers, his voice husky.

I nod automatically as I close my fingers around the coins and walk past him towards to jukebox at the back, wondering how the hell everything has changed again.

As I do, I hear Nick re-bolt the front door, the metal clang loud in the now empty bar. I stick some coins in and pick the first thing I see because my heart is hammering so loudly in my chest I need to hide it before he hears it too, before it completely gives me away.

When I turn around, Nick has set out two glasses on the bar, one with ice and one without. I watch as he reaches up to the highest shelf behind the bar, the movement causing the hem of his long-sleeved tee to pull free from his jeans.

My eyes immediately gravitate to his waist, fixating on the strip of bare skin that’s now exposed as he stretches, the movement pulling his whole body taut. My mouth goes completely dry, my hammering heart now reaching pounding status in my chest.

But then the material lowers and that brief glimpse of skin disappears and when I force my eyes up, I find Nick staring at me again, a strange look on his face.

Shit.

~ Nick

What the fuck am I doing?

I mean seriously.

What. The. Fuck?

It’s one thing to suddenly be so interested in one of my customers. Breaking a rule that up until tonight I was adamant I wasn’t ever breaking. But it’s quite another to let her insult me and then beg her to stay and hang out with me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Either I’ve completely lost my mind or I’ve somehow drunk more than I’ve realised tonight and I’ve actually lost more than just my mind.

The girl insulted me, literally right to my face.

Although to be fair, she doesn’t know the full story and as much as it might make things easier, I have no desire to explain it to her either. I’d much rather she just think I’m a dumbarse bartender with no real aspirations in life.

Because I mean really, what the hell do I care what she thinks?

I shake my head, as I reach for the top shelf scotch, twisting off the cap as I turn to face her. An unexpected jolt of nervousness crackles through me that might be partly due to the fact that we’re now all alone in my bar and partly due to the way she’s looking at me.

Staring at me, actually.

I have to swallow hard as I give us both a generous pour. I really shouldn’t be doing this, yet for some reason, I do and this night only continues to get weirder and weirder with every passing hour.

“I think I might have had enough to drink,” Emma says quietly, eyeing the two glasses on the bar.

Apparently I haven’t though. “Last one,” I say, the words catching in my throat.

Emma steps forward, sliding into a chair at the bar as her hand reaches for the drink I’ve poured her. I watch her, notice her fingers shaking a little as they lock around the glass.

Mine grip the bottle tighter in response.

“Last one then,” she says, lifting the glass and tilting it in my direction.

I swallow hard. Half slamming the bottle on the bar as I reach for my glass and mirror her action. We both take a long sip that half empties our glasses and immediately makes me want to refill them. Instead, we both lower our glasses at the same time; our eyes meeting and somehow making the entire room feel a million times smaller.

I watch as Emma slides her coat off, her eyes never leaving mine as she does. I feel my fingers tighten around the glass, an instinctive reaction that feels more like an attempt to stop myself from reaching out for her.

I don’t know what’s suddenly changed or why things somehow feel so different, but something is happening. Maybe it’s the fact we’ve taken jabs at each other all night. Or maybe it’s because we’re practically strangers and doing that to each other somehow feels easier when you won’t have to worry about facing the other person in the light of day.

I have no idea what it is and no idea why I suddenly feel the need to blurt out, “The kitchen was my sister’s plan.”

Emma watches me, not saying anything at first and for a second I can’t help but wonder if I really said that out loud. But then she asks, “What?” a confused expression on her face.

I busy myself restacking the small dishwasher, already regretting speaking. “You asked me why I hadn’t really opened the bar,” I say, shooting her a quick glance.

“Nick,” she says, pausing until I stop and look at her. Regret is written all over her face now and as much as I know we’ve both pushed harder than we should have tonight, I’m pretty sure it was never her intention to deliberately insult me. She just doesn’t seem like that kind of person.

“I didn’t…I really didn’t mean too…” She trails off, still staring at me with what now looks like an apologetic look.

I nod my head once, closing the dishwasher and turning to tidy up the bottles on the shelves that line the wall. Emma doesn’t say anything else and I’m sure it’s the weirdly uncomfortable silence that now surrounds us as the reason I just keep digging myself in deeper.

“She’s not around anymore,” I continue. “And I guess I could never bring myself to do what was always her idea. It just didn’t seem right, no matter how much better I know it would make this place.”

Emma still says nothing and as the silence draws on, I find myself turning just to make sure she’s still here. That she hasn’t walked out on me. But she’s still sitting on the other side of the bar and when I finally meet her gaze, she offers me a half smile, a tiny nod that says she understands even though I’m not sure she really does.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch before,” she says, her fingers slowly turning the glass in front of her. “It’s been a shit day, an even shittier week and I guess…I guess I’m not used to drinking this much either.”

I nod once.

“It’s no excuse though,” she continues. “You didn’t deserve that. Especially after you’ve been nothing but nice to me tonight.”

I shake my head, confused. I didn’t even think she wanted to be here, let alone that she thought I was being nice to her. Emma offers me a hopeful smile though, one that just might say; can we clear the slate, start again? I smile back at her, clearing my throat as I say, “It’s okay, apology accepted.”

Her smile widens, actually reaches her eyes and I find myself smiling back at her as a weird feeling spreads through my chest. I swallow hard, not wanting to acknowledge it as I ask, “So what are you going to do about your friends from tonight then?”

Emma shrugs as she takes a small sip of her drink. “Nothing, probably.”

“Why?” I ask, wiping down the counter as I once again open the dishwasher. “You don’t want to call her, explain about the day you’ve had, the reasons why you were late?”

She shakes her head this time. “No point, seriously. They don’t get it and honestly, I can’t be bothered to explain it to them.”

“Why?” I ask, pausing to look at her.

She finishes her drink, setting the glass down firmly in front of her. “Because I don’t want to relive days like today, much less subject my friends to them.”

“You told me about it,” I offer.

Emma nods. “I know and believe me, I’m as confused about that as you probably were.”

I smile, lean a hip against the bar as I say, “Don’t you think it helped, getting it all out?”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

I laugh a little. “I think it probably did. And I think you’d be surprised by how much better you’d feel if you told your friends about it too.”

Emma gives me a strange look that almost says, like you can talk and once again I wonder if she can see right through me and just how full of shit I really am.

“Well, you should at least let your friend know you tried to meet her tonight,” I suggest, wanting to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, even as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone.

I slide the bottle of scotch towards her in case she needs it; ignoring the look she gives me as I wander off. I realise for all the talking we’ve been doing, we’ve somehow failed to notice that the song Emma put on has long stopped playing.

I grab a couple of coins from the register as I walk past before walking towards the jukebox and flicking through the albums that I never really had any say about being on here. It makes me smile to see all of her choices, to know that even though my sister is gone, there are still whispers of her influence around this place.

I slide in some coins, queuing up a bunch of songs. When I turn around, Emma is still staring at her phone as it sits on the bar. I get the feeling she isn’t going to make the call, no matter how much I try to convince her it would be a good idea. I also know how much of a hypocrite it makes me, but Emma doesn’t know that, so whatever.

I lean back against the jukebox and watch her as she sits at my bar. She looks so wrapped up in her own world that it wouldn’t surprise me if she has somehow forgotten I’m still here.

I take advantage of this by openly checking her out, something I only half did earlier in the night. As unhappy and trapped as she looks, I realise once again that she’s also incredibly beautiful.

When she first walked in here tonight, I didn’t get how someone who looked like she does could possibly be sitting in a bar all alone on a Saturday night. I guess now I know more about her, it makes a little more sense. But it also has me wanting to know more, wanting to ignore my rule about getting involved with a customer and instead, force my way into her life.

I don’t know if it’s the matching aches of loneliness we both seem to wear or the fact that we’ve managed to have one of the strangest nights I can ever remember having in my bar, but there’s something about Dr Emma Young that intrigues me.

Emma suddenly looks up, her eyes meeting mine across the room as though she’s heard every single thought inside my head. I watch as she bites her bottom lip, the tiny action sending a wave of heat throughout my whole body that suddenly propels me across the room and towards her.

She eyes me with wariness, swallowing hard as I reach her and hold out my hand.

Seriously. What the fuck am I doing?

~ Emma

I’m not really sure what he expects me to do. My eyes glance from his hand in front of me, to his face, and then back to his hand. Nick says nothing.

“What?” I eventually ask, looking up at him.

He smiles, but it’s different this time, before he reaches for my hand and pulls me from my seat and into his arms.

Have I missed something here? Maybe I’m drunker than I thought? Maybe he is too?

I feel his hands as they slide across my back, one of them pressing against the base of my spine, the other resting on the skin just below my neck. His fingers are warm and surprisingly gentle as they pull me closer until we are practically embracing.

And then he slowly starts to move and I can’t help but think, yeah, I’m definitely drunk.

“What…what are you doing?” I stammer, pulling away from him.

Nick’s fingers tighten, but not in a way that’s threatening. “Dancing,” he says.

“Why?” I immediately blurt out.

He chuckles, drawing me closer again as he leans towards me and whispers, “Why not?”

I’m not sure which explanation to go with first. Because it’s weird to be dancing in an empty bar with someone I barely know and only an hour or so ago was being incredibly rude to? I mean surely that would be a good start?

But as though he knows I’m about to question his motives, Nick pulls me closer so my cheek is resting against his shoulder as he says, “Just go with it, Emma.”

He moves with a casual kind of confidence that makes me wonder if this is something he’s done before. The music he’s put on isn’t exactly slow dancing music, which has me thinking he wasn’t intending to do this. But what is it that changed his mind? And why am I so okay with it?

I close my eyes as I try to find a plausible explanation. But nothing comes. Nothing except the realisation that Nick’s body feels hard and warm as it’s pressed against mine.

His thumb strokes the top vertebrae of my spine, reminding me that his hand is resting against my bare skin. It makes my heart skip a beat as I draw in a quick breath, the move sending a wave of sensations rippling down my spine.

He smells so good.

I feel my heart rate increase, the pounding crash against my sternum that makes me wonder if it really is possible for it to break free. Of course I know it’s not, but right now, years of medical training can’t convince me of that.

I force my eyes to open, my stare fixating on the black ink I can now see on his left forearm. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before; maybe his sleeves weren’t pulled up like they are now.

I pull back just a fraction, wanting to read the words he has tattooed into his skin. I see the phrase and now she’s free trailing down his inner forearm. The four words are surrounded by a black line that wraps around both them and his arm, as though it’s binding the words to his skin, to him, before disappearing beneath his sleeve.

A part of me wonders how far up it goes.

A bigger part of me wonders what it all means. Who she is?

Nick pulls me close again, as though he senses my curiosity. Just as I’m about to ask him about it, I feel the hand at the base of my neck slide up into my hair, cradling the back of my head. I instinctively look up, our eyes meeting in the half darkened room.

Nick swallows hard as he stares down at me, looking at me in a way I can’t decipher. I watch as he blinks once before leaning in, almost as though he’s going to…

…the loud ring of my phone shatters the moment, both of us pulling away from each other as though we’ve suddenly woken up and aren’t sure how we came to find ourselves in this position.

We stare at each other as my phone continues to ring. Eventually it stops and just as I feel the gentle press of his fingers pulling me back in, it starts to ring again.

“Someone’s trying to get hold of you,” he says, his words hoarse.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

The phone stops again, sending us back into the unknown before it immediately starts ringing once more.

“I should get it,” I say, pulling myself from his arms. It might be the hospital, but even if it is, I’m in no state to answer, much less go in. I’m off for the next two days, but it’s never stopped them from calling me before. I guess I don’t ever complain about it either.

Nick nods and I walk towards the bar, reaching for my phone. I have just enough time to see Sarah’s name flashing on the screen before the call stops again.

“Sarah,” I mumble. “My friend from tonight.”

Nick steps towards me. “You should call her back.”

I shake my head, knowing this is one conversation I definitely don’t want to have right now.

“Call her back, Emma,” he murmurs. “It’s never going to get any easier.”

My eyes find his, the darkness of his stare boring into me. “I don’t know if I can,” I admit.

“You can,” he says confidently. “Go back to my office,” he says, gesturing towards the back. “It’ll be more private.”

I nod once, gripping the phone in my hand as I turn and walk away. I can feel him watching me as I walk across the room to the corridor that leads down to the bathrooms and his office. As I open door, I hit the button on my phone and lift it to my ear.

“Hey, Sarah,” I force out when she answers.

“Oh, so you are alive then?” she says, sarcastically. She sounds drunk and that alone is enough to convince me that I do not want to do this right now.

“I am,” I stupidly say. “Have you had a good night?” It’s a ridiculous thing to ask and the laugh I get in response only confirms that.

“Well, it could’ve been better,” she says as the sound of glasses clinking fills the background. “But then again, maybe it was better this way.”

Her words sting even though I know I deserve them. “Sarah, I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry I was late getting to the bar. Sorry I missed the limo and wasn’t able to join you.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, Em,” she says, hurt in her voice. “You could’ve come and joined us, couldn’t you? You just chose not to.”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “That’s not true,” I say, even if it sort of is. I knew exactly where they were going, where I could find them. I could’ve gotten a taxi and gone to them.

But I didn’t and I know that’s only made me missing the start of the night that much worse. I don’t even know why I didn’t go. I’m not sure what it is that made me to stay in a bar where I knew no one, talking to a guy who probably has girls throwing themselves at him night after night.

Does Nick think that’s what I was trying to do by staying?

“Just as I thought,” she says, as I realise I haven’t answered her question.

I take a deep breath, knowing that nothing I say is going to fix this. “I’m really sorry, Sarah,” I start. “I was late, yes. Work obviously. And by the time I got to the bar you guys had left. I know it’s my fault I missed you and I know I could’ve come and joined you guys, but…it’s just…I’d had a shit day at work and I just didn’t feel up to it. Didn’t want to ruin your night…again.”

Sarah scoffs at my excuses, just as someone calls out her name in the background. “Yeah, I guess celebrating with your best friend after she’s gotten engaged makes no sense now, does it?” I open my mouth to respond that it isn’t like that but she doesn’t give me a chance. “I know work always comes first for you, Emma. That it’s more important than any of us; always has been.”

“Sarah…”

“No. You don’t get to do this, Emma. Not tonight,” she says, venom in her voice now. “You hurt me by not showing up. I could’ve lived with you being late, but not showing up at all. Who does that, huh? Who?”

“I don’t know,” I say, quietly.

“Someone who’s too selfish to think about anyone but themselves,” she spits out. “Someone who cares more about work and her career than her best friend, the best friend she’s known since high school.”

She stops and I’m not sure what to say because everything she’s thrown at me is the truth. Well, sort of. It’s not that I don’t think about anyone else. It’s more like I never stop thinking about work. It’s something that’s too important to me and something I’ve worked too hard for to just throw away because I want to get to a party on time. I don’t know why she can’t understand that. She was always so supportive throughout uni when I was studying. Why has that suddenly changed now?

“You know what,” Sarah says, her voice now cold. “I’m not sure I want you as my bridesmaid anymore.”

“What?” I breathe out, shocked. “Why would you say that?”

“Because,” she says, sending a tiny fissure of fear down my spine at where this is going. “Knowing my luck, you’d be on call on the day of the wedding and you’d have to go and everything would be ruined. And I just don’t want to take that risk, Emma.”

My heart sinks as I find myself collapsing onto a couch, soft leather giving way beneath me. “Why are you saying this?” I ask, tears threatening to fall. “You’re my best friend, Sarah.”

She gives a half laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, I used to think I was. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Sarah,” I plead. “Please, don’t do this.”

Cheers ring out on the other end of the phone just as she says, “I’ve gotta go. I hope you had a good night.”

Then the phone goes dead and the sudden weight of it in my hand feels like it’s going to pull me right through the floor.

“You okay?”

I look up and see Nick standing in the doorway. He has a concerned look on his face and I wonder how much of our conversation he’s heard. I can only shrug in response because obviously I’m not okay.

“Didn’t go so well then?” he asks, stepping into the room.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I wish I hadn’t called her.

He gives me a small smile and I watch as he walks towards the desk that sits at one end of the room. It’s neat, only a stack of papers on one side and a framed photo on the other side. It’s too far away to see clearly, but from here, it looks like a photo of Nick and a girl with long brown hair. They are both smiling, although neither of them is looking directly into the camera. He opens a drawer in the desk just as he catches me looking at the picture.

“My sister,” he says, picking it up. He walks towards me the photo in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. He hands me the photo before grabbing two glasses from a shelf. I glance at the picture while he pours whisky into both glasses.

I want to ask him about why she’s not here anymore. Where she went and why she left him to run this place on his own. They look so close in the photo that I can’t imagine something coming between them.

He takes a seat on the coffee table in front of me as he hands me a drink. Despite my earlier protestations about having had enough, I take it, throwing it back without a word. The liquid burns on the way down and I can’t help but cough.

Nick chuckles. “Easy,” he says, taking my glass as he pours me another. “This is the good stuff, it’s worth actually tasting.”

He hands me the glass again and this time I force myself to take a sip. I’m still looking at the photo in my hand, trying to work out which of them is older.

 “She’s beautiful,” I say, glancing up.

I see him staring at the picture in my hand, his jaw tense. “She was,” he whispers, a trace of sadness in his voice.

I look up. “Was?”

Nick takes a large gulp of his whisky, swallowing hard before he finally looks at me. “She died,” he says. “About a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I immediately say.

Nick nods, not saying anything and despite the fog of alcohol it dawns on me why he was so pissed off earlier, when I mentioned about not really opening the bar. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s more that he can’t. She must have been a part of this dream for him. The kitchen was her thing, he told me that, and then when she died, that part of the dream also died. The realisation makes me feel incredibly sad and really, really awful for the things I said to him earlier.

“Nick,” I murmur.

“Don’t,” he says, refilling our glasses. “Please, just don’t.”

I open my mouth to speak, but stop when I see the grief on his face.

Because this is different to work and right now, I have no idea how I’m supposed to act, or what I’m supposed to do, or any of things I should say to him. This just feels far too real compared to any other time I’ve ever had to do this.

Instead I settle with, “Do you want to talk about it?” Knowing how often people do, even when they pretend they don’t.

Grief isn’t something to be locked away and never discussed. Losing someone close to you is awful, but the harder part is everyone expecting you to move on without them. To let go and somehow pretend as though they never existed in your life in the first place. Telling someone that their loved one hasn’t survived is one of the toughest parts of my job, but it’s something I know I have to do. It’s why I needed to stay late tonight, why I missed the party.

Trying to explain that to Sarah though, she just wouldn’t get it. No one does, not until you’ve lived it. Many times over.

“Tell me what happened,” he says, ignoring my question as he nods at the phone sitting beside me on the couch.

I exhale hard, knowing that this is the question I should be asking him. I open my mouth to speak, to ask him how he is, but it’s like he knows.

“You called her back?” he asks, forcing the conversation back to me.

I know it’s a coping mechanism. A way for him to avoid telling me too much about his sister and what happened to her. I wonder if he’s ever really dealt with her death. If he’s ever spoken of the grief he so clearly still feels.

“Em?” he says gently, leaning forward a little as he takes the photo from my hand and puts it on the table beside him.

It’s the first time he’s called me that and it’s said in such a strangely intimate way that it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s only now that I realise how close we are too. Me on the couch, him sitting directly opposite me on the table. His legs are practically on either side of mine, his hands holding the glass between his knees.

We’ve been closer, back out in the bar, but this somehow feels like so much more. I can’t even bring myself to look at him, staring at the floor between us as I try to work out what to say. But my eyes gravitate to his arm and even though the lighting is low, I can still make out the words.

…and now she’s free…

I exhale; wondering if being free is at all possible. “She was pissed, obviously,” I say, my eyes on the words.

“Did you tell her what happened?” he asks, taking another sip of his drink. I watch, mesmerised as his arm moves, the flexing of muscle, the tightness of his fingers around the glass. Somewhere, deep inside, an ache starts to develop that I don’t know how to explain.

“I told her I was late because of work,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. He’s right; it is nicer when I drink it this way.

“Did you tell her what happened today?” he asks.

I shrug and shake my head at the same time. “No, she wasn’t really up for listening.”

Nick finishes his whisky, putting the empty glass beside him before he leans closer, his fingers threaded together between his legs. “You sure?” he asks. “Or is that just what you think.”

I shake my head, my eyes still on the ink on his arm. “I don’t know,” I say flatly.

“I think you should try and explain it to her,” he whispers just as my fingers reach out and brush against the words…and now she’s free…

What do these words mean? I’m assuming the she refers to his sister, but what does he mean by her being free. Free of what? Was she sick and that’s why she died?

Nick makes a strange sound at my touch and when I glance up at him, I see he’s watching me. His eyes are focused and intense, and up close, I can now see they are dark blue. He swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“And now she’s free,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the words.

“Emma,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel; deep and husky and laced with pain.

“Do you want…” I whisper, “…do you want to…” my words trail off as I stare into his eyes, which are now huge pools of blackness.

Nick shakes his head and then it’s impossible to tell which of us moves first. I’m sure it’s him but at the same time I feel myself lean closer, my lips as they touch his, the sweet taste of whisky on both of our mouths.

I don’t know why I’m doing this, what in the hell would possess me to lean forward and kiss this man who is practically a stranger. The only thing I can think is that after everything that’s happened today and tonight, I just need it. Need the distraction, the closeness, the chance just to feel something. Anything that doesn’t involve death, or work, or hurting my best friend because she doesn’t understand what I go through and I’m too stupid and stubborn to try and explain it.

“Emma,” he murmurs again, his mouth firm against mine.

I’m not sure if he’s asking me why, if he’s begging me to stop, or if he’s asking me permission. I don’t give him a chance to wonder as I fall back onto the couch, my fingers grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him closer so that he practically lies on top of me.

I don’t want to question anything right now.

I just want this.

~ Nick

I know exactly what she’s doing.

I know exactly what she’s doing and I also know it’s a mistake.

But fuck me; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this.

I absolutely do. I think I’ve wanted it for most of the night, even when I didn’t realise I did. A year ago I wouldn’t have even hesitated about making a move on her, and tonight, despite my better judgment, despite all the promises I made to myself, I still want it to happen.

But not like this.

Not when she’s so clearly trying to Band-Aid over whatever shit is going on inside her head with what I’m assuming she thinks will be some random hook-up in a bar.

I should stop things. Really.

“Emma,” I groan in a way that sounds totally unconvincing.

She says nothing, just moans as her hands slide up and over my t-shirt.

And as hot and as sexy as this all is, the only thing I can think right now is that I really need a shower. I must stink. But she doesn’t seem to care, her fingers digging into me as she pulls me, no holds me, against her. I can feel the desperation, the urgency and insistence in how she hangs on to me.

And as much as I know I should stop it, I don’t. Can’t.

Instead, I continue to kiss her, my mouth pressed hard against hers as my body falls against her. I feel her move beneath me, everything shifting to accommodate my shape.

We somehow fit together so perfectly it almost scares me, and I can’t help but wonder if she feels it too. If she can possibly feel how randomly connected we are, how different this is to any other woman before tonight. To that other night.

I want to stop and ask her, but I can’t. Not when her tongue is in my mouth and my hands are roaming all over her body.

The black dress she wears hugs her curves, the thick fabric molding against her tiny frame. My hand slides against her leg, my little finger just grazing the skin beneath her hem. She moans into my mouth, sending my heart into a free fall inside my chest and my hand on a slow path upwards.

My fingers graze the material covering her thigh, slowly moving higher until I feel the jut of a hipbone. My thumb presses against it, pausing for a second before continuing upwards, over the curve of her waist, the bumps of her ribcage and finally the softness of her breast.

The noise she makes nearly undoes me, pushing the voice in my head that’s telling me to stop to a place where I can no longer hear it.

“Nick,” she whispers, as her teeth nibble at my lip, her hands now buried in my hair, pulling it free.

I force myself to pull back a little, lift my body off hers so I can look at her. Emma’s face is flushed, her chest rising and falling heavily as she draws deep breaths into her lungs.

When her eyes meet mine, she smiles at me and it’s so different to every other time she’s done it tonight, almost as though it’s new and rare and just for me.

I dip my head and kiss her quickly, knowing my resolve to stop this is rapidly disappearing. Apparently my so-called rule about not getting involved with customers anymore has flown right out the fucking window too.

I go to lift my head again, but she stops me, her fingers tightening as she holds me against her mouth. I grin against it, knowing I am completely fucked right now and I have no chance of stopping whatever is about to happen between us. And zero care factor about it either.

Her hands slide down my back again until they reach my jeans and then slide under my t-shirt and up my body. The touch of her fingers against my skin drives me crazy and when she pushes my top up, only pulling away long enough to whisper, “Off,” I’m positive there’s no turning back now.

I smile as I lift up just enough that she can pull it off me. Her eyes stay on mine as she throws my top across the room, neither of us caring where it lands. Her hands go to my chest, her eyes still on mine as her fingers graze against my skin, tracing lazy patterns against it.

“You okay?” I whisper.

“Mmm hmm,” she murmurs, leaning up to kiss my jaw. She pulls back, her eyes now roaming down my body, following her fingers as they trail a path down my chest.

But then she freezes. Her entire body going completely still beneath mine.

I watch as her eyes widen and as much as I want to explain, I can’t open my fucking mouth and say anything. My words have all gone, disappeared, fucked off and abandoned me.

This is karma, I’m absolutely sure of it.

But whatever it is, I’m not stupid enough to realise that she’s totally not okay anymore.

~ Emma

I can’t believe how good this feels.

I can’t believe how good it feels until it doesn’t. Until everything falls apart and I realise what a stupid idiot I am and what a complete and utter mess I’ve landed myself in.

As soon as I see it, all of the amazing things Nick is doing to my body, the things he’s making me feel, completely disappear. Because it’s impossible to miss, right there, right in front of my eyes. The inked lines on his skin I wondered about. How far up they went. All the way, it seems. All the way to his chest where they end with three letters: branded into his skin.

Amy.

And despite the lines connecting them, this word is totally different to the letters and words on his arm. Those are darker, almost tormented in the way the black inked lines are wrapped around them, as though whoever she is isn’t really free, despite what Nick thinks.

But the three letters on his chest are almost done in reverence, as though they are sacred and meaningful…and they are impossible to ignore.

The worst part about it all is I know who they belong to as well and what pisses me off even more is that I conveniently forgot all about her, even after she’d come into the bar tonight and all but thrown herself at him.

But then I realise that he’s forgotten about her too, and I’m not sure if that doesn’t make me even angrier. That he could do this to her and to me. That he could be this kind of guy.

So with my hands against his chest, the letters of her name still visible through my fingers, I shove him as hard as I can. I don’t expect it to make a difference, he’s twice the size of me, but miraculously, it does.

Nick rolls to the side, his body falling between mine and the back of the couch as I scramble up off it.

“Emma, wait,” he says, his hand reaching for mine.

I snatch my hand away, nearly tripping on the coffee table as I rush for the door. I hear Nick push off the couch, the bump as his leg connects with the table and the angry curse that falls from his mouth.

I race into the bar, not daring to look back as I reach for my phone, my purse and my coat. Nick is close behind me and I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist, the urgent plea in his voice as he says, “Please, just wait a second.”

I don’t even look at him, shaking my head angrily as I snatch my arm away and head towards the door. I yank on it, releasing a frustrated groan when I discover it’s locked.

My fingers fumble for the bolts, slipping and I feel the sharp tear of metal against flesh, the searing pain as my skin tears.

“Shit,” I mumble, lifting my finger to my mouth, the rusty taste of blood almost making me gag.

Somehow I manage to get the door open, the icy blast of winter air bringing the clarity I need right now. I see a taxi turning the corner; it’s telltale roof light letting me know it’s available as I practically run for the street, arm raised in a desperate attempt to flag it down.

“Emma, please, just wait, let me explain,” Nick says, pushing the door open. “Fuck,” he shouts as the cold winter night now hits his bare chest.

I yank open the back door before the cab has even come to a complete stop, refusing to look at him as I throw myself inside and bark my address at the driver. He stares at me for a second longer than I would like and it’s only when I scream at him to go, that he finally turns back to the road and starts the meter.

As the car door locks click and I know I’m in the safety of this taxi, I finally allow myself to turn and look at Nick. I’m surprised to see him standing right beside my door, bare chested still and with his hand pressed against the glass of my window.

The cab starts to move slowly away, but as my eyes lock onto his, I see the pain on his face, the urgency with which he looks at me, almost begging me to give him a chance to explain. But then I see the tattoo, and I’m reminded again of why I need to get out of here.

So I look away, closing my eyes as I silently plead with the driver to just go.

~ Nick

God, I have monumentally fucked up here.

I should’ve explained things.

Should’ve explained a lot of things actually, way before we ever got to this point.

There’s so much more to this than she realises and it’s nothing like what I’m guessing she must think.

But she’s gone. Disappeared in a taxi to god knows where and I have no idea how or where to find her, let alone explain things to her.

Fuck.

I stand in the middle of the road, watching as the taillights from the taxi slowly disappear. I can’t believe that one just happened to be driving past as she came racing out of the door. Of all the fucking times.

“Shit,” I say, shoving my hands through my hair as I spin back towards the bar.

A sudden blast of cold wind reminds me that I’m standing half dressed in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, and in the middle of winter. I stomp angrily back to the bar, slamming the bolts home on the door and hitting the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

I haven’t even finished cleaning the place, but at this point, I don’t give a shit. Instead, I head back to my office, wondering how in the hell things could go from amazing to shit in the blink of an eye.

I kick the door open in frustration and hear it slam against the wall, knowing it will have made a mark, possibly a dent in the plaster.

Why the fuck couldn’t I just explain everything to her? How is it that when I had the chance, I opened my mouth and nothing came out? Nothing?

And it’s so goddam fucking simple and ridiculous how much she has misinterpreted this. The worst part about it all is I have no fucking idea how to find her to explain it.

I grab my shirt, yanking it on as I fall back onto the couch, leaning forward only to grab the bottle of whisky as I do the exact opposite of what I’d told Emma only moments ago and take a long gulp. The liquid burns on the way down but it feels strangely good, almost as though it’s reminding me I can feel something. That everything I was just feeling with her wasn’t a dream or a hallucination or some kind of perverted fantasy.

It was real. Really fucking real.

And now I’ve gone and fucked it all up.

I take another long pull, falling back as I stare up at the ceiling and try to work out what I’m going to do next. As shit as this all is, I know I need to. I know I want to as well. Because, despite my rule and despite what I know I should be doing, I can’t have her thinking what I know she’s now thinking. I can’t let her think that’s the kind of guy I am.

As selfish as that sounds and for all my bullshit about not fooling around with customers, or me trying to convince myself I don’t want anything with this girl, I know it’s all a load of shit. I do want something with her. I want a lot of things and I can’t even begin to explain why, only that I do.

I kick off my boots and swing my legs around, lying back on the couch in the exact spot Emma was just laying. The warm leather gives beneath me, the soft creaks of the material reminding me of the way it accommodated the two of us.

My eyes close as my mind takes me back, remembering every single sound she made as my fingers moved up her body, every feeling her touch elicited from mine, all the things I wanted to do to her in response.

It’s hard to believe someone I barely know, can affect me so much, can make me want so much.

But she does and it’s more than I’ve felt in such a long time, that I know it isn’t just real; it’s everything I’ve been missing out on.

And it’s for that reason, above everything else, that I also know I’m completely fucked.

~ Emma

I’m in tears by the time I get home, great heaving sobs that are impossible to hide.

“Emma, shit, are you okay?” Owen says, out of his room and in front of me the second I close the front door. “Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong.”

I bury myself against him, unable to answer as Owen wraps me tightly in his arms, pulling me even closer. I can’t speak, even if I wanted to, the sobs practically choking me as they fight my lungs for oxygen.

Owen seems to understand though, saying nothing more as he guides us to the couch, pulling me down with him as I all but crawl into his lap. The ache in my chest is almost unbearable, as though this pain I’ve been trying to ignore hasn’t just been from the taxi ride home or the last twenty-four hours. It’s almost as though it’s somehow been there my whole life.

Blunt force trauma.

So this is what it feels like?

“Em, talk to me, please,” Owen says, hands smoothing back my hair. “What’s going on?” There’s an underlying urgency to his question, as though he knows this is more than what it appears.

I’m not sure how long I sit here crying for, but at least once during that time, Will comes out to check everything’s okay. Owen whispers words I don’t hear, but they must be enough, because he doesn’t stay.

But I know this is unknown territory for both of us. I’ve never broken down like this in front of him. I’ve never broken down like this at all.

“Emma,” he eventually says, the word firm this time.

I finally lift my head, my eyes swollen and my nose so blocked I can barely breathe. I thought I looked like shit when I got home from work tonight, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to how I look right now.

“Talk to me,” he says again, thumbs swiping at the tears on my cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally get out, having no idea how to explain what it is I’m feeling right now. Even I can’t make sense of it.

Owen smiles a little. “You wanna start at the beginning,” he suggests. “When you got to the bar. Sarah was okay?”

I shake my head. “Sarah had left.”

“What?” he asks, surprised.

I nod. “I didn’t see her all night,” I continue. “I mean we spoke and she was drunk, said all the usual things.”

“What do you mean?” Owen asks, confused. “Was she awful to you?”

I shrug, knowing really, it was nothing I didn’t already deserve.

“Then why are you so upset right now?” he asks, confused. “And if you weren’t out with them, where were you?”

I pull a tissue from my purse; blowing hard as I try to calm myself down, find a rationale explanation for my reaction just now. I slide off of Owen’s lap so I’m sitting beside him, suddenly desperate for a drink. Maybe some of the warm whisky I was drinking only an hour or so earlier.

The memory assaults me almost immediately. The burn of the drink as I threw back the whole glass. The sweet taste of it on Nick’s lips when he kissed me. The shock of what I saw, branded onto his chest, and the realisation at everything I’d done.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to go away, knowing I’ve cried enough over something I can’t make any sense of.

“Did something happen on the way home?” Owen asks, his eyes roving over my body as though looking for signs of damage.

He won’t find anything though, because this crack, whatever this damage is, it’s hidden. Buried somewhere so deep, I didn’t even know it existed. Not until tonight when Nick somehow pried it right open.

I shake my head, squeezing his hand as I offer a weak smile. “No, nothing happened.”

“Then what is it?” he asks, completely confused. “Where were you tonight?”

I force myself to take a deep breath as I try to get my thoughts in order, work out exactly how little I can tell him so that my reaction makes sense but doesn’t invite too many questions. “I was at the bar,” I tell him.

“The one you were meeting Sarah at?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And you stayed there all night?” he asks.

I nod again.

“Alone?”

I bite my bottom lip, wondering how I should answer this exactly. Technically speaking, I was there alone.

“Em?”

I exhale hard, sinking back into the couch as I stare up at the ceiling. “Yes, I was there alone,” I say. “But I guess you could say I spent most of the night talking to the bartender.”

Owen says nothing for so long that eventually I have to turn and look at him. When I do, I see he has a small knowing smile on his face as he watches me.

“What?” I ask defensively. I don’t like this level of interrogation, even if Owen somehow manages to say more with his silence than he ever could with words.

His smile widens. “So you met someone?”

I shrug again. “He was just the bartender.”

“Just the bartender,” Owen repeats. “The bartender who I would hazard a guess and say was someone you might have found somewhat attractive?”

I say nothing, biting the inside of my cheek as I pray they don’t flush and give me away.

Owen laughs a little, sliding an arm around my shoulder as he pulls me against him. I rest my head against him and close my eyes as I hope this is somehow the end of it.

“So why all the tears?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder. “Did something happen…or not happen?”

I exhale. “Something happened,” I eventually say, wishing I could go to my room and crawl into bed and pretend this day never existed.

“And?” he prompts.

“And he has a girlfriend,” I say, my words a rush now, as I push off the couch. “So that’s the end of it and this is exactly why I don’t go on dates or hook up with guys or whatever. Because it always turns to shit and this was no exception.”

“Whoa, Emma, calm down,” Owen says, standing as he grabs my forearms and forces me to look at him. “Tell me what happened exactly?”

I shake my head. “Can’t we just do this in the morning?” I ask, knowing that if I stall for long enough we can just avoid talking about it at all.

Owen shakes his head because of course he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Nope, no chance.”

I exhale in a frustrated huff. “Fine,” I say. “We kissed, alright? We kissed and then I saw his tattoo of her name and then I remembered that the girl who’d come into the bar earlier tonight had that name and that she and Nick had kissed too and looked all super friendly and together. And that’s when I realised he was just like all the others and I was of course stupid enough to fall for it.”

Owen says nothing, just stares at me as I verbally spew the explanation at him. Even after I finish, he keeps watching me, as though searching to see if I’ve left anything out. I’m about to turn and walk to my bedroom when he finally says, “So exactly who kissed who in this situation?”

“O!” I say, yanking my arms from his grasp and flinging them up in frustration. “Does it matter?”

“Well,” he says, head cocked as he smiles at me. “It might help clarify things.”

“Ugh! I don’t know, okay. I don’t know which of us started it. But it went further than it should have and when her name tattooed across his chest was in front of my face, I realised what a complete idiot I was.”

“Wait, his tattooed chest?” Owen asks. “You mean, you got his shirt off?”

“God, Owen!” I yell, turning and walking to my room. I slam the door shut, wishing I’d never said anything. Wishing I’d been able to control my stupid emotions better so Owen had never even known about it. I throw my coat on the chair just as Owen opens the door and walks in. “Go away,” I say, not looking at him as I kick off my heels.

“Emma, come on,” he says. “I’m sorry, really.”

“You are not,” I say, like a petulant child.

Owen sits on my bed, that same half smile on his face as he watches me have my mini tantrum.

“What?” I spit out, yanking down the zipper of my dress.

“I take it you really like this guy?” he asks.

I glare at him, debating as to whether I should make some sarcastic comment. “Doesn’t matter if I do though, does it?” I say instead.

“Well,” he shrugs. “What was this guy, Nick isn’t it? What was his reaction to it all?”

I shrug. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Wait, what, you didn’t even give him a chance to explain?”

I shake my head, walking towards the bathroom so I can take a shower and wash off the reminder of tonight and everything that happened. The smell of whisky and Nick still lingers on my skin and right now, I just need it gone.

“Emma,” Owen says, standing in the doorway. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the tattoo is from an ex-girlfriend?”

“She was in the bar tonight, O,” I say, angrily pulling the shower curtain across. “I saw them together, remember?”

“And you’re sure it’s the same girl?”

I stick my head under the scalding water, raking my fingers through my still tousled hair. I’m reminded again of the feel of Nick’s fingers, gentler as they moved through my hair, firm as they held the back of my neck and pulled me closer. Shit.

“What?” Owen asks and I realise I’ve said it out loud.

“Nothing.”

“Emma,” he says, waiting so he knows I’m listening. “Maybe there’s more to it than what you realise,” he suggests. “Maybe she’s not his girlfriend and the tattoo is from an ex and you’ve completely misinterpreted the situation.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Because I really am that stupid.”

Owen says nothing now and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. No, I’m not that stupid, but I’m not exactly that experienced when it comes to guys and relationships either. Which is not to say I haven’t had them, or at least been with guys. I have. They’ve just never materialised into anything long-term. For so many reasons.

And tonight is another classic example of why it’s better I keep things that way.

I switch off the water and step out; surprised to see Owen is still in the room. He hands me a towel, turning away even though we’ve both seen each other naked plenty of times.

“Thanks,” I mumble, drying myself quickly. I slide on some pjs before slathering my face with moisturiser. Then I switch out the light and walk back into my room, crawling into bed.

Owen follows me, sitting down beside me as he picks up my hand in both of his. Just as I’m bracing myself for more advice on how I should have dealt with tonight, I’m shocked when he says, “I think I’d like to meet this guy.”

“What?” I ask, pulling my hand from his. “Why?”

He smiles at me, but it’s sad this time, almost pitying. “Because,” he says, gently, “any guy that can get this kind of reaction from you, this much…emotion,” he adds carefully, picking up my hand again. I watch as he kisses the back of it, squeezing it as though to apologise. “Well, it takes some guy to make you this vulnerable.”

I exhale now, suddenly exhausted and desperately wanting to go to sleep. “Vulnerable is weak,” I tell him, sliding down under the duvet. “And in any case, it doesn’t matter because he’s taken and that’s the end of that.”

Owen gets up, leans in to press a kiss to my forehead. He walks to the door and I think we’re at the end of this conversation and analysis of my non-existent love life. But just as he’s about to walk out, he pauses, turning to look at me as he says, “Vulnerable isn’t weak, Em. And anyway, you’ll never put a patch on your vulnerability until you expose it first.” I open my mouth to speak but Owen holds up a hand. “Give him a chance, at least a chance to explain.”

And with that, he slips out, silently closing my bedroom door and leaving me to wonder how it is that Nick got to me this quickly.

The Day After That Night…

~ Nick

I wake on the couch in my office, my neck stiff and my head pounding. I groan loudly, forcing my body up into a sitting position. I hear the thud of the bottle as it hits the floor and realise I must have finished off the rest of the $900 bottle of whisky after Emma left this morning. Explains the pounding in my head.

“Fuck,” I murmur, pushing up off the couch.

I pick up the photo off the coffee table, stare at the two of us. It was taken just after we’d signed the lease on this place, a day we marked by buying that very expensive bottle of whisky that’s now all gone.

Just like she is.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I walk towards my desk, replacing the photo in the spot it normally sits. I look around my office, as though trying to work out what the hell happened, as if I can’t remember every single second of it.

I remember it all. From the moment she walked in my door to the minute everything went to shit and she walked back out.

I also remember that I have no idea how I can even find Emma, much less explain to her what happened.

The cell phone on my desk rings, the noise like a freight train slamming into my head. I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail as I slide it into my pocket and head out to the bar in search of something to ease the pain in my head.

I contemplate a hair of the dog drink, but instead, opt for water and some painkillers. I need to go upstairs and take a shower, try and get some proper sleep before coming back to work tonight.

At this point, I’d love to just keep the bar closed, spend the night lying on the couch, nursing my hangover and my pride. But I know I can’t do that and as much as I might want to, I have to work.

I grab my jacket and keys, heading out the front door and turning left. I slide my key in the door next to the bar, the one that leads up to the open plan apartment directly above that I live in. As I do, I lift my shirt to my nose, wondering how bad it is.

But almost instantly I’m hit with the scent of her. The smell so unexpected it sends my body reeling with memories of everything that almost happened last night.

The phone call that we both knew she had to take. The overheard conversation and the hurt and sadness it put in her eyes as a result. Her fingers on my arm, tracing the lines of my tattoo, followed by her lips on mine, her fingers in my hair, mine in hers.

Her body beneath mine.

It’s hard to know exactly which one of us started things. I know I should’ve stopped it but I didn’t.

And then she’d seen the tattooed name, misunderstood the situation and everything had gone so incredibly wrong. Why the fuck hadn’t I said something, explained things?

“Fuck,” I say, slamming the door behind me, wincing at the noise. I stomp up the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the silence even as my mind goes over and over everything that happened from the second I walked into my office to the minute she ran out.

Despite knowing it was a mistake, I still didn’t stop things. I still kissed her, crawled on top of her and let her do whatever it is she wanted to do. Whatever it was she needed to do. Because as much as I know she was doing it because she was hurting, I also knew exactly how she felt.

I might like to pretend I’m okay or that I don’t need to feel that kind of connection or whatever, but it’s all bullshit. There was, is, a big part of me that needed her too. Needed that connection, that second of warmth that comes from being wrapped up in the arms of someone who knows exactly what real pain feels like.

And even though Emma has no idea about what had happened with me, I feel like she knew I needed that just as much as she did. That we were two lost souls, trying to mask our pain with the pain of someone else.

Or maybe it was all just a big mistake.

I don’t know.

By the time I get to the bathroom, the painkillers have kicked in and the pounding in my head has dulled to a low ache. I pull off my clothes and throw them in the laundry basket as I step into a hot shower, spending far longer than I should under the water.

Eventually the remnants of last night’s drinking and this morning’s hangover have gone and all I’m left with is an emptiness in my stomach that might be hunger, might be something else.

I pull on some track pants and a t-shirt before wandering to the kitchen in search of some food. Oscar meows loudly, winding his way around my legs to let me know he needs some too.

“Hey buddy,” I say, bending down to pat him. He offers up a purr, before walking towards his bowl to tell me it’s really food he’s after, not my affection. I shake my head at him even as I realise how stupid it is that I’m having some sort of imaginary conversation with a cat.

I spoon food into his bowl, my stomach retching a little at the smell. Then I turn and get some coffee brewing, pull out some left over Chinese from the fridge that I nuke in the microwave.

When my food and coffee is ready, I head into the living room, Oscar trailing behind me. We both park it on the couch, the cat snuggling up beside me as I lean over and switch on the TV. The screen fills with the inside of a hospital and I suddenly freeze, wondering what the fuck.

I glance at the cat, as though he will provide all the answers, but he’s already asleep. Taking a sip of coffee, I sit back; watch as the show continues, a bunch of over-acting doctors all running towards some doors as a trolley is wheeled inside.

It’s then that I realise I’m watching a TV show, fiction. I flick on the guide and realise it’s Grey’s Anatomy and despite having never watched this show in my life, I don’t change the channel.

Instead, I slide down on the couch to eat my leftovers and watch it, all the time trying to imagine Emma in this role.

Knowing I’m a fucking idiot for even letting myself do that.

But as I watch this ridiculous show, it gives me an idea, and as stupid as it might be, it somehow takes root, eventually growing into a full blown plan that will either leave me looking like a total idiot or somehow lead me back to her.

At this stage, I’ve got nothing to lose, nothing except the thing I find myself already missing, despite the fact I barely even know her.

“Fuck it,” I say, pushing off the couch and grabbing my phone.

~ Emma

It’s late by the time I wake up. I lay in bed, not moving as I stare up at the ceiling and try to work out if the pain in my head is from the alcohol, the lack of sleep, or crying most of the night. The lack of sleep is a familiarity I’m all too aware of, but the other two are not.

I roll over; see the glass of water and painkillers that Owen must have left sometime this morning. I sit up, reach for them and swallow a couple, grateful that he knows me so well.

The apartment sounds quiet; the only sound the low hum of the heating. I reach for my phone, wondering if there’s going to be anything new from Sarah, hoping there is and confused as to how I will feel if there isn’t.

As I open my purse though, a white napkin falls out, the list of pros and cons that Nick wrote for me last night fluttering into my lap. I pick it up, smoothing the paper gently as I look over the words he wrote.

getting to be happy

I wish it could be that easy. I wish it were as simple as saying, this is what I want to do and this is what makes me happy. In some ways I’m already doing it. I love medicine. I love studying it, practicing it and teaching it.

But as much as it pains me to admit this, I’m not happy. I haven’t been for a long time. Although I don’t know if it’s the job, the hours, or the death that’s causing this, I also don’t know the first thing to do to fix it either.

How can I give up everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve? How can I possibly throw it all away and do something else? And what would I do? Medicine is the only thing I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember.

I groan, forcing myself to get out of bed. As much as I’d like to stay here, I know with a week of nights coming up, I have to get up. My body is already going to be out of whack; I don’t need to make it worse by spending it in bed.

I walk into the kitchen, where I see the note left by the kettle.

Hope the head isn’t too sore.

We’ve gone to the movies, text if you want to join us - you are welcome.

But if you don’t

1. Call Sarah

2. Go and see Nick, the hot bartender

3. Don’t spend the day working!

Remember I love you.

O x

I smile at his words, even though I’m going to disobey all three of his commands. I know he means well, but really, he doesn’t understand things like I do. I can’t call Sarah, at least not now. My heart still hurts at the things she said to me last night. As much as I know I deserved them, I still never expected it to be that harsh. I never expected she wouldn’t want me to be a part of her wedding.

And seeing Nick is definitely not an option. While there might be a tiny part of me that wants to see him, embarrassment at everything that happened last night won’t let me. It’s bad enough that I threw myself at him the way I did, but to do it when I knew he had a girlfriend, when I’d met her earlier that night. That is a humiliation I have no intention of reliving.

No, things are better if I just chalk it up to yet another bad experience with a guy and move on. Regardless of how much my heart is telling me this one was different, that this one somehow meant more.

The best way for me to forget about everything that happened is to do what I always do on my days off. Work.

I brew myself some coffee, searching the fridge for some food while I wait for the water to heat. After finding some leftover Italian, I heat it in the microwave before grabbing my cup and heading back towards my room. But as I crawl into bed, I know I’m not going to do that either.

And I don’t, instead spending the entire day doing nothing but thinking about last night and all the things that did and didn’t happen.

How much I want to go back to his bar and see him, but can’t.

About A Week After That Night…

~ Nick

It’s a slow night, the rain that’s been pouring all week keeping all but the diehard customers away. By the time the last ones have cleared out, it’s just me and Tony left and it’s still an hour till closing time.

“You wanna head home?” he asks. “I’ll lock up.”

I shake my head as I grab a cloth to wipe down the tables. “It’s okay, you go,” I tell him. “I’ll do it tonight.”

I head over to the booths, grabbing the last of the glasses and wiping down tables before heading back to the bar. Tony is standing there watching me, arms crossed over his chest and a weird expression on his face.

“What?” I ask, moving behind the bar to drop off the glasses.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he says, still staring at me.

I glance up; give him a look that I hope conveys whatever before I head back out to stack the chairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “You’ve been in a mood all fucking week, which has been bad enough, but volunteering to do everyone’s lock-ups? I mean I know you own the place, dude, but seriously what the fuck?”

I shake my head, not looking at him as I say, “It’s nothing.”

“Again, bullshit,” Tony says, emphasising the second word. “What the fuck is going on here, Nick?”

I ignore his comment, moving around the room as I stack chairs onto the tables and try to come up with some plausible explanation that he’ll buy. But I’ve got nothing because the truth is: there’s only one reason I’ve been in a mood, as he so eloquently puts it, and only one reason I’ve been staying back to lock up every night.

Emma.

I want to see her. And I’ve been waiting to see if she’ll come back.

Despite my rules, I want her to come back, hope she does so I can explain everything.

But I’m not about to tell him that and I’m certainly not about to explain that me doing lock-up every night is a perfect way to not only distract myself but gives me an excuse to stay until closing. I mean it’s not like my other plan has panned out at that well.

“Nick, dude?”

I stop and look up. Tony is wearing an expression that’s a mix between annoyance and total disbelief.

“What?” I ask, straightening.

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” he says. I watch as he grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, twisting off the caps before sliding one down the bar in my direction, the other staying in his own hand.

“Beer,” he says, pointing at the bottle he slid to me. “Drink,” he says, miming the action. “Fucking talk,” he adds, pointing at me this time.

I shake my head, walking over to the bar and grabbing the beer. I down half the bottle in one go, mostly because I’m not sure what else he wants me to do. Also because I don’t know what he expects me to say in response to his order.

“Nick, fuck, come on,” he says, when it’s apparent I’m not going to say anything. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I lower my beer, rest the bottle on the bar and finally meet his stare. Tony stares back at me for a second longer than I expect and then as though a light bulb of clarity goes off he finally smiles.

“Hol-y shit…you totally fell for her, didn’t you?”

I look away, finishing my beer before throwing the bottle towards the bucket at the back. The glass smashes, the sound echoing throughout the now silent bar. I turn back to Tony but he hasn’t moved, he’s still standing there, arms crossed, beer in one hand and a smug fucking smile all over his face.

“What?” I spit out at him.

He shakes his head. “I knew it. I knew you fucking liked her.”

“And?” I ask, almost accusingly.

“And nothing,” he says, shrugging. “It’s about fucking time is all. Jesus.”

I shake my head again, heading back to the dark and useless kitchen to grab an empty beer bucket. Tony says nothing more, just watches me as I switch out the full one behind the bar, walking it back to the kitchen for recycling, before walking back out to the bar again.

“Shit man, stop fucking staring at me,” I eventually say, his scrutiny becoming borderline annoying.

Tony chuckles a little now as though he’s finding all of this incredibly amusing. “So,” he says, putting his beer on the bar. “What’s the story with you and the tiny one then?”

“The what?” I ask, glancing up. Almost immediately I regret my reaction, the smile on Tony’s face telling me he knows so much more than he’s letting on.

“What?” he says, nonchalantly. “She is tiny. It’s not an insult.”

I exhale hard, my eyes closing as I silently beg for Tony to suddenly have an urgent need to leave the bar and fuck off home so I don’t have to deal with his shit any longer.

“Emma,” I state, forcing my eyes open. “Her name is Emma.”

“Course it is,” he says, taking another sip. “But my question was, what’s the story between you two?” He gestures towards me, as though I’ve got no clue what he’s talking about. I roll my eyes in response but it only makes his smile grow wider, the smug look on his face intensifying as he continues to watch me, waiting for answers.

“Nothing,” I eventually say, just wanting to end this interrogation. “There’s nothing going on alright.”

Tony says nothing for a bit, just watches me as I continue to clean up the bar, doing anything that means I don’t have to keep talking about this. But I can feel him watching me the whole time and even without looking, I know he can tell I’m full of shit. That it isn’t nothing between us. At least it wasn’t a week ago.

“What happened?” he eventually asks, a little more sympathetically this time. I continue cleaning; doing far more than is normal for a lock-up. “Nick,” he says. “Come on man, talk to me.”

I finally stop. Tony is still watching me only the smugness has gone, replaced with something that might be concern. I shake my head again, know I’m going to regret this as I walk towards the bar, pull out one of the stools and take a seat.

“She saw the tattoo,” I tell him. Tony stares as me, his eyes flicking between my forearm and my face. “The other one,” I eventually say.

“Oh,” he says, brow scrunched. “Ohhhh,” he adds, a smile breaking out on his face.

“No, not ohhh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Oh.”

“It was bad?” he asks.

“Really bad.”

“Did you explain?” he asks, the joking now over.

I take a deep breath, exhaling hard as I stare at the ink running up my arm. It’s not that I’ve ever regretted my tattoo, far from it. But this is the first time I’ve wondered if maybe I should have done it differently.

“Nick?” he asks, stepping closer.

We’re opposite each other now, Tony standing on one side of the bar and me sitting on the other. He’s the closest thing I have to a best friend and still I can’t bring myself to talk to him about this, about any of it. Even though he already knows so much because he was there too.

I shake my head.

“Why?” he asks, reaching for another beer for me.

I lift the bottle to my mouth and take a long pull. “I don’t know,” I tell him, my eyes on the bar. “It just…it just all went to shit.”

Tony grabs another beer for himself before walking around and pulling out another stool and sitting beside me. “Do you want to explain it to her?”

I nod, my eyes still on the bar.

He lets out a deep breath, finally getting it. “And that’s why you wait each night?” he asks.

I nod again and Tony says nothing more except a mumbled shit as we both sit in silence and drink our beers.

~ Emma

“Emma, wait, before you go,” the duty nurse says as I walk past the front station. “Did Dr Holden get hold of you?”

“Who?” I ask, pausing for a second. I watch as the others from my shift head outside, the doors swinging to the outside world and everything that isn’t here.

“Dr Holden,” she says, smiling at me as she glances down at her notes. “He called a couple of times?”

I wrack my brain; trying to think of all the people I spoke to last night. I’m not sure I’d even remember any of their names at this stage; I’m so tired. I shake my head. “No, not that I know of,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, shrugging, a strange look on her face.

I nod, not really understanding before turning and walking out, hitching my bag on my shoulder as I brace myself to face the early morning sun…or more likely rain. It’s strangely disorientating, walking out into the early morning knowing you have to go home and sleep because you’ve been up all night.

The worst part is, I’ve been on nights all week and now I have to try and trick my body into staying awake so I can get back on day shift in three days time. No wonder I have no life.

“Laters, Em,” Dev, a trainee calls out when he sees me leave.

“Night,” I say, waving as I squint in the morning winter sun, the rain apparently gone now. I fumble in my bag for my sunglasses, wondering if I shouldn’t just grab a taxi so I can get home quickly before my body has too much of a chance to adjust. As much as I know I need to reset my clock, I also need some sleep.

“Hey.”

That one word is enough to reset everything though, as a ripple shoots down my spine, almost jerking me to a halt. I look up and see him sitting on a bench by the exit, only he’s sitting on the back of it, his feet on the part you’d normally sit on.

And as casual as it all seems, it isn’t. Because he’s sitting there and he’s watching me; intently, as though he’s been waiting for me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my stomach fluttering.

He smiles at me but he looks nervous. “Coffee?” he asks, reaching for a cup on the bench beside him.

“What?” I ask as he holds the cup out. He watches me and even though it’s the last thing I should be drinking after a week of fifteen-hour night shifts, I step closer and take it, carefully, so we don’t touch.

Nick watches me for another second or two before he looks away, reaching down for another cup of coffee. “I just finished work,” he says, not looking at me. “Thought maybe we could talk after you finished,” he adds, as though this is all completely normal and he isn’t a guy I only met a week ago and haven’t seen since. Isn’t a guy I shared a kiss with; a kiss that would have turned to more if I hadn’t suddenly been reminded of the fact that he has a girlfriend.

My eyes close at the memory, still so fresh even though so many days and nights have passed since it happened. I can still remember the feel of his warm skin under my fingertips, the taste of whisky on his tongue as he kissed me.

I have to stifle the groan as I force my eyes to open and push away the memories of that night. “You just finished work?” I repeat, glancing at my watch even though I know exactly what time it is. “At nearly eight on a Sunday morning?”

He hops off the bench and it’s amazing how gracefully sexy he makes the whole move look. When he’s standing in front of me, I watch as he rocks on his heels a little, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, okay, so maybe I finished a while ago, but you know,” he says, shrugging. “I thought I’d come and see you.”

“Why?”

My question, or maybe it’s the tone, stills him.

“Okay, maybe this was a mistake,” he says, the nervousness gone now and replaced by something else.

What the hell is he doing here? And how did he even find me?

It’s bad enough that I still see him every time I close my eyes, the memories that refuse to leave coming back to haunt me night after night. But now he’s here, at my work, acting as though nothing ever happened. As though whatever was about to happen in that back room that night wasn’t some huge mistake we were both about to make.

I shake my head in annoyance as I lift the coffee to my mouth. The liquid is hot, fresh and delicious and so different to the shit I’m normally forced to drink. “You think?” I eventually say, frustrated and confused.

“Fuck it, definitely a mistake,” he says.

I watch as he turns and starts to walk away and for some reason, a pain starts up in my chest. That crack he created a week ago, widening a little more, as though to remind me of its presence when it’s so obvious I can barely forget it.

“No, you know what,” he suddenly says, turning. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” I ask, confused.

“This,” he says, throwing an arm out as though that will somehow clear things up. “Walk away, push me away. Do…do, this,” he adds, gesturing between us.

“What?”

Nick stares at me, a mix of confusion and possibly anger on his face. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here and I’m most definitely sure I haven’t had enough sleep to begin dealing with it either.

“There was…the other night…there…” He stops, frustrated. I say nothing; just wait watching as he paces in front of me. “You and me,” he says, gesturing between us again. “The back room…it was…I’m…”

I take one last sip of coffee now before throwing it in the bin beside me. Nick stops, stares at me, almost as though he’s offended I’ve just thrown out the coffee he brought me.

“The back room,” he tries again, his jaw clenched.

I fold my arms across my chest; force myself to meet his stare as I throw one word back at him. “Amy.”

“Ah, fucking hell,” he says, turning away as he shoves an angry hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m here,” he says. “To explain.”

“You don’t think it’s a big deal?” I ask, getting pissed off now.

“No, Emma, I don’t,” he spits out, turning back to face me.

“Well, you know what, Nick,” I throw back at him. “I do. I don’t do other people’s boyfriends and I definitely don’t do backroom hook-ups with guys I barely know. So I’m sorry it went as far as it did, but I’m glad I stopped it. I’m glad I didn’t let you fuck up your relationship or me make the biggest mistake of my night. My life even.”

I don’t know where the words come from but the second they’re out; I know they’re too much. The anger and frustration on his face disappears and is immediately replaced with shock. Hurt too. I’m not sure how long we stand here staring at each other, neither of us saying anything, but I’m willing to bet neither of us is sure what to say next.

“And now she’s free,” he finally says, the words forced out.

“What?”

He pulls up his sleeve, reminding me of the tattoo he has on his forearm. He shoves it in front of me as he repeats, “And now she’s free.”

“What?” I ask again, glancing down at the black ink.

“My sister,” he says, staring at me. I nod, swallowing hard even though I don’t get where he’s going with this. “She died,” he continues. “I told you that much.”

I nod again, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

“People used to tell me that she was free now, that her pain was gone and she was free. But the only way she was able to be free was for her to die.”

My eyes move to the ink on his forearm, watching as his fingers slide over the letters. It sends a flicker of electricity through my skin, as though it’s my arm he’s touching.

“In order for Amy to be free,” he whispers.

I blink hard; forcing away sudden tears that I don’t expect or understand as I finally get what he’s telling me. “Oh shit, Nick, I’m…” I stop, force myself to take a deep breath as I try to work out what I can possibly say to him right now.

“The tattoo,” he continues, as though he’s not even listening to me. “The other one,” he adds, grabbing my hand and putting it against his chest where I know the three letters of her name are etched. “It’s for her. My sister.”

His fingers are tight around my wrist, not quite hurting me, more like they’re trying to tell me something. I can feel his heart beneath my hand, hammering inside his chest, and I wonder if that’s what he really wants me to feel?

“But the other girl?” I stammer. “The one who came into the bar…?”

“Her best friend,” he whispers. “Also called Amy.”

“Oh,” I murmur, my head falling as I realise how badly I really have misinterpreted this situation.

“The Two Amys,” he says. “That’s what they always called themselves. Ever since we were five years old.”

I close my eyes, unable to look at him and see all of the pain I’ve caused because of my stupid accusations. I don’t even know why I said any of the things I said that night. Why I assumed he was being that kind of guy. Why I pushed him away when he’d done nothing but be nice to me.

“I wasn’t cheating on anyone,” he says, taking another step closer as his fingers around my wrist loosen slightly. “I’m not that kind of guy, Emma.”

I don’t say anything, unable to speak. I can feel him staring at me though, his eyes burning their way into my brain as though he’s looking for more accusations.

We stand in silence for so long I eventually have to look up, force myself to meet his stare. I don’t say anything at first, too tired to work out where I can possibly start. How I can even begin to apologise for my mistakes?

Nick continues to stare at me, the hurt on his face now replaced with a different kind of pain and sadness, as though just telling me these things is enough to bring it all back for him.

“I don’t know why I thought that about you,” I finally whisper. “I don’t know why...” Nick says nothing still, just continues to stare at me. “It was wrong of me, so wrong,” I continue, looking away now. “I don’t do…” I pause; unsure what word I can even use to describe whatever it is that’s going on here. “I don’t do…this, very well.”

Nick stares at me for what feels like forever before he finally exhales hard and lets go of my wrist. He takes one last sip of his coffee before throwing it in the bin with mine. I stand here watching him, unsure where we go from here. Just when I think he’s going to leave, he steps towards me again, hesitant almost.

“I’m here because I didn’t want to just let you go, Emma.”

His words are a whisper, yet the way he speaks, the way his says my name, sounds so, so pleading almost.

“I didn’t want to let you go with that idea about me, thinking that was who I was. It’s not and I would never do that,” he whispers. “I would never do that to you.”

Something slams into me now, sending a jolt throughout my entire body. The coffee, only minutes ago so delicious and warm, now feels like bile in my stomach, churning and threatening to make an appearance all over the footpath.

I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. He’s still staring at me, watching me with eyes that are so intense I’m not sure I could turn away, even if I wanted to.

“Emma!” 

My name rings out and it’s enough to break the moment as I turn and see Jason walking towards me, waving. The whole moment feels surreal, and in an instant, I realise just how much I don’t want him to come over; that I don’t want him of all people to see me like this…this vulnerable. And it’s not just because he’s my boss either, that’s bad enough, but there was also a moment once, a long time ago, that will just make him coming over when Nick is here really, really awkward.

I give Jason a quick wave before turning back to Nick. “Let’s go.”

He gives me a confused look, but says nothing, just nods and falls silently into step beside me. We walk for blocks without saying a word to each other. I’m not sure which of us is leading the other, but we somehow end up in front of my apartment. I turn to face him, watch as he rocks nervously on his heels again, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the ground. Now that we’re here, I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen next. Truth be told, I never expected him to come this far.

“You, ahh…you want to come up?” I ask nervously.

He looks up, surprised. “You want me to?”

I nod, biting my lip because I have no idea what I’m even doing, let alone if I’m sure or if I want him to. The only thing I can think is that I’m so sleep deprived, I’m delirious. It’s the only rationale explanation for my irrational behaviour. But apparently it’s not that crazy, or maybe Nick’s sleep-deprived and delirious too because he nods once, watching as I swipe us in and walk towards the elevator.

We ride up to the fourteenth floor in total silence, both of us staring silently up at the numbers as though we are counting them down, neither of us sure what will happen when we reach the end.

The apartment is silent when we walk inside and I’m grateful. I’m not in the mood for questions from Owen.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, gesturing to the kitchen.

Nick shakes his head, his eyes back on me now as I move nervously into the living room.

“I um, I need to take a shower,” I say, pulling on my scrubs. I’ve been in them for nearly twenty hours now and I can’t imagine how shit I look.

“Okay,” he says, finally speaking. I watch as he grabs his t-shirt, his fingers forming a fist around the material. It occurs to me then that he must need one too. He’s been up since he finished work.

“You, ah…you want one too?” I stammer, gesturing towards him. My hand shakes in front of me and I immediately lower it, not wanting him to see how nervous I am.

Nick swallows hard, cocking his head as he stares at me, and it’s only then I realise just how that sounded. I feel my cheeks heat as I look away. “I mean, afterwards…after, um, after me.”

Nick clears his throat and when I turn back, I see the tiniest of smiles tugging on the corner of his mouth. I immediately head for Owen’s room, desperate to get away from him so he can’t see what he’s doing to me. What the hell am I even doing? I should be showering and going to bed, to sleep, alone. Not inviting guys I barely know into my house and offering them a shower.

I knock once on Owen’s door, silently begging that he’s not home. There’s no answer and I push it quietly open, breathing a sigh of relief when I find his room empty. Rummaging through his drawers, I find some old track pants and a t-shirt. I skip the underwear drawer because that’s just too weird, before walking back into the living room.

“My roommate’s,” I say, shoving the clothes into Nick’s arms. “They’re clean,” I add, walking towards my room. “Shower’s in here.”

Nick says nothing, just follows me towards my room. This would have to be the first time in my life that I wish Owen and I didn’t have our own bathrooms. It’s weird enough that Nick is here at all, but it’s just gotten a whole lot weirder having him standing in my bedroom, the knowledge that he’s about to get very naked on the other side of the door.

“Shower’s through there,” I say, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Some fresh towels in the cupboard. Help yourself.”

Nick says nothing for so long that I have to look up, wondering if maybe he hasn’t somehow disappeared without me noticing. When I finally meet his stare, he smiles at me. A small, but genuine smile that I don’t know how to interpret.

“You go first,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll wait out here.”

~ Nick

I watch as Emma nods before disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the shower start to run and without even trying, images of her peeling off her scrubs immediately flood my brain. I picture her pale white skin, the dark freckle she has on her left shoulder that I couldn’t resist kissing in my office that night.

I’d noticed it as soon as she’d walked in and taken off her coat, her strapless dress exposing all of that skin. But my eyes had been drawn to the freckle, the only mark on her chest and shoulders. Even then, without ever uttering a single word, I’d wanted to press my mouth against it, taste her, kiss my way along her collarbone and up her neck to her mouth.

“Fuck,” I hiss, running a hand through my hair.

I can’t think about this shit now. Not while I’m standing in her bedroom and she’s standing naked under the shower, the two of us separated by little more than a single wooden door. I wonder if she’s locked it, if she doesn’t trust that I will wait. I’m tempted to try, to see if she does, but I don’t. I don’t want to scare her because I can see that she’s already skittish. On edge, maybe and wondering why the fuck she ever brought me back here.

Even I don’t know why I’m here. All I know is I’ve spent the past four hours standing outside her work waiting for her to finish, hoping I wasn’t going to miss her. A part of me always worried how it would look when she came out, whether my waiting for her was going to do nothing but totally freak her out. But I knew I had to explain things to her, knew I had to tell her how wrong she’d gotten everything and that the Amy she met that night was not the Amy that was tattooed on my skin.

That nothing was how she thought it was.

The water continues to run and I know I need a distraction, anything to get my mind off her. I place the clothes she’s given me on a small stool by the door. I don’t need them because I don’t actually need a shower. I might not have slept much since I finally finished work last night, but I did at least shower. I wasn’t going to take the chance on finally being able to speak to her again and stink like a fucking brewery.

So after Tony and I had talked, how I’d explained to him that I now knew where she worked, but hadn’t been able to reach her, I went back to my apartment and showered. I caught a couple of hours on the couch, tried calling one more time, this time explaining why I so badly needed to speak to her, and then I just went to the hospital where she worked, not knowing how the hell she was going to react when she saw me again.

Finally seeing her again though, as she’d walked out into the early morning, definitely made the lack of sleep worth it.

I look around her room, not wanting to snoop but just find out a little bit more about her. It’s a big room, dominated by a large queen bed that backs up to the window. The window’s ledge is lined with books and mugs and a couple of other things, and it’s only then that I notice just how much shit she has lying around everywhere.

I never pictured she’d be this much of a slob.

To the left of the bed, a large chair that could easily fit two people is covered in clothes, including the black dress she was wearing a week ago. I swallow hard at the memory of the way she looked in it, forcing my eyes to continue their path, back towards the bed and the side tables, to the desk that sits in the other corner. It’s covered in notes and textbooks. Names like Grey’s Anatomy, Clinical Diagnosis and Genetics etched on their spines, different coloured post-its marking various pages.

I walk towards the desk, thumb through the pages that show diagrams and pathways, mechanisms of living that I don’t really understand. It impresses me that she knows all this stuff, blows my mind how smart she is. I could tell the second she spoke to me that night, long before I ever knew she was a doctor. There was just something about her that set her apart from every other girl that walked in and sat at my bar.

The memory makes me smile.

I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the back of her desk chair, sliding off my boots as my eyes rove over the corkboard that’s propped against the wall behind the desk. I expect it to be covered with notes, but it’s not. Instead there are photos all over it, ranging from when Emma was younger, right up to present day.

I lean in, taking a closer look and that’s when I notice the change. She might be smiling in each one, surrounded by friends both socially and at work, but it’s her eyes that are different.

In the younger pictures, they are bright, the smile on her mouth reaching her eyes. In the more recent ones though, that light is gone, replaced with something that I remember seeing in Amy’s eyes towards the end.

Loss, misery, as though there is no life left anymore.

It breaks my heart to think Emma is truly this unhappy. Makes me want to do something about it, change things for her because I know how painful it is to watch someone give up.

Just as I start to move away, I see something else, pinned to the lower corner of the board as though she isn’t quite sure she wants to see it, but isn’t ready to throw it out either.

The napkin from last week.

I immediately reach for it, unpinning the paper as I step backwards and sit on the end of her bed. I swing my legs up, settling back against the window ledge as I read through the list I wrote; all of the pros and cons. There’s an asterisk now, next to one of the entries: getting to be happy*.

It makes me smile, my eyes closing as I remember back to writing it, the way my heart was pounding in my chest at the time because not only did I barely know this woman, but I also had no idea how she’d react to my words.

And while things hadn’t exactly turned out great that night, they were definitely looking up now.

Well, if she ever gets out of the shower, that is.

~ Emma

I take my time in the shower, stalling because I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I walk out, not sure what he expects.

I don’t even know what I want or expect, I honestly never thought I’d see him again and now I think about it, I wonder how exactly it is that he found me.

I finally turn the water off and step out. I take my time getting dried, tying back my hair, applying moisturiser and getting dressed in old pair of leggings and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

Eventually I can’t stall any longer. He’s either going to wonder if I’ve somehow drowned in here or he’s going to have given up and just left. So taking a deep breath, I turn the handle and finally walk back into my bedroom.

And he’s asleep.

He’s actually fallen asleep…on my bed. I glance around and see his jacket hanging on my chair, his shoes beside it and Nick lying back on my bed sound asleep.

What the hell do I do now?

I stop and look around the room, as though I’m expecting it to offer up some answers. Should I wake him so we can continue talking? Should I wake him in case he wants to go home?

Or should I do what I know I need to do and lie down beside him and go to sleep myself? I have no idea what to do, whether he’ll read too much into that if he happens to wake up and find me sleeping beside him?

God, why am I so bad at this?

I stall a little more, walking out to the kitchen to grab some water. I’m not exactly quiet, half hoping he wakes up and solves the problem for me. But by the time I walk back in, he’s still sound asleep, his hands resting on his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankles and his head resting on the pillow.

“Shit,” I mumble, walking towards my bed. I really need to get some sleep and at this stage, I’m not even sure I have the energy to wake him up. So, as carefully as I can, I set my glass down on the side table and slide into bed, pulling the duvet to my chin as I roll onto my side so I’m facing away from him.

I let out a long slow breath as I close my eyes and force my brain to forget about the man sleeping beside me and focus on getting the sleep I so badly need; a part of me wondering what the hell happens when we eventually wake up.

~ Nick

My eyes open and I find myself in a strange room, the sun streaming in through a window behind me. It’s low enough in the sky to tell me it’s the afternoon and as my head instinctively turns on the pillow, I see a clock I don’t recognise that tells me it’s after three o’clock.

Shit.

I glance at the bed beside me, suddenly remembering where I am, only to discover it’s empty. My hand slides across, the faintest hint of warmth still lingering on the pillow. I close my eyes as I try to remember exactly when I fell asleep. The last thing I remember is her walking into the bathroom and me trying to distract myself with anything that stopped me from thinking about her naked on the other side of the door.

Was I awake when she came out? I can’t actually remember it happening.

Which can only mean I wasn’t, which also means I’m a fucking idiot. I mean what kind of guy tracks down a woman, only to fall asleep on her as soon as he gets the chance to finally talk to her.

“Jesus, Nick,” I mumble, scrubbing a hand down my face.

I should get up, at least find out where she is and if I can possibly salvage any of this. Just as I sit up, the bedroom door opens and Emma walks in, trying to balance a plate on top of a mug in one hand, while she holds another mug in the other. I slide my legs off the bed, just as she looks at me and says, “I’ve got it.”

Instead, I slide up the bed so I’m sitting, watch as she puts one of the mugs on the side table beside me before walking around to the other side and climbing back onto the bed. She sits facing me, her legs crossed beneath her as she puts a plate of what looks like semi reheated pizza between us.

“Breakfast,” she says, gesturing to the plate. “Or lunch.”

I laugh, grabbing a slice. “Thanks.”

She nods, saying nothing more and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was still nervous.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” I say, finishing off my slice. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

Emma coughs, dropping her slice as she reaches for her coffee. I lean over, as if I can help, but she shakes her head at me. Eventually, she looks up, her cheeks flushed, but from what exactly, I can’t tell. “You were tired,” she says, shrugging as though it’s no big deal. “I get it.”

I watch her, wait until she meets my gaze. “Did you sleep?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

We sit in silence now, a weird kind of awkwardness surrounding us. I really need to get going, but this is not how I want to leave things. This isn’t anywhere near how I intended for things to go at all. I mean, I never expected to end up in her bed like this, but I sure as shit didn’t think I’d fall asleep if I did. But that’s what happened and the question is, what the hell do I do now?

“Are you working tonight?” she suddenly asks.

I nod. “Yeah, I only close the bar Mondays and Tuesdays, so one more night. You?”

Emma shakes her head. “Two days off now before back to day shift on Wednesday.”

I nod, wondering how she does it. At least with me, I know what my hours will be. They might be shit at times but at least I can plan around them. With her, it seems like she moves between days and nights regularly and without any kind of real break or acclimation in between. Add to that the weekends and on call stuff she must do and it’s no wonder she feels like her life is nothing but work.

“What time do you have to be there?” she asks, eyes on the plate.

I glance at the clock again. Half an hour ago if I’m being honest. “Soon,” I tell her instead.

She nods again, still not looking at me. “Do you stay open late on Sundays?”

I reach for another slice as I stare at her, wondering why she’s asking me this. She’s still not looking at me, but I can see the faintest hint of red on her cheeks and the tiniest glimmer of hope sparks up in my chest. I shrug, as I casually try to say, “Eleven-ish, midnight maybe.”

Emma nods, but says nothing more. I’m not sure if I’m imagining things or if maybe she’s just chickened out, but I can’t help but feel she was about to ask me something.

“You could come by,” I suggest, not wanting to lose the opportunity. If she’s not going to say it, I will. “Keep me company?”

Emma stares at me, not saying anything. I get the feeling she’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. Either that or she’s trying to read my mind and work it out for herself. I say nothing now, just stare back, willing her to say yes. I watch as she bites her bottom lip, a sign I now know means she’s thinking about it, trying to decide her next move.

“Won’t you be busy?” she finally asks.

I shake my head once, feeling the opportunity get closer. “Nothing like last time,” I say, smiling. “Might even be able to close early if it’s really bad.”

“I…” she starts, stopping almost immediately.

We stare at each other now, neither of us saying anything. I’m silently begging her to agree, if only so it means I’ll get to see her again and this won’t be over before it’s even had a chance to really get started.

I watch as she eventually takes a deep breath, as though fortifying herself. “Or,” she says. “You could come back here when you’re done?”

And fuck me if that isn’t a totally better option.

I leave before she has a chance to change her mind. In any case, I’m so fucking late and as much as I might want to stay, I know I have to go. It’s tempting to say fuck it and just not open the bar tonight, but I can’t do that. I have staff and responsibilities and this is half the reason I wanted my own bar in the first place.

Tony’s already set up by the time I arrive, glancing up at me as I race inside. “Sorry, sorry,” I say, shooting him an apologetic look. He grins at me, opening his mouth to no doubt make some kind of smart arsed remark, but I don’t give him a chance. “I gotta run up to my apartment quickly,” I say, already halfway back out. “I’ll be back in a sec.” And then I race upstairs to feed Oscar.

By the time I get back downstairs, Tony is leaning against the bar, arms crossed against his chest and with a huge grin on his face. No sooner am I inside does he say, “So, do I take this tardiness to mean your plan worked?”

I nod, but say nothing, almost regretting telling him so much last night as we closed up the bar.

“What, that’s it?” he asks, pushing off the bar. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“Yep,” I say, glancing at him.

“No fucking way,” he says. “You gotta spill, dude, seriously.”

I grin now unable to stop it as I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But you are doing the lock-up tonight.”

Tony laughs, shaking his head as he walks over to the door, unlocks it and flips the sign.

Of course the night drags and the longer I’m here, the more I worry that she’s going to change her mind about me coming over. By ten, Tony walks over and says, “Just fucking go already. I’ll finish up here.” I open my mouth to ask if he’s sure, but he points to the exit and says, “Go.”

I nod once, before heading to the door. When I reach it, I hear Tony yell out, “And don’t fuck it up this time!”

I turn and glare at him, only to have him laugh at me before I shake my head and walk out, not even bothering to change my clothes again before I head back to Emma’s apartment, hopeful that she’s still okay with me coming over.

It crosses my mind that I should bring something, a bottle of wine maybe, but I don’t want to be too over the top about it all. Just because she’s asked me over, doesn’t mean things are necessarily going to happen.

Even if deep down it’s what I want.

But I really don’t want to give her the impression that that’s all I’m after here either. Because as much as I might want her, it’s not just about wanting her.

By the time I reach her apartment, I’m nervous as fucking hell, my mind racing through all the possible scenarios of what could happen when I go upstairs. The things I want, the things I’ve dreamed about all week and the things I picture myself doing given half a chance. I try to convince myself that this is what she wants too, that she invited me back here, twice, so she must.

More than anything though, I try to convince myself that it’s okay for me to want this with her even when I know I really shouldn’t. When I swore I’d never go down this path again.

I see my finger shaking as I reach out to press the buzzer for her place.

“Hello,” comes her voice, almost immediately.

I fight the smile, even though she can’t see me. “Hey, it’s Nick,” I answer, as though she has a never-ending line of guys showing up at her apartment in the middle of the night.

The buzzer sounds and the door clicks, letting me into the foyer. I take the lift in silence, staring up at the numbers again like I did some twelve hours ago. By the time I reach her floor, my heart is pounding in my chest, threatening to burst right through it.

But she’s not waiting for me at the front door; instead it’s slightly ajar, as though waiting for me to enter. I do, locking it behind me. The apartment is silent, almost in darkness. The only light comes from her room, the door to which is also open. I force myself to take a deep breath as I take off my jacket and walk towards her room, trying to look casual. Inside, Emma waits for me on her bed. Her hair is pulled into a knot on the top of her head and she’s wearing the same clothes I left her in this afternoon.

“Hey,” she says, flicking me a quick glance.

“Hi,” I say, watching her, waiting for her to look up at me again.

“You want a shower?” she asks, gesturing towards her bathroom.

I nod, even though she’s still not looking at me. When I don’t move, she finally lifts her gaze to mine. Even in the low light, I can still see the pink in her cheeks, the way she nervously meets my eyes.

“Help yourself,” she says, biting her bottom lip again.

I nod. “You won’t fall asleep on me?” I ask, trying for a joke just to ease the tension that’s suddenly filled the room. It’s like an electrical charge, pulsing between us and it’s only the thought that I really do need a shower that stops me from walking over to her and doing all the things I’ve been fantasising about this past week.

She shakes her head slowly; her eyes never leaving mine now as she whispers, “I won’t.”

I nod once before turning and walking into her bathroom, wondering which one of us is really in control here. Wondering if I’m not the only one who wants things to go further than they did this morning.

Knowing that when I come out of this bathroom, I’m going to find out.

~ Emma

Nick disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He’s wearing the same clothes as the ones he left in, meaning he’s gone straight to work from here and then come straight back again.

I’m not sure what to think about that, what to think about any of it. What it means, what he thinks about me asking him to come over, what he expects from me in return.

I really don’t want to overthink things, but as my eyes roam around my room, I see the clothes I got from Owen’s room this morning still sitting on the chair by my door.

Which means Nick doesn’t have anything to put on after he’s taken the shower. Which can only mean he’s going to come out of my bathroom, half naked, possibly all naked and things will really only have one direction to go in.

I hear the sound of the shower starting up. I could open the door and slip the clothes inside, but what would that look like? Then again, I invited him here, didn’t I, and what the hell does that look like?

As I sit frozen on my bed, trying to work out what I’m supposed to do, my indecision is solved when the bathroom door suddenly opens. I turn and see him standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist and drops of water running down his chest. He holds the towel, tightly clasped in one hand at his hip, his forearm contracting as though he’s afraid he might drop it. It makes the ink of his tattoo move, the muscles and tendons undulating beneath the skin.

Wow. Anatomy never looked so good.

“I, ahh, I forgot the…”

I nod, not moving, not able to speak at the sight in front of me. I’m not sure what message my silence sends to him and all Nick does is stare at me as though he’s trying to interpret it and decide what to do. I see him swallow hard before I chicken out and have to turn away. I’m too nervous to see what his choice will be.

The sound of the towel hitting the floor sends my heart into some kind of free fall, crashing into my stomach, which is already spinning. I see my hands shaking in my lap, even as I hear the sound of fabric rustling and know he’s putting on the clothes I got for him. I still don’t look at him, even as the mattress sinks with the weight of his body beside me, my fingers tightening in the fabric of the duvet. I don’t want him to see how much they are shaking.

“Are you tired?” I eventually ask, trying desperately to get back to something resembling normal. But the words sound strangled, as though they are caught in my throat. My heart is still pounding inside my chest and I wish I’d put some music on, anything to hide the sound of my obvious nerves.

“No,” he answers, his voice low as he gently pulls the duvet from my hands.

It’s only then that I finally glance over at him, see that anything that might be good about the male anatomy is now safely hidden beneath the track pants he wears. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. But as my eyes travel up to his, I realise I’m wrong, because even though there’s plenty of good stuff that’s now hidden, there’s still plenty of good stuff left for me to see.

He hasn’t put the t-shirt on and oh my god if he doesn’t look even better than I remember from that night in his bar a week ago. I have to swallow hard as my eyes rake over his torso, taking in everything. Every muscle and every undulation. Every inch of bare skin and the smattering of hair across his chest. The trail of it that runs down his stomach and disappears somewhere beneath those track pants.

It actually makes my head spin, sending it on the same path as my stomach, my pounding heart floating somewhere in between them.

I swallow hard; force myself to keep my breathing even as my eyes gravitate to his chest. The name is still there, of course it is. But it doesn’t it hurt to see it anymore, not when I know what it really means. I feel the apology that still needs to be said lingering at the back of my throat again.

“Are you tired?” he asks, before I have a chance to speak.

I shake my head slowly, finally lifting my eyes to his face. His eyes are soft in the low light as he watches me; a tiny smile pulling at his mouth.

“What did you do for the rest of your day?” he asks.

His question surprises me. I shrug. “Not much. Caught up on some reading for work.”

“Are things any better with you and Sarah?” he asks, folding his hands in his lap.

My eyes move to them as though I can’t stop myself because I know exactly what lies beneath them. Just seeing him, sitting here half-naked in my bed has my heart racing in my chest. I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks, the one trait I can’t hide and the one that is most definitely the downside to my physiology.

“Em?” he says, unlocking his fingers and reaching up, tilting my chin back up to his face. He smiles at me again, but it’s kind, sweet.

I shake my head. “No, we haven’t spoken since that night in your bar.”

He looks at me, a questioning look on his face. “You should sort things out with her,” he says. “It’s not worth ruining a friendship over one stupid night out.”

“It wasn’t all stupid,” I say, the words out before I can even censor them. I feel my cheeks heat even more as Nick’s smile reappears.

“No,” he says, his eyes on mine. “It wasn’t.”

I swallow hard, knowing that as weird as all of this is, he still deserves that apology for the way I acted that night, for all the things I now know about everything with his bar and his sister, for running out on him and never giving him a chance to explain.

“About that night,” I start, holding up a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth to speak. “I really am sorry about the things I said to you, about the way I acted and my reaction to the tattoo. It was…it was unfair and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

He shakes his head. “Apology accepted, Emma, I promise.”

“I misunderstood,” I continue. “About…” I trail off, even as I gesture to the tattoo on his exposed chest. My eyes move down to the ink again, to the name of his sister, branded above his heart. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s been through with that. How he’s possibly still in one piece? I can barely cope with the death I see at work and I don’t even know those people.

His fingers slide around my wrist, just like they did this morning. They’re softer this time though, as they pull my hand to his chest, flattening my fingers against her name. “You weren’t to know,” he says, his voice soft. “It’s okay, really.”

His skin is warm, still slightly damp, but it’s the beat of his heart beneath my fingertips that really surprises me. It’s strong, rapid and tapping out an accelerated rhythm that mirrors what’s going on inside my own chest right now.

Maybe he’s as nervous as I am?

The thought actually makes me feel a little better as I look up at him. “Maybe not,” I say, the words catching in my throat as my own nervous system goes into overload at his proximity, his touch…his near nakedness. “But it was still a shitty way to act, shitty thing to do.”

He smiles, watching me. He looks so cool and calm, collected and not the least bit nervous. Is he really good at hiding it or does this none of bother him like it seems.

“I’m actually glad you stopped it, you know,” he says, surprising me.

“You are?”

He nods, his smile widening. “I am.”

“W…why?” I stammer.

Nick yanks on my wrist now, pulling me so I’m straddling him. My brain goes into meltdown as everything I was imagining beneath those track pants is magnified, a hundred fold.

“Because,” he says, his eyes on my lips, fingers letting go of my wrist as both of his hands now slide up my thighs to my hips. I feel his fingers, gently squeezing me as the tips of them slide ever so slightly under the edge of my leggings, lowering them just the tiniest amount.

I have to force myself to breathe, swallowing hard as I beg my heart to get itself under control so it doesn’t smash right through my chest and shatter all over him. Nick grins at me, as though he’s reading my mind and every dirty thought that’s now suddenly materialised there because of where I find myself sitting.

“Because,” he repeats, his breath warm against my skin. “I didn’t want a random backroom hook-up with you, Emma,” he whispers, his eyes finally leaving my lips and making their way up to mine. I stare back at him, loosing myself in the intensity of his blue gaze.

“You didn’t?” I finally manage to ask.

Nick shakes his head. “No,” he says, firmly. “I didn’t.”

“Why?” I ask, apparently having lost the ability to speak or sound like a semi-intelligent person.

He chuckles now and it’s enough to have me melting in his lap. “Because,” he says, leaning ever so slightly closer.

“Yeah?”

He smiles, the action a mix of sweet and sexy. “Because,” he whispers again. I nod my head, as though I’m agreeing with him when I barely even know what he’s saying to me anymore. “That’s not who you are,” he continues leaning closer so his lips brush against mine.

I groan against him, my mouth closing over his as his hands slide up my hips and sides, pulling the t-shirt I wear with them. I pull back, my arms going up of their own accord and letting him pull it off me. He throws it across the room and when I open my eyes again, he’s looking at me, that dark blue stare of his now meeting mine. I lower my arms; my hands going to his chest, the smooth warmth of his skin sending heat back up my arms. Nick’s eyes never leave mine. They watch only me, silently watching…waiting.

I smile nervously, unsure what I should do next. He returns the smile, his hands moving back to my hips before they slide up my spine, wrapping around my shoulders as he pulls me against him.

His lips are both firm and soft against mine, the kiss gentle, slow, as though he’s trying not to scare me. I feel my whole body melting against his, the electricity of our touch as his chest meets mine. His hands trace a path back down my spine, wrapping around my hips as he slowly rolls me off and beneath him. I open my eyes, see him hovering over me, a smile on his face before he leans in and presses a kiss to my shoulder.

His hips are against mine, telling me everything that this is doing to him. Somehow it gives me courage. Allows me to push the leggings down my hips, kicking them off my ankles even though it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this I barely even know what I should be doing. Nick doesn’t stop kissing me as I now push the track pants he’s wearing down his hips, my hands smoothing over his warm skin. His mouth is still on mine, gentle but insistent as his arms slide beneath me, wrapping around me and pulling me closer.

He feels so warm against my skin and it’s hard to believe our body temperature can possibly stay so even. His tongue slides into my mouth and I let out a groan so loud, it’s embarrassing. But he doesn’t stop, letting out his own noises even as he moves his body so that it completely covers mine. When he pulls back, I open my eyes again. Nick looks down at me, a tiny smile on his face.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“We can stop,” he says unconvincingly.

I shake my head, still unable to speak.

Nick stares at me for a second longer before he leans in to kiss me again. I’m about to try and say something about protection and the condoms are in the drawer, when he moves, his mouth kissing a path down my neck, across my shoulder and back over my ribs. He keeps going, kissing down my stomach, over my belly button and suddenly I don’t have a voice at all, let alone words.

When he disappears between my legs, I feel like I don’t even have a brain, my body nothing but heat and nerve impulses, rapidly firing beneath my skin, which is somehow still containing them.

“Nick,” I murmur, my fingers gripping his hair.

I’m not even sure I say it out loud, because if I do, it makes no difference. He doesn’t stop and I don’t want him to. I don’t think I could anyway because he’s doing things to my body that I don’t think have ever been done to it before.

After what feels like forever and a millisecond at the same time, he finally hovers over me again. I lie spent against the sheets, unsure if I can even move, let alone form a coherent sentence. He laughs a little, leaning in to kiss me before his eyes flick to the bedside table. I know what he’s asking, and I know exactly what I want to happen next. When he sees that, his smile widens, even as his hand reaches out for the drawer.

When it happens, my body betrays me again, telling him exactly how I feel, exactly what he’s doing to me. I feel his smile against my mouth, the tightening of his grip on me, even as my hips move up to meet his, wanting.

It lasts forever, my mind and my body so exhausted and exhilarated that I’m not sure I’m still conscious at the end.

Afterwards, Nick pulls me against him, his body scorching hot against mine as he wraps his arms around me. I can feel the pounding of his heart against my back, the rapid breaths as they brush against my neck.

“You okay?” I ask.

I feel the silent laugh. “Yes.”

I smile even though he can’t see it, closing my eyes as he tightens his arms a little more.

~ Nick

This time when I wake, I know exactly where I am, the smile forming even before I’ve opened my eyes. I roll onto my side, my hands reaching for her only to find the bed beside me is empty. My eyes shoot open just in time to see Emma walking in and closing the bedroom door behind her.

Like yesterday, she’s carrying two mugs of coffee, only this time she looks nervous as hell. Very different to yesterday when I woke up in her bed. Then again, a lot of things are different this time.

And as much as I’ve tried to tell myself I shouldn’t be doing this because it’s a mistake, I know it’s too late for that now. I’ve had a taste and the only thing I want now is more.

“Hey,” I say, smiling up at her.

She flicks her eyes at me before putting a cup down on the table beside me. “Hey.”

I lift my arm, my fingers slipping under her t-shirt and drifting across her stomach. Her hands shake a little and she immediately puts down the second cup of coffee, which is exactly what I was aiming for. Curling my hand around her hip I pull her onto the bed, her body falling onto mine. She lets out a huff of surprise before I pull her head down to mine and kiss her. She tastes like coffee and I wonder how long she’s been awake for.

“Nick,” she murmurs, her hands on my chest as she tries to push herself up.

I grin against her mouth, pulling her closer.

“Nick,” she tries again. “I have to get up.”

“Why?” I ask, rolling us over so she now lies beneath me.

“Because I have to,” she says.

I pull back a little and stare down at her. “You said you weren’t working today.”

Emma’s eyes flick nervously away, looking anywhere but at me. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on here, but something is definitely off. This is not the same woman that was moaning beneath me last night, whispering my name in a way that drove me fucking crazy.

“Em?” I ask, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

“Don’t you have things to do?” she finally asks, turning back to look at me.

“No,” I say. “Bar’s closed, remember?”

She lets out a sigh, her eyes moving to the ceiling. “Surely you have other stuff going on,” she says. “You don’t need to hang around here.”

She definitely won’t look at me now, but the penny finally drops as to what’s going on with her. She expects me to leave. To roll out of bed and go as though everything that happened here last night meant nothing. It pisses me off that she can think this; that she still thinks I’m that kind of guy. I thought we were past this shit.

“Whoa, okay,” I say, rolling off her. “What the hell’s going on here, Emma?” I’m staring at her, waiting for her to turn and look at me.

“What do you mean?” she asks angrily.

“You really just expect me to get up and leave?” I ask. “That we’ve had our fun and I got what I was after and now I’ll just go?”

Emma bites her bottom lip, shrugging a little as her cheeks start to colour. “Isn’t that what you want?” she asks quietly.

“Jesus, Emma. No,” I say, shoving a hand through my hair. “Did you actually listen to anything I said to you last night?”

Emma rolls away and sits up, sliding her legs off the side of the bed, her back to me. She curls forward and under the thin fabric of her t-shirt, I can see the bumps and contours of her spine. It feels like forever ago that I was sliding my fingers along those curves and finally giving in to what I was still afraid to admit I wanted.

She says nothing, just sits there.

“Is that what you want?” I eventually ask. “Just a one night hook-up?”

Emma shrugs and I’m starting to get pissed off with all of this. I push up off the bed, sliding over to sit beside her. She doesn’t look at me, but she doesn’t resist when I pull the hand that’s hidden beneath her leg and take it in mine.

“Emma,” I repeat, the word soft. She looks sideways at me, not quite meeting my eyes but at least it’s an improvement. “That’s not what I want, I thought you knew that. I thought I made that perfectly clear last night?” She nods, still not saying anything. I take a deep breath. “Is it what you want?” She shakes her head and I immediately feel my body relax, the tension I didn’t realise was building, slowly dissipating. “So why are you trying to push me away now?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice small.

“You don’t know?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

I thread my fingers though hers. “Tell me what’s bothering you?”

She exhales hard. “I, I don’t know how to make this work, how to…how to do this.” As she says the words, her other hand flicks between us.

I smile. “Em, nobody does.”

She looks up at me now and her face is a mixture of confusion and sadness and fear. “But I’m really bad at it,” she says.

I laugh this time, shaking my head at her. “No,” I say. “You’re not.”

She nods. “I am, you’ll see. You’ll get frustrated because I’m always working. And even when I’m not, there will be times when I’m on call so it will feel like I’m working. I’ll get phone calls and interruptions at all hours. And work, it’s…” She pauses, collecting her breath. “I work such crazy hours, you’ll eventually start to hate me for it.”

I try and give her a smile, my fingers brushing over her knuckles. I don’t fully understand where all of this is coming from, but it’s clearly something that bothers her, something that’s been an issue for her in the past.

“Em, if anyone knows what working crazy hours is like, it’s me.”

She shakes her head again. “Not crazy like mine,” she says. “Sometimes it feels as though all I do is work and I know it will get to you. You’ll be pissed because I can’t be somewhere when you want me to be, or I’ll be late when you need me to be on time and I don’t want to do that to…to this…to us.”

“Emma,” I say, falling back on the bed as I pull her down with me. She curls into my side, her head on my shoulder and I can feel the softness of her breath on my neck. I wonder how it is that she can so easily say this won’t work when we haven’t even begun to try. But at the same time, I wonder how it is I’m so easily willing to at all when I swore I never would.

I pull her closer, ignoring that voice in my head as I wrap my arms around her. “Don’t worry so much about the future,” I tell her, trying to not to scare either of us with these words. “Just focus on the us in the now, the present?”

Emma’s fingers uncurl from their fists, one hand reaching out to brush the ink on my forearm; and now she’s free.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she asks quietly.

“No,” I say, even though there’s a huge part of me that is.

She lifts her head, moves so she’s looking at me. “I don’t want to hurt you, Nick,” she says sadly. “I’ve already done it once and I don’t want to do that to you again.”

I stare at her, try to read and decipher the emotions that are warring it out in her eyes. She looks terrified, confused, but most of all sad.

“You won’t hurt me,” I tell her, somehow convinced. “I know you’re not that kind of person.”

She shakes her head. “But I already have, remember?” she says, her fingers brushing across Amy’s tattoo.

“That wasn’t the same thing,” I tell her.

“You’ll end up hating me because of my work.”

I shake my head. “No, I won’t.”

She nods now, even as she says, “Everybody does…eventually.”

I watch her, remembering that night in my bar, the phone call with Sarah. I hadn’t heard it all, but I’d caught enough of it to know that this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten frustrated with Emma over how little they saw each other. It had evidently reached some sort of tipping point too, because they haven’t spoken since then, even though they’re supposed to be best friends.

But as hard as it might be, I also get it. I get the long hours, the nights spent working and not being with who you want to be with. I understand sleeping all day, only to surface for some food and to start all over again. And I’m realistic enough to know that sometimes it will be difficult, that I’ll want to see her but won’t be able to, or that we’ll spend nights and days crawling into bed just as the other one is leaving. But it still doesn’t convince me to walk away, even though I’m as terrified as she is about it all.

“Emma,” I eventually say, waiting until she looks at me. When she finally does, I smile at her, lean in and press a soft kiss to her lips. “I know it’s not always going to be easy, okay? I get that. But I’m not going to try and start predicting the future here. I know that never works. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

She glances at my chest again, at my sister’s name tattooed across it and it feels like she understands exactly what I’m saying. How much I tried to help Amy and that I never saw a future without her in it, but only of one where she got the help she needed, where she was still alive and still my best friend, helping me run the bar like we’d always dreamed. But that future didn’t happen and in the end she was taken away and I was left without her and no amount of wishing or hoping or trying to change things could undo that.

“Just be with me now,” I say to her. “Let’s try this. Now.”

“You really want to do that?” Her words are a whisper, so soft it’s as though she’s too scared to say them out loud.

I slide my fingers into her hair, pulling her down so her mouth is only an inch from mine. I stare into her eyes knowing I’m already hopelessly lost in the never-ending blackness of them. Knowing I can’t possibly stop this now, even if I wanted to.

“Yep,” I whisper, before letting myself get pulled all the way in.

~ Emma

I’m pretty sure Nick has spent the past hour or so subconsciously convincing me that he and I being an us is a good idea. Truth be told, if I based it purely off all the things he can do to me, the way he makes me feel, the way he touches me, even just the way he looks at me, I’d say yes. Scream it from the rooftops for everyone to hear.

But being an us doesn’t work that way. As amazing as it is, it’s not just about the really great sex, and there’s still a huge part of me that’s terrified of how badly wrong this can all go.

I know that’s why I acted the way I did when I first woke up this morning. It’s not that I thought he was the kind of guy who came over for a booty call and then disappeared. But I was protecting myself, giving him an out…maybe myself an out, before I could get hurt.

“Mmmm, we need to get up,” he murmurs, his face buried against my neck.

I close my eyes, hoping that I can somehow find a way to make being an us work. That I don’t ruin this like I have so many times before.

“Come on,” he says, rolling away and hopping out of bed. He reaches down and pulls me up. “We need to get going.”

I half fall out, his arm sliding around my waist as he catches me and pulls me against his hard, warm body.

“We do?”

“Yep,” he says, grinning as he leans in to kiss me. “Go have a quick shower.”

He half pushes me in the direction of the bathroom, smacking me on the butt as I go. I watch as he reaches for the clothes he came over in last night, pulling them on quickly.

“Go!” he says, when he catches me watching him.

After I’ve showered and dressed, Nick grabs my hand and we head outside. Owen has long gone to work, thank god, so I’m not forced to endure any interrogation from him about Nick coming over last night. Of course he knows he did. Even though I was sitting by the buzzer, I still couldn’t stop the loudness of it as it broke through the silence of our apartment.

Owen had been in bed, but not asleep and I’d had to bribe and coerce him with promises of an introduction at another time, just to get him to stay in bed and not speak to Nick when he walked in the front door.

“Where are we going?” I ask, when we hit the street.

Nick hails a cab, opening the door for me as he says, “I need some clean clothes and you need to spend the day with me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t get the chance as Nick slides a hand along my jaw and presses his mouth to mine. The driver waits for us to finish, before Nick gives him an address. When he glances back at me, I’m not sure what my face looks like, but he can only chuckle as he says, “Relax, Em.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes, Nick holding my hand in both of his. He has an easy smile on his face as he watches the city pass us by. As we pass the hospital where I work, where he showed up only a day ago, it reminds me of what I wanted to ask him yesterday morning.

“How’d you know where to find me?” I ask, my eyes still on him.

Nick’s grin widens as he turns and looks at me now. “Did Dr Holden ever reach you?” he asks.

“What?”

He chuckles. “Dr Holden? He tried calling, but could never seem to reach you.”

I stare at him for a second, before it clicks. “Wait, you’re Dr Holden?” I ask, surprised.

“That I am,” he says, nodding.

“What exactly did you do?” I ask. “Ring every hospital until you found me?”

“Well,” he says, lifting my hand to his mouth. He presses a soft kiss to my palm and it’s so beautifully intimate that I actually feel my knees go weak, even though I’m sitting down. “I found you on the third try,” he says. “Actually speaking directly to you, that part was harder.”

I smile now, knowing the nurse who would have taken his call is a complete ball buster and short of it being a total emergency, there’s no way she would have interrupted me for a random phone call.

“What’d you say?” I ask, smiling.

“Actually, at first I was so surprised I’d found you, I hung up,” he says. “Then of course, I had to ring back and make up something about being disconnected and could I please speak to you.”

“And?”

“And she said no.”

I nod knowingly. “Then?”

“Then I rung back to introduce myself and said that I needed to speak to you about a patient.”

I chuckle. “And?”

“And,” he says, grinning. “She asked me the name of the patient and then I hung up.”

“Oh god,” I say, shaking my head. “Please don’t tell me you called her back?”

“I did,” he says, grinning as he nods at me. “This time though, I asked her when you were finishing work because I really needed to take you out for breakfast and make up for what happened a week ago.”

“What?!” I half yell. Nick’s grin only gets bigger. “Please don’t tell me you said that to her?”

“I did,” he says, a smugly satisfied look on his face.

I shake my head, half in amazement, half in disbelief. “What did she say?”

He lifts my hand and kisses it again, whispering a little as he says, “She said, somewhere between six and eight this morning and that if I hurt you, she would personally hunt me down and cut my balls off.”

I am literally rendered speechless; unable to believe that she would say that, although given the strange look she gave me that morning, it kind of makes sense. Still, it’s flattering that Nick could be so insistent about finding me. It shocks me that he wanted to. I knew we’d had a connection that night in his bar, but I didn’t think it had any hope of going anywhere after what had happened. I’m still not sure how we make it work now, but there is a tiny part of me that wants to try, that wants to believe him when he says we can.

“Surprised?” he asks.

I nod.

Nick grins as he leans in to kiss me quickly, before we suddenly pull to a stop. I watch as he glances outside before reaching for his wallet and handing some money to the driver. He then slides out of the car, leaning back down as he says, “You coming?”

I close my jaw and put my hand in his outstretched one and follow him out of the car, recognising where we are. “You live at your bar?” I ask, immediately regretting how my question sounds.

Nick laughs, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “No, Em, I live above it, come on.”

I follow him in through the door beside his bar and up a long flight of stairs. Somewhere near the top, I hear the sound of a cat meowing, followed by Nick talking to it as though this is some kind of normal conversation between them as he unlocks the door at the top of the stairs.

When it opens, I follow him into an open, airy and very clean apartment, a fluffy black cat instantly rubbing itself around my legs. I immediately bend and pick it up, nuzzling my face against its fur as it starts to purr in my arms.

“Typical.”

I look up; find Nick looking at me, an easy smile on his face.

“What?” I ask, petting the cat.

Nick shakes his head as he walks towards the kitchen area. “That cat,” he says.

I follow him into the kitchen, the cat still purring in my arms. Nick opens a cupboard above the fridge and grabs a tin of food.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says, holding it out to me. “Can you feed him?”

I nod. “Sure.”

Nick grins. “Thanks. He’s Oscar by the way,” he adds, leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

He turns and walks to the other end of the apartment, where a large bookcase separates what must be the bedroom end. Along the way, he shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it across the back of the couch before pulling off his t-shirt. I watch him disappear behind the bookcase, only to reemerge a few seconds later, completely naked.

I’m still standing in the middle of his apartment, the cat in my arms as I stare at him walking towards a door that I presume leads to the bathroom. Nick doesn’t even notice me watching him and he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him either as the sound of running water starts up.

It takes the cat nuzzling me to remember that I’m supposed to be feeding him. I put Oscar down and look around for a cat bowl, rinsing it before refilling it with food and wandering towards the couch, which occupies the central area of the apartment space and where I now have a direct line of sight into the bedroom. I take a seat and finally look around Nick’s insanely clean apartment. Now that I do, I can only imagine what he must think of the mess I call my bedroom.

This place is the total opposite of mine. Nothing is out of place, but not in a way that makes you feel like it’s not a home. It’s the same exposed brick walls and wooden floors combination that’s downstairs in his bar. Only here, the ceilings are much higher and huge windows dominate an entire side of the apartment, lining the kitchen area and disappearing behind shelves to his bedroom.

The living room occupies the other side of the apartment, the walls of which are lined with bookcases that are filled, both with books and photos. A huge flat screen TV sits on top of a rustic wooden cabinet. A pile of magazines sits in the croft under the coffee table, alongside several remotes and a small wooden box. Cushions fill the huge corner couch I’m now sitting on, a throw rug covering one end and for all of its neatness, the one word I would pick to describe his home is cozy.

I kick off my shoes and curl my legs beneath me, just as Oscar wanders into the lounge area and jumps up beside me on the couch. I reach out to pet him, smiling when he nuzzles my hand, his loud purr letting me know how much he likes it. He turns in circles several times before evidently finding the perfect spot and curling up beside my leg, his warm body pressing against me.

“I see someone’s made a friend.”

I look up; find Nick standing next to the bookcase, watching me. He’s obviously stepped straight out of the shower, his long hair is loose and wet and he’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

It’s so clearly reminiscent of when he came over to my house last night that my brain immediately flashes back to all the things that came after he stepped out of my bathroom looking like that. As my eyes wander over his half-naked body, a body that is all lean muscle and tanned skin, I can’t help but remember it all. Everything he did to me and everything I did to him and all the ways he made me feel. Things I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Nick chuckles and my eyes immediately flick to his. He cocks an eyebrow at me as if to say, I know what you’re thinking right now.

“What?” I ask, as I feel my cheeks heat.

Nick grins but says nothing as he slowly walks towards me. I swallow hard at the view in front of me, at the way he watches me as he gets closer and closer. It makes me nervous in a weird way, as though the anticipation of what might be about to happen is almost too much. It’s strange the way he can do this to me when we barely even know each other.

When he’s finally standing right in front of me, he leans down, placing a hand on either side of me. “Tell me what you were just thinking,” he whispers, his mouth against my ear.

My eyes close. “Nothing.”

He laughs. “Bullshit,” he says, lips against my neck, gently nuzzling. “Tell me.”

I actually groan out loud, earning me another laugh and a gentle nip at my ear lobe.

“Tell me, Em,” he repeats, the words low.

I swallow hard, letting out a long exhale. I don’t want to admit to him what I was really thinking. Because as true as it all is, it’s far too scary to say out loud. Too soon to think he might already have this much hold over me.

“Has anyone ever told you, you are ridiculously good looking?” I eventually get out instead, my body melting as he continues a trail of kisses down my neck.

I feel Nick grin against my skin, before pressing a hard kiss to the base of my neck and saying, “They have now.”

I feel my fingers curl into fists, my body humming with a strange kind of electricity. I can almost feel my arms reaching for him, as though they’re out of my control. Just as I’m about to reach out and pull the towel off him, he disappears. My eyes snap open to find him standing in front of me, laughing as I look up at him.

“Come here,” he says, reaching for my hand and pulling me up off the couch. Before I can say anything, he’s picked me up and slung me over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing, has turned and is walking back towards his bedroom.

As we round the bookcase I see a huge unmade bed that Nick immediately lowers me on to. Standing between my legs, he looks down at me for a second or two before crawling up my body until his mouth meets mine. He says nothing more, not even as he peels off my clothes and his towel, practically devouring me when he finally gets us skin to skin.

~ Nick

“Okay,” I breathe against her skin. “Now we really need to get up.”

Emma groans, rolling into my side as she mumbles, “I don’t know if I can even move at this point.”

I laugh as her stomach rumbles. “Yes, you can. And besides, we both need food.”

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, burrowing closer.

I take a deep breath, slowly releasing it as I slide my hands up her back. “Come on,” I whisper, my mouth at her ear. “Let’s go eat.”

She grumbles something I don’t catch as I roll away from her, forcing myself into the sitting position. Truth be told, I’d love nothing more than to stay in bed all day with her, but I also want to prove that this is more than that. That we are more than just a physical connection between two people and this isn’t a random hook-up like she thought it was.

I have to ignore the voice in my head telling me that was all I wanted once and that after everything that happened, I don’t deserve even that, let alone something more.

Have to force it silent just so I can stop myself from feeling guilty about it all, too.

“Come on sleepy,” I say, standing. I lean down to press a kiss against her shoulder before pulling her up and into a hug, kissing her cheeks until she opens her eyes.

“It’s my day off,” she mumbles, resting her cheek against my chest.

I can’t help but laugh. “I know,” I tell her. “And you’re not spending the whole day sleeping.”

I’m sure this is what she normally does on her days off, and between that and work, it kinda makes sense that she feels like she has no life. It’s probably half the reason she’s so unhappy.

“Do you need another shower,” I ask, brushing back her hair.

She finally opens her eyes and looks up at me. “No, I think I’m good.”

I smile, lean in and kiss her nose. “Then get dressed lazy bones.”

We eventually make it downstairs, both of us shivering as we walk out into the cold winter day. Grey clouds threaten rain, but it hasn’t started yet. I pull Emma close and we walk away from the bar and down the street to my favourite coffee shop.

Inside we choose the couches by the fire, the late Monday lunch hour meaning most people are back at work and the place is only half-full. A waitress who recognises me comes and takes our order before disappearing again.

“Seems like they know you here,” Emma says, half turning to face me.

I shrug. “Yeah, I come here a bit.”

She smiles. “A lot it seems, she knew your order.”

I watch her, trying to work out where she’s going with this or if maybe I’m just reading too much into it all. The waitress returns with our coffees and asks about the bar and how things are going. I can feel Emma watching us the whole time, but I can’t see the look on her face to know what she’s thinking. When the waitress eventually disappears, I turn back to her, my arm across the back of the couch, my fingers resting on her shoulder.

“What?”

She glances towards the counter before turning back to me. “Nothing.”

I slide closer so my fingers are resting on her neck. Emma reaches for her coffee and I watch her lift the cup to her mouth, my thumb running over the bumps in her spine as she takes a few more sips before putting the cup back on the table. My fingers close around her neck now, bringing her closer as I lean in and press a kiss to her mouth.

“I can hear your brain ticking over you know,” I whisper.

When I pull back, Emma looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “I just…” she pauses as though unsure if she should continue. I brush my thumb against her skin again. “I just feel like there’s so much about you I don’t know,” she eventually says.

“What do you mean?”

She bites her bottom lip, shrugging as she mumbles, “We’ve slept together, seen each other naked, but I feel like I barely know you.”

I can’t help but laugh, especially as her cheeks redden. “That’s a prerequisite huh?”

She shrugs, her blush deepening. “No, I don’t know. I just…”

“Em, relax.” I say, kissing her cheek. “You know a lot about me. You knew a lot about me from that night in the bar. All before the naked part.”

“I did?” she asks, glancing up.

“Yes,” I whisper, kissing her. “You did. But if it makes you feel better, what else do you want to know?”

She stares up at me for a second or two before finally saying, “What would you be doing today if I wasn’t here?”

“Don’t know,” I say. “Go to the gym, catch up on some TV, maybe see some friends tonight. Why, what would you be doing?”

“Studying,” she immediately says.

“Why?” I ask, confused. “I thought you’d finished studying?”

She shakes her head. “Not quite.”

“But you are a doctor?”

She nods. “I am, but to get fully certified, you need to take some final exams. Mine are next year.”

“Wow, must be hard exams?”

She shrugs.

“Okay, what else?”

Our food arrives and the waitress doesn’t stay this time. Eventually Emma turns and asks, “I don’t know, how old are you, what’s your favourite movie, favourite food, what kind of music do you like, how long have you had Oscar?”

I laugh, reaching for my coffee. “Um, I’m twenty-eight, too many favourites to pick just one but I do love sci-fi and action movies, Italian, varied music tastes and about a year.”

Emma nods at each of my answers, as though she’s mentally checking off some sort of list. I wonder if maybe I can’t get a question or two in myself, risking it with, “Have you given any more thought to the medicine thing?” Emma shoots me a questioning look, but it’s not enough to stop me. “ER, internal medicine,” I add. “Something else entirely?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

“I saw you kept the list though,” I continue, fingers stroking her neck.

She nods. “What’s the other guy who works in your bar called?”

I chuckle as I get that message that I’m the one facing the questioning here. “Tony.”

“Has he worked for you for long?”

I nod. “Ever since we opened,” I say. “But we’ve been friends for longer.”

The questions continue as we eat, but they are safe, everyday kind of things. Emma asks me where I grew up, when I opened the bar, if I’ve ever broken a bone. It feels like she’s avoiding anything too personal, but at the same time, as though she’s slowly working her way up to it too.

After we’ve eaten, I silence the questions for a while by taking her to see a movie. It’s one of those action superhero movies I like of which I am absolutely certain she has not seen and probably never even knew existed. It doesn’t matter though because we spend the majority of it sitting up the back of an empty theatre making out like a couple of teenagers.

The questions start up again as I drag her around the supermarket though. And continue all through the taxi ride home and the entire time we cook dinner and eat it. It’s not until later, when we find ourselves back in bed, that she finally exhales and stops.

“What, you’re done now?” I ask, dragging my fingers slowly down her spine.

She’s lying on her stomach beside me, her head resting on the pillow as she watches me.

“Em,” I say, running my hands through her hair. “No more questions?”

Her eyes are focused on my chest, on the word that’s tattooed there and it’s only then that I understand what she’s been working towards. I can already feel the knot of tension forming in my stomach.

She exhales, one hand sliding out from underneath her body to run across my collarbone. “How come you were so nice to me that night?” she whispers.

It’s not the question I thought she’d ask and for a second it surprises me. I watch as her eyes follow the path of her fingers before finally lifting to mine. When our eyes meet, I know that regardless of how it sounds, I need to tell her the truth on this one. That saying something cheesy about how beautiful she is or whatever will not be the right answer.

Even if the beautiful part is true, it’s still not the reason for any of the things that happened that night.

Not the reason I found myself wanting to talk to her.

“Because,” I eventually whisper, the word floating between us in the darkness of my apartment. “You looked so sad and in pain.” I watch as she listens to me, her face unreadable in the almost darkness. “And it was…it was everything I could relate to,” I continue, wondering just how much of this she will understand and how much will offend her.

Emma nods ever so slightly as her fingers now brush across the letters, telling me how much she gets what I just said. “Which one of you is older?” she whispers.

I swallow hard, not wanting to do this. “Me,” I say. “By three minutes.”

“You’re twins?” she asks, surprised.

I nod. “We were.”

Emma slides closer, rolling onto her side so we are lying face to face, sharing the same pillow, the same air. “You are,” she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. “Her being gone doesn’t and won’t ever change that, Nick.”

My heart crashes against my ribcage as my mouth crashes against hers. I wish I could explain to her that this might not be the reason I was so nice to her that night, but could very well be the reason for everything I want to happen from this night onwards.

The reason I’m breaking my rule and ignoring the voice that’s screaming at me to stop this because she deserves so much more than me.

But I don’t say anything, because I can’t.

But fuck me if I don’t want her even more now.

~ Emma

“You wanna go get drinks?” Jason asks smiling as he leans against the lockers in the staff room.

I shake my head once. “Can’t tonight, sorry.”

He gives me a strange look as though he doesn’t get it because we both know most of us have tomorrow off and when that happens, going out for drinks is something that’s a given.

“You got something else on?”

I nod, not saying anything more. It feels weird to talk about Nick to him, to any of them. I don’t want to explain who he is or answer any of their questions about how we met, especially when I can barely work out the answers myself.

I haven’t seen Nick since I left his apartment earlier this week. I went back to day shifts on Wednesday, which meant by the time I finished work, he was already at the bar. We’d exchanged numbers though and we talked occasionally, mostly through texts, but sometimes he’d call. He’d asked me to come and hang out with him after I finished work yesterday, but I’d been too exhausted and all I wanted to do was go home and go to bed.

He hadn’t said anything when I’d told him that, but I knew he was thinking back to the things he’d said to me before I’d left his place last weekend.

“Promise me something,” he’d said, his hands cupping my face as we stood in the doorway at the top of his stairs.

“What?” I’d asked, wanting to know the details before I agreed to anything.

Nick had stared down at me, waiting, his eyes searching mine. Eventually, he leaned in and kissed me, whispering against my lips, “Don’t run away from this, Emma.”

I’d exhaled, looking down as I’d said, “I won’t.”

It wouldn’t matter anyway. Eventually it would be him doing the running anyway, when he got sick of me never being around.

He hadn’t said anything at first and when I finally looked back up, he was still staring at me as though trying to work out if I meant what I was saying. I didn’t have the energy to explain how things would likely go from here. As much as I enjoyed being with him, as much as I might have been able to kid myself that we could somehow make this work, I knew it was unlikely.

Nick kissed me once more, as though trying to convince me. “And call Sarah,” he’d added, still watching me.

“Isn’t that two things?” I’d asked, knowing the second request was going to be just as hard.

“Then promise me these two things,” he’d said, pulling me to him. “Don’t run away from us and don’t lose your friendship over what happened that night either,” he’d said, resting his chin on my head.

But in the end, I hadn’t called Sarah. That was a promise I hadn’t managed to keep. I hadn’t technically run away though and this morning when I’d promised Nick I would come down to the bar after work tonight, I hoped that would be enough to convince him.

Jason is still watching me as I gather up my things. I give him a quick smile as I say, “Have a good night,” before walking out of the staff room and heading home. Along the way, I text Nick to let him know I’m just going to have a quick shower and then I’ll head over. I know I could easily have one at his place, but I need to get some clean clothes.

I’d gotten enough shit from Owen and Will about my last walk of shame home, I didn’t need a repeat of it when I undoubtedly end up staying with Nick for the whole weekend.

By the time I get up to my apartment however, I wonder if my plans aren’t about to change.

“Em, hey, there’s someone here to see you,” Owen says, walking towards me.

I glance into the living room and see Sarah standing awkwardly by the couch. “Hi,” she says, her eyes flicking to me before darting away again.

I glance quickly at Owen who raises an eyebrow at me, a tiny move that I know means be nice and talk to her.

“Can we talk?” she asks, stepping towards me and finally meeting my gaze.

I glance once more at Owen who pulls another face at me, this one telling me to stop being an idiot and talk to her. I roll my eyes at him before turning back to Sarah.

“Sure,” I say, gesturing towards my room.

I follow her in, watch as she looks around before walking towards the chair in the corner of my room and taking a seat. I sit on my unmade bed and wait.

We sit in silence for what feels like forever. I know there are things I should be saying and I’m guessing Sarah feels the same, but somehow neither of us is able to find the words. It hits me now how much our friendship has changed, maybe even too much.

Back when we were kids, talking is something we never had any problem doing, often staying up till all hours of the morning, either on the phone or in person if one of us was sleeping over.

I can’t quite remember when it all started to change. Going to separate universities had felt like it would change things, but at the time this distance between us hadn’t felt as noticeable.

Eventually, I have to break the silence, if only so I can deal with what I know is inevitably coming.

“How have you been?”

Sarah looks up at me, shrugs as she says, “Okay, you?”

I shrug in return. “Okay?”

“You just finish work?” she asks, gesturing to me.

It’s a ridiculous question and we both know it. Not only am I still wearing my scrubs, but we both know there’s never anywhere else I could be.

I nod.

Sarah takes a deep breath. “How’s it going, are you…are you enjoying it?”

Her question confuses me, not least because it’s one she’s never asked me before. I shrug again, knowing it’s the most non-committal response ever. “Yeah,” I add. “I mean it’s tough and busy and all that, but for the most part, I do enjoy it.”

A partial lie, but one that’s not worth correcting, even if I can hear Nick in the back of my head, pleading with me to tell her the truth.

Almost on cue, I hear my phone chime out with a text that I know has to be from him. I want to reach for it, but the look Sarah shoots me tells me not to.

I know I shouldn’t anyway, that so much of why we are in this mess now has to do with me and my phone and never really being present in any real life situation. And even if this text is different, I can’t explain that to her either.

“Listen,” she says, taking a deep breath. “About that night…”

I cut her off before she has a chance to continue. “No, it’s me who should be apologising,” I say quickly. “It was wrong of me to skip your party like I did and I’m truly sorry.”

I can’t tell if the look she gives me is one of disbelief or surprise. Disbelief that I genuinely know it was wrong of me not to come and find them that night, or surprise that I am actually apologising for it. I’m not sure which of those reasons hurts more.

“Why did you skip it?” she eventually asks and even now, I can still hear the hurt in her voice.

I shake my head, my eyes falling to my hands. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I was exhausted,” I add. “And it had been a bad day at work.”

Sarah says nothing for so long that I eventually look back up. When I do, this time I can see the hurt in her eyes too, and it hits me then, that this is infinitely worse than anything else. So much worse that I could do this to the person who has been my friend for longer than anyone else.

My phone chimes out with another reminder of the text I haven’t checked and I have to swallow hard as I lock my fingers together to stop them from reaching for it. Another sound chimes sound out, signalling a new message and this time it’s Sarah shaking her head.

“When did it become this bad?” she whispers, her eyes still on mine.

“What?” I ask, even though I know what she’s talking about.

“Us,” she says, gesturing between us. “When we did we get this bad.”

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say. “Since I started working at the hospital?”

Sarah shakes her head now, somehow suggesting that it might have happened earlier than that. “You never talk to me anymore,” she whispers.

“Yes I do,” I say, knowing it’s a lie.

“No,” she says, shaking her head again. “You don’t. You don’t tell me about why your work is so bad you can’t come to my bachelorette party and you never tell me about your work in general.”

I feel my arms wrap around my waist. “I never thought you were interested,” I offer, even though that’s not even close to the truth.

“But you’ve never even given me a chance,” she says sadly. “You’re my best friend, Emma. We’ve known each other since we were ten years old. Once upon a time we used to tell each other everything.”

“I know,” I nod, my head falling.

“I miss that,” she whispers. “I miss you.”

When I lift my face to hers, I see the tears in her eyes, the sight sending a sharp pain through my chest at all the hurt I’ve caused her. “I miss you too,” I whisper back.

Sarah nods. “So don’t push me away,” she says, shifting a little in the chair.

I swallow hard, knowing that I’m not the one who pushed the other away. “But you already have,” I say, a touch of bitterness in my voice.

She flinches. “What do you mean?”

“That night,” I say, flicking my hand to an imaginary point in time. “You told me you didn’t want me to be your bridesmaid anymore.”

“Ah, shit, Emma,” she says, her head falling. “I was drunk and hurt and pissed off. I didn’t mean the things I said.”

“Didn’t you?”

I watch as Sarah takes a deep breath, as though fortifying herself before she looks up at me. “No, I didn’t,” she says. “I do want you to be my bridesmaid,” she continues. “But more than anything, I want you to be my best friend again.”

“I never stopped,” I say, defensively.

“Yeah, you did,” she immediately throws back. “You pulled away, you threw yourself into your work and didn’t care about those of us you left behind.”

“Of course I did,” I say, my voice rising a little. “But my work is crazy busy and intense, you don’t get it if you don’t work it like I do.”

“That’s because you’ve never even given me a chance to get it,” Sarah shouts, the frustration in her voice evident.

My phone chooses that moment to once again chime out with a text message and I watch as Sarah’s eyes flick towards it on the bed beside me before moving back to mine. My fingers itch with wanting to pick it up, but at this point, I don’t dare. Not when things seem to have turned bad again.

“How was I to know you’d had a shit day at work?” she says, her voice softer.

I shrug, offering no explanation.

“I want you to talk to me,” she says. “Tell me what happened so I get it. Help me understand why you’re so exhausted and unhappy all of the time.”

“I’m not unhappy,” I shoot back.

Sarah cocks an eyebrow at me that tells me she knows I’m lying.

“I’m not,” I offer weakly. “Most of the time anyway.”

“Emma,” she says firmly. “I don’t pretend to understand how much shit you have to deal with at work, okay? But I do want to. I want to get what it is that drives you crazy about your job. What you love and what makes you hurt as much as I know you do.”

I shake my head, my eyes falling to my hands again. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I take a deep breath, wondering how it is that it’s taken us this long to have this conversation. How Nick could get me to say it all after knowing me for only a couple of hours, but for Sarah and me it’s taken years? Is it that we somehow knew what the other was feeling or was it because I thought I was safe confessing these things to someone I never thought I’d see again?

“Because,” I say, finally lifting my head. “Me going through it is bad enough. I don’t want you to have to as well.”

“Oh, Em,” Sarah says, standing and walking towards me. She pulls me up off the bed and into her arms, hugging me for the first time in what feels like forever. I feel her arms wrap around me, pulling me close and despite how gross I am I find myself hugging her back.

I never realised how much I missed this, missed her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes closing as they fill with tears for the second time in a week.

“I’m sorry too,” she replies, her arms tightening. “And for the record, no matter how bad it is, I’m always here for you. I’m always here to listen to you bitch about your shitty day and your crazy job.”

“Even when it involves not being able to save someone younger than us?” I mumble into her shoulder.

Her arms tighten. “Especially when it involves that.”

I don’t know how long we stand here hugging for, but it seems that with every passing minute, all of the frustrations and fights we’ve had, somehow dissolve away. I know it’s not going to be as easy as this, but I also know it’s a first step in the right direction and right now, I’ll take that.

“So, I’m still your bridesmaid?” I ask, not daring to look as I wait for her answer.

Sarah pulls back, waits for me to meet her stare. “You absolutely are,” she says, smiling even as the tears fall down her cheeks. “If you still want to be of course?”

I nod. “I do, Sarah, really.”

“Good,” she says, pulling me into another hug.

My phone starts to ring now and just as I’m about to pull away and tell Sarah that I really need to get this and I promise I’ll explain why, I feel her arms fall away, watch as she steps back, her eyes on something behind me as she says, “Um, Emma?”

“Yeah?” I nervously ask.

“You care to explain to me what this is all about?”

My eyes follow the line of her now outstretched arm, the finger that is pointing to the side table beside my bed. I feel my cheeks flush at what I know she’s looking at, at the bigger explanation I’m now going to have to offer concerning the empty condom wrappers that litter the surface.

Not for the first time in my life have I wished I wasn’t so hopeless about cleaning my room.

I bite my bottom lip as she turns to face me, an unexpected smile on her face as she says, “You’re seeing someone?”

I shrug, unable to answer that in a way that makes sense. Mostly because I’m not entirely sure what Nick and I are doing just yet.

“Since when?” she asks, the smile widening.

It surprises me, her reaction. I’d expected anger at yet another secret I was hiding from her, but instead I’m getting surprise…maybe a little excitement too.

“That night?” I offer, even though I’m not exactly sure if that’s really true.

“Who?” she asks, confused.

“Um…” I say, stalling as my eyes flick to my now silent phone and I try to work out how to explain this to her. “Maybe I should just show you?” I offer.

“You mean…” She trails off, as though not quite understanding what I’m trying to say.

“Do you want to meet him?” I ask, wondering if I’m going to regret this.

“Ah, yeah!” she says excitedly.

I nod, sure that I will. “Okay, just give me a second to get changed.”

~ Nick

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tony asks for what feels like the millionth time.

I shake my head as I once more dial Emma’s number and lift the phone to my ear. It’s been over two hours since she sent me a text telling me she was coming down to the bar. Even counting the fact that she had to go home and get changed first, it shouldn’t take this long.

Once again though, her phone goes to voicemail. This time I don’t bother leaving her a message. She hasn’t responded to any of my earlier text messages and the last call I made went unanswered too. At this stage, what’s the fucking point?

But as much as I might be pissed off, I am starting to get worried about what might have happened to her. If maybe she’s changed her mind about all of this or worse still, something bad has happened to her. Something I don’t even want to imagine.

“Why don’t you go and find out where she is?” Tony asks.

“What?” I ask, my head snapping up.

“Emma,” he says, gesturing to my phone. “You’re obviously trying to reach her, so just go.”

I shake my head as I look around the bar. As tempting as it is, I can’t just bail on him in the middle of a busy night. I’m already being an arsehole to the customers that are here, I don’t need to leave and make everything worse.

But there’s a part of me that’s tempted. Tempted to walk out the door and haul arse over to her place to find out where the hell she is.

“No,” I finally say, sliding my phone into my pocket and moving to serve a customer.

I can feel Tony staring at me, watching because I know he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying and he’s trying to think of a reason, an excuse, to get me out the door. I ignore him, busying myself with the people that have come to my bar for a night out.

But thirty minutes later, I’m pulling my phone from my back pocket again; checking for a message I know is not going to be there.

“Shit, if you’re not going to go over there,” Tony says. “At least go and take a break, try calling her again or something,” he adds, gesturing to my office.

I open my mouth to speak, but Tony shakes his head once, indicating that this is not up for discussion. I nod before walking back to my office, hoping that I can come up with some magical way to contact her.

I sink into the chair at my desk, pulling open the bottom drawer and reaching for the bottle of scotch I put in there after I managed to drink its really expensive predecessor a couple of weeks ago.

I pour a generous amount, taking a long sip as I sit back, my eyes on the ceiling wondering what’s really happened that has stopped Emma from showing up tonight.

Maybe she got held up at work? Some emergency as she was walking out the door that meant she couldn’t leave, much less answer her phone. Given everything I know about her commitment to her job, this is a definite possibility.

Then there’s the other possibility. The one I’m not that keen on but that I also know is a real probability. The one where she’s changed her mind about this thing between us and has bailed on me. Bailed without even bothering to offer an explanation. But I don’t think that’s the kind of person she is. As scared as I know she is about all of this, I don’t think she would do something like that. Besides, I know where she lives and works now, so bailing isn’t as easy as she might think it is.

Which leaves the third and most definitely worst possibility. Something’s happened to her on her way over here. My eyes close as my mind conjures up every worse case scenario it can possibly imagine. Images and scenes, mixed with memories I don’t want to think about, flash through my head causing my eyes to snap open just to make them stop.

As I open my eyes they land on the photo on my desk. The photo of a happier time but which I now know was a prelude to all the shit that came after. The shit that not only became the worst days of my life, but days I have no desire to ever relive.

“Fuck it,” I say, throwing back the rest of my scotch as I push out of my chair, grabbing my jacket from the back of the couch.

I slide it on, knowing there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep working as long as Emma isn’t here. As shitty as it is of me to leave Tony, at this point I don’t have a choice. I have to go and find out what’s happened to her.

~ Emma

“Wait, you met this guy here?” Sarah asks as we reach Nick’s bar. I nod, biting my lip as I hold the door open for her. “He was a customer that night?”

I shake my head; still unable to give voice to the guy I’ve offered to introduce her to but seemingly can’t bring myself to talk about.

“So what?” she says, pausing as she’s halfway through the door. “He works here, the bartender?”

I nod now, blushing a little as Sarah smiles at me before turning and walking inside. The guy I now know as Tony is working the bar tonight, along with a girl I don’t recognise. I glance around the room, searching, but Nick is nowhere in sight.

Sarah grabs my hand as she all but marches us up to the bar and squeezes us in between two other customers so we are standing right in front of Tony. She grins at him, seemingly waiting for him to notice us. When he finally does, her smile widens and I watch as Tony takes this as a come on and immediately starts flirting.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he says, flicking a towel over his shoulder as he props a hip against the bar.

Sarah blinks once in confusion before turning to me as I stand squashed against her. Tony’s eyes move to mine and almost immediately his smile vanishes.

“Fuck me, it’s about time you showed up,” he says, turning and putting both hands on the bar as he leans towards me. “Where the…”

“Whoa, now wait a second,” Sarah says, immediately cutting him off. “How dare you speak to her like that.”

Tony glances at her before turning back to face me. “Where the hell have you been, Emma?” he asks, ignoring Sarah.

“Hey!” Sarah says reaching out and grabbing Tony’s chin as she turns his face back to hers. “Watch it, mister,” she says and I can practically feel her bristling beside me. “She’s your…your…” she stops, glancing at me as though she isn’t quite sure how to describe what I am. “Well, she’s not your bloody slave you know, or your property, even if you are shagging her.”

My face flushes in embarrassment as Tony’s breaks into a wide grin, the laugh falling from his mouth as he pulls back from Sarah’s grip. “Trust me, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s not me who’s shagging her,” he adds, pointing at me. “And it’s not me who’s been slowly losing his shit about where she’s been tonight either. You, Emma,” he says more seriously as he turns to look at me now. “You have some explaining to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sarah asks, confused. She looks from Tony, to me, and then back again. Either she doesn’t remember Nick from the night she was in here or she can’t possibly imagine that he’d be the one I’m sleeping with.

“Where is he?” I ask.

Tony’s face softens. “In his office,” he says, offering me a smile. “Go talk to him, I’ll look after your friend.”

I nod, grateful as I turn to Sarah and tell her I’ll be back in a second. Tony chuckles at my explanation as though it’s not even close to being true. As I walk back towards his office, a part of me wonders what I’m going to find in there. I know I’ve been busy for most of the week, but I’m here now, surely that’s got to count for something.

The corridor to the back is only dimly lit and as I turn to walk into Nick’s office, the door opens and he comes rushing out, the two of us crashing together.

“Shit, sorry, are you…” Nick stops, his eyes locking onto mine as his hands grip my arms, his fingers digging into me. “Jesus, Emma,” he breathes out, his eyes roving all over my body as he pulls me back into his office and slams the door shut behind us.

“Hey,” I say, trying to take a step back.

“Hey?” he repeats back to me, the concern apparently gone and replaced by something far worse now. “‘Hey?’ That’s all you can say to me?”

I look up at him, confused. “What? What are you talking about?”

It’s Nick who steps back from me now, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at me. I’m suddenly grateful for the closed door to his office, for that fact that Sarah doesn’t have to see this.

“You texted me over two hours ago, Emma,” he says. “Over two hours ago you texted to say you were on your way.” He stops, as though waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he shakes his head before continuing. “And then nothing. Radio fucking silence while I’m stuck here wondering what the fuck has happened to you?”

I swallow, not quite getting why he’s so worked up about this. “I got held up,” I say, shrugging. “I’m sorry, I sent you a text.”

Nick lets out a half laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “You got held up?” he says, incredulously. “And what text?”

“I sent it maybe five minutes ago,” I say.

“Well I didn’t get it,” Nick says, staring at me. “So I’ve had no idea if you were okay or what the hell was going on.”

“Of course I’m okay,” I say. “And you really didn’t get the text?” I pull my phone from my bag but as soon as I open it, I can see the message, still sitting there, waiting to be sent. Shit.

“Jesus, Emma,” he says, throwing his arms up in annoyance or frustration as he turns away from me.

I watch as he runs rough hands through his hair, his fingers ripping the band that holds it all back out before twisting it back in place. I can’t see his face anymore, but his body language is screaming barely contained anger. I take a cautious step towards him, unsure about what I’m supposed to do here. Confused as to why he’s overreacting to this.

“Nick,” I say, placing a tentative hand on his back. He stiffens beneath me and I immediately drop my hand. “I’m sorry, okay? I honestly thought my text had gone through. I see now it hasn’t, but I really don’t get what’s going on here.”

I watch as his hands drop to his sides, his head falling. He doesn’t turn around and the longer I’m forced to stare at his back, the more I’m starting to wonder if this isn’t a huge mistake. That despite everything he said to me that first morning, in only a week we’ve already hit our first roadblock and it’s turning into a total disaster. A disaster that can only mean the end, just like every other time I’ve tried to do this.

“You can’t text and tell me you’re on your way,” he finally says, the words barely audible against the background music that’s leaking in from the bar. “You can’t text and say that and then take two fucking hours to actually get here.” He finally turns, a look that I can’t read on his face as his eyes meet mine.

“I thought I’d texted you again,” I whisper, knowing it doesn’t matter because he never received it.

“I was worried about you, Emma,” he says, ignoring my words as he reaches for my hand. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or...”

His fingers thread through mine, a tiny sliver of heat shooting up my arm, even despite all the animosity between us. I tighten my hand in his, taking a tiny step closer.

“You were worried about me?” I ask.

“Fuck, of course I was, Emma,” he breathes out, closing the gap as he crashes his mouth against mine. The kiss is hard and intense and feels like it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s been almost a week since we’ve seen each other and everything to do with whatever it is that’s going on with him tonight.

“You can’t do that to me, Em,” he whispers, his voice softer as he pulls back a little. A hand slides onto my cheek, cupping my jaw as he tilts my face to his. “You can’t just let me sit here and wonder what’s happened to you. I…I’m not…” He pauses, as though he doesn’t know what he wants to say. “I’m not trying to control you, okay, that’s not what this is about. But I can’t be here and be worried about wherever you are, especially when I haven’t heard from you for hours after… You gotta let me know, okay…seriously.”

I stare up him, at the warring emotions on his face that seem to come from a place far darker than the one we are currently in. Why is he reacting like this? Why is this all such a big deal to him?

“Please,” he says, pulling away again as he walks over to his desk and sits on the corner. “Please just let me know next time, okay?”

I watch him; watch as his fingers absently play with the photo on his desk, straightening it even though it’s not out of place. Nick stares back at me, oblivious to what he’s doing. But as I watch him, watch the anguish as it slowly drains from his face, it hits me, why he reacted like this.

I smile at him, stepping closer until I’m standing between his legs. His eyes never leave mine, even as I still his hand, remove it from the picture and lift it to my lips.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his palm. “This…this is all new to me, remember? I told you I’m not good at it. But I promise,” I add, pressing a kiss to his lips now. “I promise next time I’ll let you know when I’m running late.”

Nick nods, not saying another word as he pulls me against him and kisses me. It’s different this time, still intense but in a softer way, as though he’s apologising for his reaction. A reaction I didn’t understand at first, but which I now do. As his arms slide around my waist, pulling me closer, I can’t help but wonder what happened to her.

What happened to Amy to cause Nick this much grief?

~ Nick

“Guys?” comes a strange voice, muffled through the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Tony really could use a hand out here.”

I pull back, glancing at the door as though I’ll magically be able to see through it to who’s on the other side, before looking back at Emma. To be honest, I’m grateful for the interruption. Grateful that I’m not going to have to explain why I reacted like I did.

Overreacted, maybe.

And I know she wants to ask me about it. It’s written all over her face.

“Emma?” comes the voice again, this time followed by a knock.

“You know who that is?” I ask, easing her back as I get up from the desk.

“I do,” she nods, stepping back. “She’s um…she’s the reason I’m so late.”

I look at her questioningly as I shrug off my jacket and throw it on the couch. Emma’s eyes follow the movement, looking back at me as she asks, “Where were you going?”

I exhale hard, grabbing her hand as I walk to the door and open it. A vaguely familiar woman stands on the other side. She stares at me, before glancing down at Emma’s hand in mine and smiling.

“Hi,” she says, grinning at us.

“Hi,” I say back, wondering where it is I know her from.

“I’m Sarah,” she says, hand out.

The light bulb goes off, an instant understanding of what’s happened tonight and why Emma was so late getting here. As much as I was freaking out before, knowing the reason now only makes me feel like an even bigger arsehole than I already do. Fuck, I’m the one who wanted her to sort things out.

“Nick,” I say, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she responds, her smile widening as she steps aside and lets us out of my office.

We walk back into the bar where I can see, despite the late hour, crowds of people waiting for drinks. Tony is doing his best to keep up with all the orders, but even with Dana helping him out, it’s still a mess.

I get Emma and Sarah drinks and a seat at the end of the bar before moving off to serve some customers, not giving Emma a chance to ask me what that was about in my office just now. I definitely don’t need to hash out all the reasons I was an overbearing arsehole.

So on the odd occasion when I do make it back down to talk to them, I focus my attention on Sarah, asking her about her friendship with Emma and all the stories she has on her that I know Emma will never admit to.

Sarah’s nice in return, asking me a bunch of questions that mirror a lot of the ones Emma asked me that day we hung out together. Questions that aren’t too prying or personal but are enough to tell me that she’s working out whether she thinks I’m good enough for her friend.

Emma doesn’t say much during this, but when the questions eventually turn to family, I do notice her body language change. When Sarah asks if I have any siblings and I tell her no, I don’t look in Emma’s direction, not wanting to see the questioning look I know she’ll give me about why I’ve chosen to pretend my twin sister doesn’t exist.

After a couple of hours Sarah leaves, and as the rest of the bar starts to empty, it’s just Emma and me again. When Tony calls it a night, I know questions are going to be asked and answers expected.

I move around the bar, cleaning up as I try to stall the inevitable. I feel Emma’s eyes on me the whole time, even as she helps me out. Eventually though, there is nothing left to do except lock up and go home.

“I promised you I wouldn’t run away from this,” Emma says, when I slide the bolts on the door.

I turn and find her standing in front of me, her fingers twisting together as she watches me. I hear a new song start up on the jukebox, the same one we were dancing to the last time she was in here with me like this. I bite my lip to stop the smile as I take a step towards her, realising what she’s done.

“I know you did,” I say, as I pull her into my arms, our bodies pressing together. “And I know I asked you to call Sarah too,” I add, my lips pressing a kiss to her forehead in a silent acknowledgement that she did that too.

“Well to be fair, that I didn’t do,” she adds, a hand sliding beneath my shirt and pressing against my back. My eyes close at the touch, at the realisation I’ve missed her these past few days.

“No?” I murmur as we slowly move, our feet barely shuffling on the floor.

“No,” she whispers, her lips against my neck. “She actually came to see me.”

My fingers tighten against her back, pulling her even closer as she breathes against me, her lips still on my skin. “Well I’m glad you sorted things out anyway,” I say. “She seems really nice.”

“She is,” she whispers, kissing along my jaw.

“How long have you known each other?” I ask, tilting my head so her lips brush across mine.

She kisses me once. “Since we were ten,” she says, before deepening the kiss and sliding her other hand beneath my shirt.

As her fingers dig into my skin it occurs to me that I was wrong to ever think she didn’t want this. As scared as she might be, it feels like it’s impossible to deny this connection between us. A connection I know we both feel and are powerless to ignore. It’s probably the only reason we are both here right now. The only reason both of us is giving in to something we are both so clearly trying to fight.

“Come upstairs?” I whisper against her mouth.

I take the moan I get in response as a yes, forcing myself to pull back so I can switch off the lights and grab the keys. We walk up the stairs to my apartment in silence, her hand in mine as she follows me.

Inside, the place is dark, the only light coming from a lamp beside my bed. Oscar is curled up in a chair in the bedroom and barely raises his head as we walk in. I turn to Emma and her mouth is against mine again, hungrier now as she slides her hands back under my shirt, pulling it up and over my head.

I pull her against me, kicking my shoes off as my own hands slide up her back. We undress each other slowly, neither of us in a rush despite the obvious tension that’s building between us.

This isn’t going to be make-up sex because it already feels like we’re past that. Somehow this feels like something more, something deeper and more intense and it makes me realise that even though we still barely know each other, I’ve already fallen hard for her. Much harder than I ever expected or wanted.

“Nick,” she murmurs, breaking the silence as she gently pushes me towards the bed.

I fall back and watch as she follows me, crawling over me until she’s straddling my hips. For a second I tense, the memory returning from out of nowhere, but then she smiles at me, leaning forward slightly so her long hair hangs around her shoulders. I feel myself relax as push it back, cupping her neck as her fingers gently brush across the word on my chest, her eyes following their path even as her fingers trace the lines up and over my shoulder, around my bicep and all the way down to the other words.

I expect questions but she doesn’t say anything, just leans forward and kisses me. I pull her body so it’s flush against me, our warm skin touching everywhere. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart as it lies against mine, which pounds back its own rhythm against hers.

My fingers slide into her hair, holding her head to mine even though she hasn’t stopped kissing me. Eventually I roll her beneath me, needing more. She moves to accommodate me; her hips rising even as mine push against hers, an urgency to our movements now.

I slide inside her and we both let out low moans, but I don’t move, just needing the closeness that this brings for a second. Emma’s hands slide up my back until they are cupping my face. I open my eyes and find her watching me, a tiny smile on her mouth.

The way she looks at me makes me feel exposed and raw, like she can see right inside my head and everything that I’m thinking, everything that I’m feeling. It scares me that she might be able to, so I lower my mouth to hers and take everything further.

Eventually we lie spent in each other’s arms, my heart rate finally slowing so the only noise is the soft sound of the rain hitting the windows and roof. A distant roll of thunder sounds and Emma curls into me, her mouth against my ribs.

“Will you tell me about her?” she whispers, the first words either of us has spoken in what feels like forever.

The knot of tension that always follows every enquiry about Amy starts up in my stomach. But almost as though she can sense it, Emma slides a hand across my skin until her fingers are wrapped around my hip and holding me against her.

“What do you want to know?” I eventually ask, knowing there’s only ever one question people want the answer to, which despite everything, it’s still a question I don’t fully know how to answer.

“What is she like?” Emma asks, surprising me. “Are you guys alike?”

An unexpected smile curves at my mouth, at both the question and Emma’s use of the present tense. “Yes and no,” I say. She doesn’t ask what I mean and it somehow lets me continue. “She was very funny, very outgoing and always the life of the party,” I say. “Everybody loved her.”

I feel a kiss against my side, the long low breath she exhales against my skin. “You’re pretty funny and outgoing too, you know.”

I chuckle. “Not like she was though.”

Her thumb brushes against my hipbone. “You’re close though?”

I nod. “We were very close. She was my best friend, we did almost everything together, travelled the world, hung out, opened the bar.”

“It must be awful to lose that,” she whispers, sliding a leg over mine.

“It was,” I choke out, my eyes closing at the nightmare of how it all happened, at the powerlessness I felt watching her go through it.

It’s still there, all the guilt I feel. The anger and hurt at how it all played out. Sometimes I think I’ve managed to deal with it, bury it deep enough that I can pretend I’m okay with the fact that half of me is gone. But then suddenly, it rears its ugly head, smacking me in the face as though to remind me that it was never going to be that easy.

We’re twins, so her suffering is always going to be my suffering and just because hers is over now, it doesn’t mean that mine is. Or that it ever will be. Because I know now that’s the price I have to pay for my actions.

Pain; it’s the cost of living.

But somehow, it feels like I deserve it. Because no matter what anyone says, there is never a goodbye in death, only heartache for those left behind…for so many reasons.

“Nick,” Emma murmurs, as though reminding me she’s still here.

“Mmm?”

“How did she die?”

My body stiffens at the question, a reflex I have no control over as a sudden urge to escape comes over me. It’s only now though, that I realise I’m trapped, caged in by Emma’s body which has somehow wrapped itself around mine.

Her fingers tighten at my hip, as though she senses I don’t want to do this, while her lips press against my skin as though to comfort me, as if she’s telling me I can.

I say nothing for what feels like an eternity, wondering if I can possibly get away with never answering her question. Eventually though, she lifts her head, hovering over me as she waits for an answer.

Her hand slides up my side, her fingers brushing across my jaw as she turns me so I’m looking at her. She leans in and kisses me softly before pulling back.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm. “She…” I start, swallowing again. “She killed herself.”

Emma lets out a shocked breath, my name falling from her lips as she leans in to kiss me again. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers and I almost don’t know if she’s apologising for my loss or apologising for ever asking me. “God, that must have been awful?”

I nod, because of course it was, how could it not be.

“And this happened a year ago?” she asks, her thumb sweeping slowly across my cheek as she continues to watch me.

I nod again. “Yep,” I say, the word barely audible.

Emma stares down at me, not saying anything more. I almost think she’s asked all she’s going to, and that as hard as it was, at least it’s out in the open now. But then she bites her bottom lip and says, “You found her, didn’t you?”

This time I can only nod as I pull her mouth against mine, knowing that despite what’s been said, I can’t talk about this anymore, no matter how much she might want me to.

But it’s like Emma knows I’ve reached my limit, her fingers sliding under my neck as though to hold me against her. I pull her on top of me, desperate to feel something good, something real. She reads my mind and our bodies twist together until they are as close as we can possibly be.

I know that for everything in my heart that hurts, there is this that doesn’t.

And it’s this that I need to hang on to.

~ Emma

Something changes after Nick’s confession and although we don’t speak any more about it, it’s changed things in a good way. Somehow it’s deepened the connection we share. The connection that I can’t explain and barely understand but which I know is more real than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

Although I have more questions and I know there are more answers, I also know not to push it. Telling me as much as he did was heartbreaking to watch and I can only imagine how it must have felt for him.

So I wait. Giving him time and space, all the while trying to show him that I can be there for him; that I am here for him.

Weeks pass with us just being together. It isn’t always easy and we don’t always get a lot of time together, but somehow we both try to find a way to make it work.

Now, when I’m running late, I text and I make sure it goes through before shoving my phone in my pocket again. We are both still crazy busy, sometimes going days without seeing each other, but we talk and I try to spend as many nights as I can with him, days too when I switch to night shift. In some ways they are better, as we are more in sync with our sleeping patterns. But either way, we both try and find ways to make it work.

It’s something we know we both want. We can admit that to each other now and I’m grateful for that. Grateful that he gets it.

We meet each other’s friends too, getting to know each other through them. I introduce him to Owen and Will, who immediately love him. Nick introduces me to Amy again and I come to realise why they’ve stayed friends after everything that’s happened. How they give each other comfort and memories of the person they both loved and lost.

Whatever jealousy or animosity I might have felt that first night I met her has gone because I know their relationship is nothing like what I first assumed it might be. And even though the first chance we are alone, she asks me if I know about his sister, her best friend, I don’t get any bad feelings from her when I answer yes.

If anything, I feel like she’s glad I know, as though I can be there for him when she isn’t, because she still worries about him.

Which leaves me wondering again about the circumstances of Amy’s death. Was it depression that spiralled out of control or was it something else? Because if it’s the former, then maybe there’s a worry that being twins, there is enough of a likeness or similarity there that might send Nick down the same path.

I don’t think so, but then I’ve never really been interested in psychiatry so maybe I’m not able to see it.

I do know that he hasn’t fully dealt with Amy’s death though. That as much as he might like to pretend he has, it’s clear he hasn’t. As impatient as I might be for answers and as desperate as the medical side of me might be to help him with that though, I know that all I can do is wait. Wait until he’s ready to tell me more.

~ Nick

The alarm rings out, the loud noise shattering the early morning peace. Emma groans as she reaches over me and silences it. I use the opportunity to slip an arm around her waist and pull her against me.

“Nick,” she whispers, hands on my chest. “I have to get up.”

“Mmmm,” I murmur, pulling her closer. My lips find the warm skin of her shoulder. I can feel her squirming against me, hands pushing on my chest as she tries to escape. As much as I know she wants to go though, I don’t let her, tightening my hold as I pull her closer, my mouth trailing up her neck till it finds hers. “Stay,” I whisper as I press a kiss to her lips.

She kisses me quickly before pulling back. “I can’t, I have to go,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

She slips out of my grasp, cold air filling the bed as she throws back the covers and leaves. I force my eyes to open and watch as she creeps about my room, looking for her clothes. “Em,” I say, the word loud in the silence of my room.

She glances over at me, surprised maybe that I’m actually awake, knowing I shouldn’t be because of what time I finally came upstairs last night. The bar was heaving and despite wanting to see her, I knew I’d be stupid to try and close early.

“You don’t need to sneak out,” I tell her. “Go take a shower, I’ll make you some coffee.”

She nods, dropping her things before heading into the bathroom, the door half shutting behind her as the sound of running water fills the early morning.

Even though I’d stayed downstairs last night, ending the night with a few drinks with the boys, I still hate this part of our relationship. The part where the two of us cross paths like ships in the night.

She’d been asleep when I finally got up here and even though just the sight of her in my bed was enough to stir the simplest of fantasies, I hadn’t woken her, knowing her job was not the kind you could do sleep deprived.

Things have been better between us these past few weeks though. Almost like that first fight, if that’s what it was, hadn’t created a rift, but instead joined us even closer together. It had been tough telling her about Amy and I know there’s a lot more she wants to ask me. But I appreciate the fact she’s giving me space, letting me do it in my own time.

The water in my bathroom continues to run and I remind myself I’m supposed to be making her coffee. I push myself up, my tired body complaining as I force it from bed. I catch a glimpse of Emma through the half open bathroom door, her body arching beneath the water.

My body bristles with desire, but as much as I want to join her in there, I don’t. I know I wouldn’t be welcome because she doesn’t have time for what I want to do. She has to get to work and I do get it, even if I don’t like it. I knew it was going to be like this and I told her we could make it work.

Promised her we would.

Still, there are times that I miss her, even when she’s here, standing right in front of me.

I pull on some track pants and walk out to the kitchen to make her coffee. The smell of it freshly brewing wakes me a little and I pour a cup for myself and one to go for Emma. Just as I’m taking my first sip, she walks into the kitchen, bag slung over her shoulder and one arm laden with books. I take them from her, ignoring the protest as I set them down on the bench along with her bag. Then I pull her into my arms, wrapping them around her shoulders as she lays her head against my chest.

“I’m sorry I woke you so early,” she whispers, hands sliding up my back.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head. “I know you have to go to work.”

“You must be so tired,” she says, her body flush with mine.

“I’m okay,” I lie, pulling her even closer. “You’re still good for tonight?” I ask. I feel her tense in my arms, even as I run my hands up and down her spine. “It’s just dinner, Em, that’s all.”

She pulls back a little and looks up at me. “No, it’s dinner with your parents,” she says.

I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “And?” Emma bites her bottom lip as she stares up at me. I can almost see her brain working, trying to think of some excuse to get out of this. I lean in and kiss her, trying to both distract and reassure her that it really isn’t something to be scared of. “It’s going to be fine,” I murmur, kissing her just below her ear.

Emma sighs as she sinks back into me. “I’ve never met someone’s parents before,” she says. “I don’t even know how to.”

I chuckle before pulling back. “There is no how to,” I say, smiling. “It’s just dinner and getting to know you conversation.”

“Yeah but that’s just it,” she says. “I don’t even know how to do that.”

I smile, lean in and kiss her. “It’s going to be fine, Em, I promise. I already know they’re going to love you, you have nothing to worry about.”

She kisses me once more before pulling away, the mumbled “I’m not so sure about that,” still loud enough that I catch it. “I really have to go,” she says, reaching for the coffee I’ve made for her. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” I say, stepping towards her. “Seven tonight, okay? We’ll meet you there?”

Emma nods. “Yes, seven.”

I kiss her once more and then she’s gone. I take my coffee back to bed, the sheets already cold. Oscar follows me in there, curling up on the side Emma used to occupy. He’s grown attached to her, even in the short time she’s been coming to my apartment. I’m not sure if he’s missed having a female in his life or he genuinely loves her, but he seems to spend all his time rubbing against her and sleeping on her side of the bed when she isn’t here.

I slide between the sheets, Oscar lifting his head and giving me a look of what I assume is disappointment because it’s me and not Emma. I reach over and scratch his head. “I know buddy, I wish she was still here too.”

The cat looks at me with something akin to scorn before tucking his head under his paws and going to sleep. I shake my head at the stupidity of me talking to a cat and expecting anything back in return, before picking up a book and attempting to read.

~ Emma

“Emma, you free?”

I glance up; see Jason leaning on the doorframe. “Yeah,” I say, throwing back the rest of my half-cold coffee. “What’s up?”

“We’ve got an attempted suicide coming in,” he says, talking quickly as we walk from the staff room back to the ER. “ETA in two minutes.”

I glance at my watch, exhaling a sigh of relief when I see I’ve still got two hours left on my shift. As much as I’m dreading tonight and meeting Nick’s parents, I know I can’t afford to be late.

“Do we know how?” I ask, grabbing some gloves and an apron.

“Suspected overdose,” he answers as we wait by the entrance.

The sirens are loud as the ambulance pulls in. I watch the paramedics as they jump out, the two of them pulling the trolley out while somehow maintaining the IV line and facemask on the patient. It’s all done in an expertly coordinated way, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Truth be told, they probably have.

The glass doors open automatically as they come rushing towards us, pushing the trolley through as one of the paramedics fires off a list of what they know and what they’ve done. I’m only half listening because I’m too distracted by what’s now lying on the trolley in front of me.

A young woman; maybe my age.

Her pale limbs lie lifeless on the thin mattress as though her attempt is no longer an attempt, but a success. There are old scars on the inside of her forearms, rows of raised and mottled white bumps that suggest this isn’t her first go at doing this. There are fresh ones on the inside of her thighs, suggesting something more and her breathing looks so shallow that I’m not even sure she’s still with us.

The paramedic hands me an IV bag as he says something that I don’t hear. Jason immediately takes over, shouting off a list of instructions to us as we wheel the girl through to the emergency room. I watch as the trolley jolts to a stop, narrowly missing a nurse who runs in front of us. The girl’s arm slips off beside me, hanging to the side in a way that almost looks as though she’s reaching for help.

I go to take her hand, but stop.

I can’t take my eyes off the scars on her arm, following them all the way up until I reach her face. I stare in surprise, at the long brown hair, the high cheekbones that look oddly familiar. A cold chill moves through me, dancing down my spine.

“Emma?”

I blink and the recognition is gone.

“Emma?”

I look up; find Jason staring at me with a questioning look on his face.

“Sorry,” I say shaking my head. “Yes?”

“Check her pupils,” he says, as he hangs the bag I’ve been holding before pushing a syringe of fluid into her IV.

I nod, pulling the penlight from my pocket and shining it into her eyes. They’re tiny pin-pricks, fixed and non-responsive.

And dark blue.

A shudder runs through me and I have to swallow hard, force myself to push whatever is going on inside my head to the back of my mind so I can do my job.

I tell myself to switch to autopilot, listening to Jason’s instructions and following them to the letter, all the while trying to ignore the fact that a woman who can’t be much older than me, fights for her life in front of us.

Or maybe she’s fighting us. Fighting for the right to leave her life.

We finally get her stable and I practically slump against the wall, exhaling a sigh that’s a mix of both relief and confusion. A registrar from upstairs appears in front of me, telling me they’ll take it from here and holding her clipboard out as though to ask if that’s okay. It takes me a second to realise she needs me to sign off on what we’ve done. Sign the patient over to someone else to look after.

That’s it now.

We’ve done our job because we stopped her from dying. Even though a part of me knows it’s not what the patient wanted, and it probably won’t be the last time she tries. But it won’t matter to us anymore, because someone else will look after her now. Someone else will take over and try to fix the things we couldn’t.

Just as I’m signing off on the paperwork, I see Jason walk towards me.

“Everything okay back there?” he asks.

I hand the file to the registrar, smiling at her as I try to work out how I’m supposed to answer Jason’s question.

“Yeah,” I eventually say, glancing at him.

“You sure? You didn’t seem completely…on board?”

I take a deep breath as I look at my watch. “No, I’m good,” I tell him. “Is it cool if I call it a night though?”

Jason stares at me, a questioning look on his face as though he wants to ask me more. I’m silently begging that he doesn’t because even if they’re questions about what happened back there or why I’m so keen to leave now, I don’t know what the answers are going to be. Neither are normal reactions for me. He knows it and I know it.

“Yep,” he eventually says. “Have a good one.”

I nod, walking off even as I register that this is the first time I’ve finished work and Jason hasn’t said ‘You’ve done good today’.

By the time I reach my locker though, the thing that was floating in the back of my brain when I looked into that girl’s eyes is back and it’s screaming at me and forcing me to listen.

I know it’s a long shot and I know it’s completely unprofessional too, but there’s a part of me that cannot ignore it, that’s desperate to know more. Desperate to find out how it all happened so I can do something about it, even if it’s something I have no right to do. No right to know.

I don’t even know if she would’ve been brought here. Maybe it was somewhere else and a part of me hopes that it was so I don’t have to find a way to explain why I’m about to do what I am.

I pull my phone from my pocket and check for messages. There’s a photo from Nick, sent sometime this morning of Oscar curled up against the pillow I was using in his bed. There’s no message, just the cat emoji with the heart eyes. My eyes close as the guilt curls through me.

I leave my phone in my locker and shut the door before heading back out to the nurse’s stand. I find a free computer and the link to patient records. I type in her name and date of birth, which of course I know because they’re twins, before I have a chance to question whether I should be doing this.

A hit comes back and even though I’ve deliberately set out to find these answers, it still surprises me. There’s no way I could possibly have treated her though. Nick told me it happened a year ago and a year ago I wasn’t working in the ER.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking because I’m scared to click on her file and scared not to. I try to rationalise that I’m doing this so I can better understand what Nick went through, so that I can help him deal with it and maybe get some him closure, some peace. Because even though he’s told me some things, I know there’s more to the story. Things he can’t seem to bring himself to talk about.

But the bigger part of me knows that no matter how much I try to convince myself I’m doing this for the right reasons, what I’m really doing is breaking his trust. I’m taking something that’s very private and very personal and I’m invading it. Worst of all, I’m not only doing it behind his back and without his permission, I’m doing it because I can’t stand the secrecy of it any longer.

And I know that’s the worst part about it all. I’m doing this because I’m impatient and I want to know.

My finger hits the enter key, opening the file. My eyes immediately flick to the last treating physician. I see Jason’s name before I quickly scan the record, as though trying to find an explanation without reading too much into it all. But even as I skim the words, skim back over the rest of her files, I feel the breath leave my lungs, the sinking feeling in my gut at all the things I didn’t know before but now do.

The three admissions to the ER.

The brutal things that were done the first time.

The self-inflicted things that were done the second time.

And the final visit on the third time.

“Oh god,” I whisper, my hand covering my mouth as I realise exactly what she went through, what Nick must still be going through now. Even though I’ve been trained in how to deal with trauma, trained in how to face it on a day-to-day basis, I still have to shut down the file and run to the bathroom.

I slam the door of the cubicle shut just in time as I collapse over the toilet, the contents of my stomach violently forcing their way out. My whole body shakes with what I’ve done, with what I’ve read, but most of all with how much I wish I could undo it all.

~ Nick

The text comes through just as I’m getting to the restaurant. I pull the phone from my pocket, half expecting the worst, but immediately relieved when I see the message.

Emma: on my way, 10 mins.

It’s not that I thought she’d bail on me. I was half expecting her to be late though; even if she has been better with the texting ever since that night I lost my shit wondering where she was.

She’s still often late though, staying back at work long after she’s meant to finish. I know it’s because her job is unpredictable; that she can’t just walk out when her shift is over. She has responsibilities; big ones and they aren’t the kind you can just trade off to someone else, walk out the door and forget about.

I type out a quick reply before sliding my phone into my pocket and walking into the restaurant. Mum and Dad are already inside waiting and they both smile when they see me walk in.

“Hi,” I say to them both, giving them each a hug.

“Where’s Emma?” Mum asks, looking behind me.

“On her way,” I tell her, as we all sit down. “She’s running a little late with work.”

Mum nods sympathetically, as though she understands. They both know what Emma does for a living, I’ve told them a lot about her. I’m close to both of my parents, more so after everything that happened. Despite the fact there is still a part of me that’s convinced they blame me for what happened, they’ve never let me go because of it.

None of us talk about that night. Amy, yes, but not what happened. It’s not for lack of trying on my parents’ part, but just like with everyone else, I shut them down anytime they ask, refusing to rehash the events of that night and all the things that came after. All the ways I fucked up.

A waiter comes over to take our order, but we just get drinks. By the time they arrive, Emma still hasn’t shown up and I’m starting to rethink that bailing on me thing. I pull my phone from my pocket, but just as I’m about to call her, she suddenly appears beside the table.

“Hey,” I say, smiling as I stand and pull her close.

Emma nods at me, her eyes nervously flicking to my parents. I slide an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek as I whisper, “Relax,” in her ear. She does the opposite, her body stiffening beside me.

After I introduce her, we all sit and my parents make small talk with Emma, asking her questions they already know the answers to. I watch her reaction to their attention, the way she only half looks at them and the way she avoids my gaze completely.

I reach for her hand under the table, but she flinches as I slide my fingers into hers and I suddenly want to be anywhere but here so I can ask her what’s wrong. But we don’t get a chance, because the waiter reappears to take our orders.

The rest of the night passes awkwardly. I can tell my parents are trying their best to engage Emma in conversation and while she’s not exactly being rude to them, she’s not being the person I know either.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but this definitely feels like more than just nerves about meeting my parents for the first time.

Eventually, dinner finishes and we all make a move. I hug Mum and Dad goodbye and watch as they both hug Emma, who hugs them both back in a way that’s half affectionate and half relief.

After they disappear in a cab, I turn to her. “You’re coming over, right?” I ask, knowing she has tomorrow off.

She finally turns to look at me. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course,” I say, confused. I thought we’d been together long enough now that me wanting her to stay was a given. That it wasn’t even something I’d have to ask. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Emma says nothing, just shakes her head as she turns and starts walking. I fall in step beside her, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer. She doesn’t look at me, staring straight ahead as though she’s focused on some imaginary point in front of us.

Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable and I have to say something. “You okay, Em?”

She nods, says nothing.

“You sure, because it seems like something’s bothering you?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“You’re not still nervous about the whole meeting my parents thing are you?” I ask even knowing it’s more than that.

She shakes her head again. “No, they’re lovely. It was really nice meeting them. I had a good time.”

A half laugh escapes me. “Really?” I ask, surprised. “Because it didn’t seem like it.”

Emma says nothing as we cross the street and nothing as we round the corner to my apartment. I can hear the noise spilling from my bar, the crowds of people that have come out on a warm spring night.

Normally I’d suggest we go in and join them, not to work, but just to grab a drink, chat with people, but it doesn’t feel like that kind of night. Instead, I slide my key into the door next to the bar, the two of us walking up the stairs to my apartment in silence.

By the time we walk inside though, this awkward silence is practically deafening and I can’t bear it anymore.

“Em, what’s going on?” I ask, turning to face her.

“Nothing,” she says, throwing her bag on the couch.

I watch as she picks up Oscar, seemingly absorbed in my cat and completely ignoring me, and whatever’s going on with her. With us.

“Bullshit,” I say, staring at her. “Did something happen at work?”

She shoots me a quick glance, her eyes wide. “No.”

I stop for a second, debating whether I should push it because I can tell it’s a lie. “You sure about that?” I ask, knowing I have to, regardless of how uncomfortable things are going to get. “Because this,” I add, gesturing between us. “Whatever this is. It feels like more than just freaking out over meeting my parents.”

“It’s nothing,” she says, putting Oscar down as she walks into the kitchen.

I follow her, determined not to let her shut me out, knowing this fall back reaction of hers has already caused problems in her other relationships and in ours.

“It’s not nothing, Emma,” I say, standing behind her. “Talk to me, please.”

Emma stands and stares at the fridge even though the door is shut. Her body is stiff and I can practically feel the tension that’s coming from it. I watch as she takes a deep breath before turning and meeting my stare.

I wait for her to speak, to tell me whatever it is that’s going on with her right now, but she still says nothing. I’m starting to understand how Sarah must have felt; am reminded of how I felt after that night we first met when she ran off. The way she could barely speak to me after I found her again.

“What, you’re not going to say anything?”

Emma shakes her head, her eyes flicking between the floor and me.

“Why not?” I ask her.

“There’s nothing to say,” she whispers, her eyes on the floor.

“Yes, there is,” I say, stepping closer. I slide my fingers under her chin, tilting it so she’s forced to look at me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Emma shakes her head; fear in her eyes as she stares up at me that has me wondering what the hell this can possibly be about.

“Why can’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice softening.

Her eyes close now, as the whispered, “I can’t,” falls from her lips.

A frisson of fear winds its way down my spine, even as my brain is unable to process what it is that’s caused it.

“You can,” I whisper, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. “Talk to me, Em. Please?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers quickly.

I pull back a little. “Tell you what?” I ask, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me Amy was…”

The sudden screaming in my head is so loud that I don’t hear the rest. I don’t need to anyway and I sure as shit don’t want to.

It takes only a second for my body process exactly what she’s just said to me and as soon as it does it hits me, instantly, like a hard punch to the gut. I actually feel the wind being knocked out of me, and it’s crippling, even though nothing physical has touched me.

But then the anger kicks in and overrides everything else.

I feel my body stiffen as I take a step backwards, my hand falling from her face. I open my mouth as though to speak but no words come out. It’s probably just as well because I’m not sure what I’m capable of saying right now.

I only know none of it will be good.

“Nick,” she says, stepping towards me. “Nick, I’m…I’m sorry…I…”

I take another step back, shaking my head in warning. I have no idea how she can possibly know this information. There’s no way my parents would’ve told her at dinner and in any case, they never had the chance. None of us left the table the whole night.

“Please,” she says, reaching for me now. “Please just let me…”

I shake my head again.

“I…” She pauses, biting her bottom lip as she looks up at me. I can see the questions she’s dying to ask but I don’t want to answer any of them. Don’t want to even hear them. “I’m sorry, okay. You’re right, something did happen at work and I…I took a chance and…and well, there…there it was.”

I stare at her, trying to work out what the hell she’s talking about.

“Believe me, I didn’t deliberately set out to look,” she continues as if I’ve got any clue. “But we had this patient and she…she’d attempted…”

And that’s when it hits me, what she’s done. I don’t hear anything else she says though, because that screaming in my head only gets louder, blocking it all out.

How the fuck could she do this to me?

“Nick?” she says, reaching for my hand.

I snatch it away, stepping backwards as that anger is now replaced with fury. Fury at what she’s done. Fury at the questions she’s asking me. Fury at the lame attempt she’s making to justify it. It’s all bullshit and I don’t want to hear another fucking word.

“How could you?” I spit out, the words falling like venom as I finally find my voice.

Emma shakes her head, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t mean to?” I ask, incredulous, my words laced with sarcasm. “What, you just accidentally looked?”

Emma freezes, a foot of space between us. The air is thick with tension and anger and betrayal. My body feels as though it’s coiled so tight it’s going to explode at any second, shattering whatever might be left of us.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, but it’s too late for that.

I shake my head at her words. “I trusted you,” I say. “I can’t believe you…you…”

She reaches for me again but I don’t want to be here anymore. I can barely even look at her, let alone touch her.

So I step backwards, watch the hurt as it fills her eyes. Feel nothing in response before I turn my back on her and walk out of my apartment and away from this.

Away from her.

~ Emma

When you graduate from medicine, one of the first things you do is swear on the Hippocratic oath. It’s an ancient passage of text that all doctors follow and although it’s not the original Greek version anymore, having been modified over the years, the message is still the same.

Do no harm.

I thought I’d always been able to uphold it. That regardless of whether a patient lived or died, I had done everything I could to save them and all without harm. But as I watch Nick walk away from me, I realise not only have I just made the biggest mistake of my life, but I’ve also broken the oath I swore to uphold.

Because I have done harm. I’ve done harm in the worst possible way.

Nick isn’t my patient, but it doesn’t matter because he’s more than that, so much more. Yet I’ve caused him harm in such a huge way that I’m not sure we can ever come back from it.

As the realisation sinks in, the full force of what I’ve done hits me and hits me hard.

Blunt force trauma.

I was wrong before; that night I first met him when I thought I knew what that might feel like. Because this feeling I have now eclipses it a million times over.

My heart aches with regret and sadness and anger at the things I’ve done and as I feel myself sinking to the floor I can’t help wondering how I ever thought looking up Amy’s records could be a good idea.

“Oh god,” I practically cry out as I bury my face in my hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. What have I done?”

I feel Oscar brush against me, offering some sort of comfort that doesn’t even come close to being what I need. He crawls into my lap, as though sensing my pain and I bury my face in his fur. I’m not sure how long I sit on the floor of Nick’s apartment for but when I finally lift my head and look at the time, I see it’s almost two in the morning.

And Nick still hasn’t come back.

I force myself up off the floor, moving Oscar, who has apparently been in my lap this whole time, to the couch. I grab my phone from my bag, hoping for a message or something, but there’s nothing.

I scroll through to Nick’s number and listen to it ring. He doesn’t pick up though, and eventually it goes to voicemail. As the beep kicks in though, I find myself voiceless and unsure what to say.

Eventually the beep sounds again and I realise I’ve left a message of total silence, which given everything that’s just happened, screams louder than any words I could have said.

I can’t leave it at this, so I dial again.

This time the phone goes straight to voicemail and I hope it’s because Nick is listening to the pointless message I just left him. I hang up immediately; waiting a few minutes to make sure he isn’t still on the phone before calling him again.

But it goes straight to voicemail again, which means he wasn’t listening to my message at all; he’s switched off his phone.

“Fuck,” I say in frustration, throwing the phone on the couch. Oscar eyes it warily, before lifting his head to look at me.

“What am I supposed to do?” I plead, reaching again for my phone.

I redial Nick’s number, the call still going straight to voicemail. This time I do leave a message, the words out the second the beep finishes.

“Nick, please…” I start. “Please just let me explain how this happened, it’s not what you think.”

Even as I say the words though, I know they are only half-truths. Sure I never intentionally set out to find out what happened to Amy. I always expected it would be Nick that told me everything. I thought that after the night he told me how she’d died, that somehow it would get easier for him to talk about it.

But it hadn’t. Instead, he’d said nothing more and even though I hadn’t specifically asked, I’d always assumed we’d get there soon.

Until today.

God, I don’t even know what it was about that girl that triggered my stupidity. She wasn’t my first suicide attempt and as I now know, the method wasn’t quite the same.

But there was something about her. The long brown hair and those dark blue eyes; the pale limbs lying lifeless on that trolley. Is that what Amy had looked like?

The beep of Nick’s voicemail kicks in again and I realise once more that I haven’t found the right words to say. I don’t call him back though, instead opening the message icon, the last text he sent me the first thing that I see.

It’s the photo of Oscar, lying beside Nick in his bed. It’s a place I wish I was right now, but one that already feels a million years ago. As I stare at the photo, my eyes flood with tears, wishing I could go back to this morning and do everything about today differently.

I wake on the couch. Without opening my eyes, I can tell it’s both early and that the apartment is empty. Nick still hasn’t come home.

I try his phone again, but just like last night, it goes straight to voicemail. My message is brief this time and straight to the point. “Nick, please. Please call me. I need to explain.”

It feels pointless, hopeless, and I wonder if this is how he felt when I ran out of his bar that night, never giving him the chance to explain. But that turned out to be just a simple misunderstanding.

This time, it’s infinitely worse and it’s all my fault.

I get up and feed Oscar for something to do, before making myself some coffee, stalling because I don’t want to leave in case he comes back. By ten though, there’s still no sign of him, and it’s only when my phone chimes out with a message that I realise I’ve been sitting in his silent apartment, waiting.

I reach for the phone, my heart pounding with a nervous energy because I want it to be Nick, yet at the same time, I’m afraid of what it is he’s finally decided to say to me. But as I open the screen, my heart crashes in disappointment.

Sarah: hey, we still on for coffee today? Usual place, 30 mins? X

Shit, I forgot I was meeting her today. In an effort to be more present in our friendship, I’ve been suggesting we catch up on my days off. A part of me wants to bail, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to act normal or deal with any questions about Nick and me.

But the other part of me knows that bailing is what causes so many of my problems and after everything that happened last night, I can’t add to them. So I text her back knowing I’m going to have to somehow fake it, before dragging myself into the shower.

I dress in the same pants I wore last night but borrow a t-shirt of Nicks that’s way too big for me. As I head to the front door though, I realise I’m scared to leave. Scared in case he comes back and discovers me gone and reads more into that than he should. So I quickly scrawl a note for him, leaving it on the floor right in front of the door.

Then I walk out of his apartment, wondering if I’m ever going to have the chance to walk in there again.

Sarah’s already there by the time I walk in, two coffees in front of her. She smiles at me and I try to return it, but I’m not sure it works.

“Forget to take some clothes to Nick’s last night, huh?” she asks, gesturing at my shirt and I immediately do the one thing I never expected to do. I collapse into the chair beside her and burst into tears. “Oh shit, Emma, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head, burying my face in my hands as I try desperately to get myself under control.

“Em, what is it?” she asks gently, sliding closer as she puts an arm around my shoulders and hands me a napkin.

I force myself to take a deep breath, swallowing hard as I try to stem the tears. I reach for the coffee, taking a large gulp of hot liquid that burns on the way down, but is exactly the pain I need to feel right now.

Then I turn to Sarah and blurt it all out.

By the time I finish, Sarah hasn’t said a word. I’m too afraid to look at her though, to see the judgment I know will be in her eyes. Her arm is still around my shoulders, and while the rest of my coffee has remained untouched and gone cold, hers is now finished.

Someone comes to clear our mugs and I duck my head to hide my tear stained face while Sarah asks if we can grab two more. I can feel her watching me and eventually I look up, knowing there’s no way I’m going to escape this, not when I’m the one who blurted it all out.

So much for faking it.

“So what are you going to do now?” she asks.

“What do you mean? What can I do?”

Sarah frowns. “Please don’t tell me you’re just going to give up, walk away and pretend it never happened or meant anything like you usually do.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” I say, defensively.

Sarah shrugs. “But true, Em and you know it.”

And despite how shitty that makes me look, I do know it. It’s what I’ve always done, with friendships, relationships, everything. When things got too hard or everything went to shit, I just walked away, or pretended it had never happened. It’s what I’d been doing to Sarah for years, every time we had a fight about me being late or cancelling on her. I was just lucky she hadn’t walked away from me yet.

The same went for any guy I’d tried to see. As soon as my work and all the hours I spent there came up, I’d bail, knowing that walking away was infinitely easier than trying to explain or change things.

It had been different with Nick though, for reasons I still don’t understand.

“You can’t just give up on him,” Sarah says, her words kinder now. “He’s a good guy, but more than that, he’s the right guy for you.” I glance up at her, wondering why she thinks that. Sarah smiles at me. “Come on, even you can see that, surely?”

I nod a little because she’s right. It has been different with Nick, and it’s more than him just getting my crazy work hours. It’s the way he wanted to know about me that night and still does now. The way he asks about my day and understands why I sometimes get held up. How comfortable I feel knowing he does get it, no matter how late I am or how many things I miss.

How he doesn’t ever give up on me.

Until now anyway.

“I don’t want to,” I eventually get out. “But what am I supposed to do? I’ve tried calling and messaging him, but nothing.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“No.”

“Maybe you could call his parents, see if he’s with them?” she suggests.

I shake my head. “No. I only just met them. I really don’t need them to see my crazy side just yet.”

Sarah laughs, squeezing my shoulder. “What about the guy he works with, Tony isn’t it?”

I shrug, knowing he’s a possibility.

“Maybe you should ask him?” she suggests, nudging me. “What time will he be at the bar?”

I glance at my watch, see it’s hours until they are due to open. I wonder if that’s when Nick will finally come back. I wonder if he’ll want me to be there when he does.

“Around three,” I say.

“Alright,” Sarah says as though that’s sorted things. “That gives us a couple of hours to fix this up,” she adds, gesturing to my tear stained face. “And then you’re going to go back there and fix this up,” she continues, gesturing towards my heart. “And hey, you never know, maybe Nick will be there.”

I swallow hard, forcing down the fear at the idea that he won’t be.

The terror that maybe he will.

~ Nick

“Here, try something non-alcoholic for a change,” Amy says, handing me a cup of coffee.

I reach for the mug, forcing myself into a sitting position on the couch, even as my body screams out in protest. Amy sits beside me, watches as I take a tentative sip that still causes my stomach to roll. I’m not exactly sure how much I had to drink last night but I’m going to put it somewhere between a lot and a shit load. I can’t even remember falling asleep and judging by the fact that one shoe is on and one is off, I’m going to go with passing out instead.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, when it becomes apparent that I’m not quite up to communicating.

“Fucked,” I reply, my voice croaky. I scrub a hand down my face, knowing I must look like complete shit right now.

“Excellent,” she says in a voice that is far too cheery and far too loud for this time of the morning. “I’m making breakfast, you want some?”

My stomach churns at the thought and I shake my head, collapsing back onto the couch as Amy disappears into the kitchen. My eyes close with exhaustion, but the second they do, I’m back in my apartment, standing in front of Emma as she asks me the question that’s ruined everything.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Why did you have to go and look for the answers? is what I now realise I wanted to scream back at her. Why couldn’t you have just waited for me to tell you, waited until I was ready to?

But I hadn’t asked that and I hadn’t answered her question either and now it feels like things are so beyond fucked up that I don’t know what to do.

“So,” I hear as I feel the couch depress beside me. “You going to tell me what last night was all about?”

I shake my head, which makes the room spin even with my eyes closed.

“Can I take a wild guess and ask if it’s something to do with Emma?”

I crack one eye open and find Amy watching me as she eats some toast. I close my eye, saying nothing.

“Right, so it is about Emma then,” she says, patting my stomach before standing. “Well don’t be dickhead. Go and see her, talk about whatever it is that’s happened, and have the hot make-up sex when you’re done.”

I ignore her, knowing it isn’t as simple as that. Knowing that I’m not the one who needs to apologise here either. As fucked up as this whole mess is, the anger is still there on my part and the blame most definitely lies with her.

“So, you’re not going to elaborate on your drunken arrival at the crack of dawn this morning then?” Amy continues.

I open the other eye this time and find Amy still watching me. I know she wants answers. Shit, I would too if I was her. But, not only am I too hungover to deal with this right now, I’m not sure exactly how to explain it to her either. Because I know that when I tell her how this has all come about, all she’s going to do is rip me a new one. And I’m most definitely not in the mood for that.

“Fine,” she says. “Be a stubborn arse. In the meantime, I need to go,” she adds. “You’ll let yourself out, I assume?”

I mumble something, anything just to get her to leave. She tells me again to go and talk to Emma, but I know it won’t be happening. Even with the fog of this hangover or maybe I’m actually still drunk, I can remember enough about last night to know that me speaking to Emma is not going to be a good thing right now.

I’m still too angry with her. Too pissed off at what she’s done and the expectation that I should have told her about what happened with Amy. She had no right to do what she did and she has no right to ask me about it either.

I hear the front door slam, the noise making me wince. I kick off my other shoe before turning into the couch and going back to sleep.

~ Emma

By the time I get back to the bar, I’ve had a facial, a massage and a pedicure, three things I’m not sure I’ve ever had done, much less in one day. Despite the promises of cleansing and rejuvenation though, I feel anything but.

The sign on the door says closed, but when I peer in, I can see Tony setting up. I take a deep breath before knocking on the glass until he hears me. He shoots me a grin as he walks over and unlocks the door, holding it open for me.

“Hey, Emma, how’s things? Is Nick coming down soon?”

And it’s with that one question that I know Nick hasn’t come back from wherever it is he’s disappeared to. From the look on my face, evidently Tony realises this too.

“Shit, what’s happened?” he asks.

I bite my bottom lip, hard, because I do not want to start crying in front of him. It’s bad enough that I broke down like I did in front of Sarah. I really do not want to do it again here.

“Emma?” Tony asks, stepping towards me.

I shake my head because I can already feel the tears filling my eyes. Tony ignores me though, pulling me into a bear hug.

“Tell me what happened?” he asks, holding me tightly.

I shake my head against his chest because I know, the second I open my mouth the crying will start. I haven’t cried this much in my life, but these past few months, Nick has somehow managed to make me.

“Come on,” he says kindly, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “Tell me what happened?”

“Gone,” I finally manage to croak out as the tears start to fall. “He’s gone.”

“Fuck,” Tony mutters, his arms tightening. He says nothing more though, just holds me in his arms as I cry. “It’s alright, Em,” he eventually says. “It’s not the first time this has happened.”

I pull back in surprise. “What?”

Tony smiles at me. “It’s not the first time he’s gone MIA. It’s happened before you know, so it’s not you.”

I swallow hard, knowing that actually, it really was me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Tony steers me towards a bar stool, gesturing for me to sit down before he walks around to the other side of the bar and grabs us both beers. I glance up at him, wondering if this is the best solution, but Tony just slides the bottle closer.

“Tell me what happened,” he says.

I take a long gulp of beer, stalling as I try to work out how much I should tell him. Eventually I put the bottle down and without looking up I mumble, “I found out about Amy.”

Tony murmurs something I don’t catch.

“What?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“I said, it figures.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Tony lets out a deep breath. “The last time this happened was after she died.”

“How long did he disappear for?” I ask, half afraid to know the answer.

“A month.”

I half choke on the mouthful of beer I’ve just taken. “A month?” I repeat.

Tony nods. “Yeah, but obviously that was a pretty shit time,” he adds.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is a shit time too.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

I take another mouthful of beer before meeting Tony’s stare. “Because Nick isn’t the one who told me about Amy,” I tell him, forcing myself to get the words out.

“Then who did?” he asks, confused.

“No one,” I admit, my stomach churning with a mixture of nerves and guilt. “I looked her up at work and found out for myself.”

“Ah shit,” Tony mumbles.

Nick doesn’t show up for work tonight, leaving Tony and the other staff to run the bar. Tony tells me it’s fine, it’s what happened last time and he doesn’t mind doing it. When I ask him about Oscar, he tells me he’ll go up and feed him. I’m not sure why that bothers me, but when Tony sees the look on my face, he smiles, hands me the spare keys to Nick’s apartment and says, “Why don’t you look after him?”

So I do. Heading upstairs to feed Oscar, even though I know what I’m really doing is waiting for Nick to come back.

I have no idea how long I’m going to be waiting for. Last time it was a month, but Tony assures me that was a bad time, much worse than this. I’m not entirely sure I believe him, but having nothing else to go on, what else can I think.

In the end, Nick doesn’t come back to his apartment and sometime after midnight, I find myself crawling into his bed. It feels huge without him, empty and cold, and it’s only when Oscar jumps up and snuggles beside me, that I finally allow myself to start crying again, wondering when this nightmare is ever going to end.

At work the next day, I’m a mess. I’m only half listening to the people around me and as a result, I make mistakes and I miss things. I can feel Jason watching me, can almost hear the questions he wants to ask, but I manage to avoid being alone with him, going straight back to Nick’s apartment when my shift is over.

Once again Nick doesn’t come home and as the week passes by, I find myself trapped in some kind of nightmare Groundhog Day that sees my days filled with me practically ruining my career and my nights spent at Nick’s place wondering if I haven’t also ruined my relationship.

I barely sleep and by the end of the week, when Jason finally corners me in the staff lounge, I know I not only look like crap, but I’ve been a crap doctor too.

“See you,” I quickly say, throwing him a half smile as I attempt to leave.

“Emma, wait,” he says, his hand on my arm as I try to scoot past him.

I stare at the hand, unable to look him in the eye. He must read something else into it, because he immediately pulls back, gesturing instead towards the couch. I don’t say anything, knowing I’m not getting out of this one as I walk over and sit down.

Jason sits beside me, waits for me to look at him. When I don’t, he speaks anyway. “Do you want to tell me what’s been going on with you this week?” he asks, the words kind.

I’d expected him to be angry with me, but despite his kindness, I still can’t bring myself to answer him.

Jason exhales. “Okay, something you don’t want to talk about. That’s fine, but the issue here is how it’s affecting you and your work.”

Now I do look up, because despite everything that’s happened, ruining my career and losing the respect of Jason is something I never wanted to do.

“It’s okay,” he says when he sees the look on my face. “I get that things happen, that sometimes it’s hard to switch off and focus when you’re at work. But I can’t let you go on like this. It’s not fair to the patients or the rest of us.”

“Are you firing me?” I quickly ask, scared that if this happens, I truly will have ruined everything.

“No,” he says, smiling. “But I do want you to take some time off and get whatever this thing is that’s bothering you sorted out.”

I nod, half relieved, half scared still.

“You’re not losing your job, Emma, I promise,” Jason says, somehow reading my mind. “Take a week, okay? Get whatever this is sorted out and then come back and prove to me you’re the doctor I know you are.”

“Okay,” I whisper, gripping my bag as I stand.

Jason follows me to the door and I think that’s the end of it until he says, “Em, is there anything I can do to help?”

I glance back at him shaking my head because I know there isn’t anything anyone can do.

He offers me a smile. “Well, you let me know if there is, okay?”

I nod once, before walking out of the hospital, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to fix this mess in a week when I have no idea where Nick is and no idea if or when he’s ever going to come back.

~ Nick

“Alright, this has got to stop,” Amy says, sitting down beside me.

I glance at her as I take another sip of my beer. “What does?” I ask.

“This, you idiot,” she says, gesturing to me.

I look down at myself, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, grabbing the beer from my hand and taking a long pull. “What the hell is going on with you? You’ve done nothing but spend this past week on my couch, drinking and sleeping. You look like a homeless person and you kinda smell like one too. I love you Nick, I really do, but you can’t keep doing this. Who’s looking after the bar, huh? And what about Oscar?”

I stare at her as though she’s crazy. She looks back at me as though it’s me who’s the crazy one, not her.

I still haven’t told her the reason for why I showed up on her doorstep, drunk and angry a week ago. That hasn’t stopped her from asking though and every day has been a repeat of the previous. Amy waking me with coffee and the question, “What happened?” Me ignoring her and going back to sleep, waking sometime in the afternoon to resume my drinking only to pass out sometime later before waking and doing it all again.

“Nick, seriously,” she says, reaching for my hand. “What is it?”

I stare down at her hand in mine, at the tiny tattoo on her wrist that she got done at the same time I got mine. It had been a thing we’d done together, not because we wanted to share the experience, but because we both needed to share the grief.

Her grip softens, her fingers sliding into mine as she pulls my hand into her lap. I look up at her and wonder why I never thought about things this way before.

Then I lean in and kiss her.

“Jesus Christ,” she says, pushing me away.

“What?” I ask, confused. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

“No actually, I haven’t,” she says, a look of what might be disgust on her face. “You’re like a brother to me, Nick. You always have been. Besides which, have you forgotten the fact that you also have a girlfriend?”

I let out a long sigh. I know she’s right, at least about the sibling part anyway. I’ve known Amy virtually my whole life and even though she is totally awesome, I have never once considered her to be anything other than like a sister to me. The thought of us as a couple never crossed my mind up until about five seconds ago, and I can only assume that the alcohol that’s been circulating throughout my system for the past week is what made me try to kiss her just now.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that.”

Amy grabs my hand again, squeezing it until I look at her. “Tell me what this is about?” she asks. “It’s Emma, yeah?”

I nod.

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath, knowing there’s no way I’m going to be able to avoid not answering this question any longer. “She found out about Amy,” I tell her.

“What?”

I nod. “Yeah and it was such a shitty thing for her to do that I just…I was so fucking mad at her…I just lost it. I had to get out of there.”

“Wait, what?” Amy asks, stopping me.

“Emma,” I say, wondering why she isn’t getting this. “She looked up Amy’s file at the hospital.”

“No,” Amy says, shaking her head.

Finally someone who understands. I should’ve known she would. Aside from my parents and Tony, she’s the only other person who knows what Amy’s death was like.

“No, seriously,” she continues. “You mean, you hadn’t actually told her?” she asks incredulously as though she’s surprised by this, when really, she should know better. “She told me she knew,” she continues. “That she knew about Amy?”

Now it’s my turn. “What?”

“I asked her,” Amy says. “When you guys got together?”

I shrug, not following. “She knew she died.”

“Jesus, Nick,” she says, turning so she’s directly facing me. “Please don’t tell me that you hadn’t told your girlfriend, the girlfriend you’re madly in love with, about what actually happened with Amy.”

“I’m not in love with her,” I say quickly.

Amy scoffs. “Yeah okay, whatever. The point is you were supposed to have told her everything.”

I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore this comment. “No, I think the point is that it was a shitty thing for Emma to do,” I continue. “She had no fucking right.”

Amy waves her hand as though dismissing it. “No, I think the shitty thing is that you didn’t tell her about it. Especially after what happened before. I mean, fuck, Nick, really?”

“What before?” I ask.

“Oh my god, the confusion over me and the tattoo? Jesus,” she says, her words laced with frustration.

“What the hell does that have to do with it?” I ask, now regretting telling her any of this.

Amy takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she continues. “Nick,” she starts, pausing as though to gather strength before she imparts whatever words of wisdom she thinks I need to hear. “I love you, I really do.” She stops, as though trying to find the right words to say to me. “But despite that, sometimes you can be really fucking stupid. Do you know that?”

“What?” I ask annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

Amy finishes my beer, putting the empty bottle on the coffee table before continuing. “You and Emma, you’ve what, been seeing each other for a few months now?” I nod; not exactly sure of the exact amount of time, but knowing it’s pretty close to what she’s saying. Amy nods as though she’s happy I can at least agree with her on this one. “Right, and regardless of what you’re willing to admit, you are in love with her. She’s woken this fire in you, this…this life that you haven’t had for a really long time. Not since Amy died.”

My eyes close because a part of me knows she’s right but just isn’t willing to admit it. I know for the past year, maybe the past year and half, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking through life half awake and half asleep. And it wasn’t until that night, the night Emma walked into my bar, I finally felt as though I might be ready to wake back up.

I’m not even sure what it was, or is, about her that caused me to feel like this. God knows she was hardly in a good place when we first met. All I know is she somehow seemed to understand what it was I was going through, even when she had no idea what that was. Somehow that made everything a little easier to deal with.

“So, you can obviously see this too,” Amy says, smiling. I shrug in half agreement and her smile widens because she knows she’s right. “So why didn’t you ever tell her about what happened?” she asks. “Why don’t you ever tell anyone about it? It doesn’t have to be this big secret you know?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug, looking away. “I don’t ever want to talk about it, much less think about it.”

“I know,” she says. “None of us do, Nick. But you shouldn’t hide it from Emma because it’s a huge part of your life, just like Emma is.”

I run a hand through my hair, gripping the back of neck as I try and work out what I’m supposed to say or do here. Deep down, I know why I’ve never told her. It’s the same reason I never tell anyone, and it’s the same reason I permanently tattooed a reminder of it into my skin.

“God, you still feel guilty about it all, don’t you?” Amy says and I wonder if she can actually read my mind.

I nod, my head falling as the memories of it all resurface. They’ve never really gone away, I’ve somehow just managed to bury them. Bury them so that I can get through each day without falling apart or becoming a total alcoholic. Although given this week’s activities, I kinda have to wonder if I’ve been kidding myself about that second part.

“Nick, you have nothing to feel guilty about, you have to know that,” Amy says, her voice softer. “What happened was not your fault. Nothing you did or could’ve done would have prevented it.”

I nod, even though I don’t believe her. Even though my guilt doesn’t stem from what happened in the end, but from what happened in the beginning to cause it.

“Emma made a mistake, that’s all,” she continues. “Yes, it was a big one, I’ll grant you that. But please, don’t you make the biggest mistake of your life by letting her go.” I glance up, meet Amy’s gaze. “She’s good for you, Nick,” she continues, smiling. “She’s right for you.”

I nod, because regardless of everything that’s happened, I know she’s right. Emma is good for me. She’s right for me. She’s everything I want too. Always has been, even when I didn’t want to admit it. Even though I know I don’t deserve it.

“Go home,” she says, shoving me a little. “I kinda need my couch back,” she adds, laughing as she pulls me into a half hug, kissing my cheek. “Ugh, and for god’s sake, take a shower before you go and see her.”

I chuckle now, pushing up off the couch. “Thank you,” I say, pulling her in for a proper hug. “And I’m sorry for…you know.”

“It’s all good,” she says. “Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

I spend the walk home both sobering up and trying to work out what I’m going to say to Emma when I see her. When I finally reach my place, I can see the bar is still open. I could go in there, if nothing else, to apologise to Tony for being a dick this past week. But I don’t, because I know if I do, I’d only be stalling what I know needs to happen tonight.

I could go straight to Emma’s too, but at the very least, I need that shower before I do. I’m trying to win her back here, not put her off even more. I know Oscar will have been fine, that Tony will have taken the spare keys from my office and fed him, but I am definitely not fine.

So I skip the bar and hold off on going to Emma’s, instead sliding my key into the door to my apartment. My footsteps on the stairs echo in the silence. At the top, I unlock the other door and walk inside, kicking off my shoes. I walk into my bedroom, throwing my keys and wallet on the bed before turning and walking into the bathroom.

And when I walk in there…

      …the arm hanging lifeless over the side of the bath…

      …the red stain of blood on the tiles…

My whole world falls apart…again.

~ Emma

I’m surrounded by warmth, floating weightlessly on a cloud, rested and at peace for what feels like the first time in forever.

And then I’m yanked from my dream only to find myself cold and wet, sitting on the tiled floor with Nick’s arms wrapped tightly around me as a voice keens with anguish and despair.

It takes me a second to realise it’s Nick who’s making this noise and as I try to turn so I can work out what’s wrong, his arms only tighten, holding me against him.

His whole body is shaking as he rocks me in his arms, his face buried against my neck.

“Nick,” I plead, twisting awkwardly as I place a hand on his cheek.

He groans, as though in agony, his arms tightening even more. It’s only now that I’ve half turned, that I notice the knocked over glass, the spilt red wine that stains the white tiles of his bathroom floor and in that second it hits me what he would’ve seen when he walked in here.

Amy.

A memory of her anyway.

I must have fallen asleep, somehow knocked my glass of red wine over. And even though I still don’t know the exact circumstances of Amy’s death, except that it was due to both an overdose of sleeping pills and massive blood loss from the cuts on her arm, judging from Nick’s reaction to this, I’m going to take a guess that whatever he saw when he walked in here tonight somehow reminded him of that.

“Hey,” I say softly, one hand sliding over his as I attempt to pry his fingers from me. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” He groans again, saying nothing. “Nick,” I plead. “Look at me, please.” He eventually lifts his head and his eyes are so full of pain and despair that it’s almost unbearable to look at. “It’s okay,” I repeat, meeting his stare.

Nick stares back at me, his eyes searching as though he doesn’t believe me. His hands loosen slightly, sliding up my back to grip my neck. Then he pulls me in for a hard kiss and the fear that’s coming from him is now palpable.

“I’m okay,” I repeat against his mouth, struggling to get air. “It’s okay.”

I don’t know how long we sit on the floor of his bathroom for, but eventually I convince him to get up. He looks completely wrecked, so I gently pull off his clothes and push him into the shower.

He pulls me in with him, pulling me against him as we stand under the scalding hot water. He hasn’t said a word and still doesn’t, even as I begin to wash him.

Eventually we get out, drying off before walking into the bedroom. I climb into the bed, pulling him in after me. Nick gathers me in his arms and pulls me against him, and while this might normally feel good, tonight it feels anything but.

Because why I don’t doubt that I’ve now somehow been forgiven for the awful thing I did in looking up Amy’s file, I fear that what I’ve really done is open a whole new nightmare about that night.

Neither of us sleeps and Nick still doesn’t say anything. When dawn finally arrives, I’m grateful I’m off work because there’s no way I could function like this, and there’s no way I want to leave Nick either.

I roll onto my side, placing a hand against his cheek. “Hey.”

Nick stares up at the ceiling, barely acknowledging my touch. I flatten my hand, turning his head until he faces me. Nick blinks once before leaning in to kiss me. It’s softer this time, almost gentle as though he’s afraid of hurting me.

“You want to talk about what happened last night?” I ask when he eventually pulls back.

Nick shakes his head. “No.”

I nod, even though I know him not talking about it is a really bad idea. “What about what happened before, what I did?”

He shakes his head again.

I let out a long exhale. “Okay, we don’t need to talk about it right now,” I tell him, knowing we will have to at some point. “But can I just say how very sorry I am for betraying your trust like I did. I never should’ve done it and I truly regret the pain it caused you.”

Nick stares at me the whole time I’m speaking even though it feels like he isn’t listening to me at all. When I finish, he pulls me in for another kiss. It’s tender and beautiful, and almost like it was before everything went to shit.

Almost.

Because at the same time, it feels different, like an excuse maybe, or an avoidance at the very least. And as shitty as it is for me to just pretend this past week hasn’t happened, it’s still exactly what I do, kissing him back, as I pull him against me.

Because the truth is, I’ve missed him and I’ve missed this, and as much as I know we can’t ignore what’s happened, I don’t really want to talk about it right now either.

We spend the day in Nick’s apartment; neither of us doing much and neither of us saying much. Given everything that’s happened, especially Nick’s reaction last night, I know I need to get him talking about things, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’m stalling because I’m scared, and I’m scared because I don’t want to push him back over the edge again. Not when I’ve already done it once.

The medical side of me knows this is wrong, that you can’t just bury grief and trauma and expect it to go away on it’s own. It never does. Nick needs to talk about what happened, not just what happened last night, but a year ago too. Me letting him stay mute is only going to make things worse in the long run.

But the side of me that cares for him, that sees him as something more than just a patient, can’t bring myself to push it, because this side is just happy he’s back. Even though we both know he’s not really back at all.

“Are you going to work tonight?” I ask, late in the afternoon.

Nick looks up at me from the couch. “No.”

I nod once, unsure what that means, before sitting beside him. He pulls me close and we spend the rest of the evening watching mindless TV, which neither of us takes in. When we eventually go to bed, Nick pulls me close again and for a little while it almost feels like this past week didn’t happen, that everything’s normal again.

But as soon as it’s over, that feeling disappears and I realise as ‘normal’ as that might have felt, it really wasn’t.

We fall asleep without saying a word.

~ Nick

I wake with a start, the images of my nightmare still flashing before my eyes; my body shaking and covered in sweat. I glance over at Emma who lies beside me. She’s still asleep, thank god, so trying not to wake her; I carefully slide out of bed.

In the kitchen I grab a beer from the fridge before walking into the living room. I turn on the TV, turning the volume down low and sit on the couch. Oscar follows me, curling up beside me as I slide down and prop my feet on the coffee table.

There’s a foreign movie on that I’m not paying any attention to, subtitles that I’m not bothering to read. I can feel my eyes closing again and I risk a brief moment of rest.

But it’s back almost immediately.

The long pale arm hanging from the side of the tub.

The pool of blood on the floor that seems to grow bigger and bigger the longer I look at it.

I can hear dripping and it takes me a second to realise it’s not coming from the faucet, but from the arm that’s hanging over the floor.

I walk closer, my bare foot stepping right into the middle of the blood. At first I don’t recognise the person in the bath. At first glance it’s Amy, but then it’s Emma, and then it’s back to Amy again. I reach out to her, but as soon as I do her eyes open, her mouth following in a silent scream that makes me stumble in fright, slipping in the blood as the face morphs into someone I don’t recognise at all.

And that’s when I wake up.

I knew that’s not what I’d walked in on yesterday when I finally came back home. Emma wasn’t lying dead in the bath with a pool of blood on the floor. She was asleep, and it was just red wine.

I feel like a fucking idiot for reacting the way I did and I honestly can’t understand why she’s still here, trying to help me. Why all of this hasn’t scared her away.

“Can’t sleep?”

I glance up and find Emma wrapped in a blanket, leaning against the bookcase that separates my bedroom from the living room.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head.

Emma eyes the beer in my hand as she walks over. She says nothing though, as she sits beside me on the couch, resting her head on my shoulder.

“You should go back to bed,” I tell her, even as I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t need to stay up with me.”

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, as she pushes herself against me, clearly not moving.

I exhale a long sigh, wondering exactly what the fuck is going on right now.

With me.

With her.

With us.

Because this world we’ve somehow slipped back into isn’t the same world we were in a week ago. Things have been said and done and changed in ways I’m not sure how to undo or come back from.

~ Emma

Nick doesn’t go to work all weekend and when I join him on the couch after his latest nightmare on Sunday night, he tells me to go back to bed because I need sleep before I go to work tomorrow.

“I’m not going to work,” I tell him, my eyes half closed in exhaustion.

“What?” he asks, twisting a little so he’s looking right at me. “You have to go. You should go, Emma. I don’t need you staying here, babysitting me.” His words sting and he immediately apologises. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Anyway, I have the week off.”

“Why?”

I take a deep breath as I sit up. In reality, both of us are exhausted because neither of us has slept since Nick came back. It’s only been two nights, but it’s been two very disturbed nights filled with his nightmares and me trying to comfort him. Even when he’s managed to grab a nap on the couch, it’s never for very long and always ends the same way: with him waking from a nightmare.

I know it can’t go on like this, but still I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I’m being a coward; I know that.

“Why, Em?” he repeats.

I give him a smile. “Because,” I say, glancing down at my hands. “Because Jason gave me the week off.”

“Why?’ he asks again.

I exhale. “Because I was messing up at work.”

“What?”

I glance up and find Nick unusually focused as he watches me, waiting for my answer. I force myself to take a deep breath as I wonder how I’m supposed to explain this without making everything worse. The last thing he needs is to feel like something else is his fault.

“Yeah,” I say, reaching for his hand as I offer a small smile. “I was having a bad week and Jason suggested I take some time off. It’s no big deal,” I offer, shrugging.

“Bullshit,” he says, sitting forward a little. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him since this all started. “This isn’t like you, Em.”

I shrug, because it’s the best explanation I’ve got right now.

Nick watches me, scrubbing a hand over his face as it finally dawns on him. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

I shrug again, not sure what to say at this point.

“Oh fuck, Emma, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me against him. “I’ve really fucked things up here, haven’t I?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head against his chest, knowing I’m the one who’s fucked things up. “But…” I pause, force myself to take a deep breath before I say what I know I should have said two days ago. “I do think we need to talk about what happened, Nick.”

I pull back a little so I can look at him, but Nick looks away, stares at the TV as though he’s avoiding me.

“Nick?” I whisper.

He turns now, smiles at me in a way that’s supposed to be reassuring, but is most definitely not. “It’s okay, Em, really,” he says. “But I am sorry it’s messed with your work, truly.”

I shake my head, not believing a word he’s saying. “It’s not messing with my work,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. “I just want you to be okay,” I add, my words a whisper.

“I will be,” he says, pulling me against him again. “I will be.”

But he’s not, and as the week goes by things don’t get any better, they get much worse. The nightmares don’t stop. If anything they get more frequent and more graphic, so that by the end of the week, Nick’s not even sleeping at all anymore.

Work is out of the question and instead he spends most of the time sitting on the couch alternatively drinking beer to dull the pain or coffee to stay awake.

Tony messages me every night, letting me know he’s taking care of the bar, asking if he should come and see Nick. Every time I relay the message though, Nick shows no interest in either the bar or Tony. He doesn’t even leave the apartment and by Friday I’m at a loss as to what to do, because this limbo we’re in feels like something indefinite and I’m no longer sure what to say or what to do or how to make any of it better.

No amount of medical training has prepared me for this, because for the first time in my career, I’m not removed from the situation. I can’t just switch off and detach my emotions when I’m dealing with someone I care about.

And because of that, I’m more confused than I’ve ever been; unable to make a diagnosis or work out the best course of treatment. All that feels too clinical, too detached from this reality and the person I’m trying to help. The person I care about.

Worst of all though, is the regret I still feel for causing all of this in the first place. For opening up a wound that was simply trying to heal itself in its own way.

Do no harm.

Feels like an ironic slap in the face now.

“Hey,” I say, handing him a bowl of pasta. “Hungry?”

Nick shakes his head, ignoring the food and instead taking another sip of beer.

“You need to eat,” I tell him, holding it closer.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, pushing it away.

I stop; watch as he finishes his beer before pushing off the couch and walking into the kitchen and grabbing another. I follow after him, the bowl of pasta still in my hand.

“But you’re thirsty?”

Nick turns, a pissed off look on his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I exhale, my eyes closing briefly as I try to work out the best way to say this. “You need to eat, Nick,” I tell him. “You need something more than alcohol in your system.”

“Do I?” he says, slamming his beer on the kitchen bench.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he says, stepping towards me. He grabs the bowl from my hand, roughly spooning several mouthfuls of pasta into his mouth before throwing the bowl into the sink where is smashes against the pots. The sound makes me jump, but Nick doesn’t notice, instead picking up his beer and walking straight past me and back out to the couch.

I step forward, my hand grabbing the edge of the sink as I try to remain standing, an ache spreading throughout my chest as my body almost doubles over in pain.

I know this is beyond me now; that no amount of medical training or experience has prepared me for this. I can’t help Nick, no matter how much I want to. I need…I need help.

My phone sounds out with a text, and I’m not sure if it’s an omen or a blessing. I grab it from the kitchen table.

Jason: hey, just checking in to see how things are going? I hope everything’s better…that you sorted whatever it is you needed to sort. You ok to come back next week?

I almost start crying at his words and without even thinking, I hit the call icon and hope to god that this is the right thing to do.

That I’m not going to make things worse than they already are.

~ Nick

I fall back on the couch, my body wracked with guilt over what I just did. I’m not trying to be an arsehole here, but I just can’t seem to stop it. I’m fucking exhausted and I have no idea how to fix any of this shit that’s in my head or between us.

Even though I’m pissed off about what happened, about what Emma did, I do know she doesn’t deserve this.

But I still can’t bring myself to stop. To stop being a dickhead, to stop being angry or to stop these nightmares or ruining whatever relationship we might have left by acting this way. I can’t stop any of it anymore and it fucking terrifies me.

“Nick?”

I look up and find Emma standing by the side of the couch, gripping her phone as though it’s some kind of lifeline. She looks nervous and scared and I immediately hate myself all over again for what I’m putting her through.

But as much as I know I’m fucking this up, I still don’t ask her to leave. I can’t, because as fucked as this all is, she is the one good thing I have left. The one good thing that I’m desperately trying to somehow hang on to.

I know she doesn’t know it, but she’s like a breath of fresh air in this never ending nightmare of drowning. She’s the reason I keep trying to go to sleep at night, and she’s the reason I’m grateful every time I wake up, shaking and covered in sweat only to find her still lying beside me. She’s everything to me, yet I’m still doing everything I can to destroy that.

“Emma, I’m…”

She holds up her hand, silencing me as she shakes her head. “This can’t go on,” she says.

A wave of fear pushes me up off the couch, moving my body so I’m standing in front of her. “I’ll get better,” I tell her, my voice pleading, begging her to believe me. “I promise, I’ll get better.”

Emma shakes her head as though she doesn’t believe me, and for the first time in a long time, it’s not the guilt that feels like it’s destroying me anymore.

“No,” she says. “You won’t. You aren’t. And as much as I want to help you, I can’t…I can’t do that.”

I force myself to swallow hard, try to understand exactly what she’s saying. “What…what, what do you mean?” I finally get out. “Are you…?”

“No,” she says, immediately. “No. But, Nick, this can’t go on.”

I’m pretty sure I actually feel my heart break inside my chest. I thought it had already broken a year ago, but clearly I was wrong. As painful as that was, it’s so very different to what’s going on right now and it terrifies me to realise that I’m about to lose the very thing I love all over again.

We stand in silence, both of us watching the other as though we are each daring the other to speak, but neither of us knows what to say.

Eventually it’s Emma who breaks the silence. “Do you trust me, Nick?”

I don’t look away, wondering why she’s asking me this.

“I mean, I know I broke…”

“Yes,” I say, cutting her off, knowing I’d say anything to get her to stay. “I trust you.”

Emma nods. “Then come to bed. We have an early start tomorrow,” she says.

Then she reaches for the remote, switching off the TV before taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom.

~ Emma

Neither of us sleeps, but that’s to be expected. When the alarm goes off at six, I silence it immediately before glancing over at Nick. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. When he feels me watching him, he turns to face me, offering a weak smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I know what his answer will be.

I hadn’t told Nick last night about what was happening today. After I called Jason and asked him for help, I couldn’t bring myself to admit it all to Nick. Part of me was afraid he’d be pissed I’d betrayed him again and part of me was afraid he’d say no to what I wanted him to do.

It’s not like I’d told Jason everything, far from it. All I’d done is ask him for another week off and the name of a good psychiatrist. He’d immediately freaked out, thinking it was something to do with me.

“It’s not,” I’d told him. “I’m okay, really.”

“Then what’s going on, Emma?” he’d asked.

I hadn’t known how to answer that, not wanting to admit too much but at the same time, knowing I had to say something. “You remember when you asked if there was anything you could do?” I’d asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is that something,” I’d said. “Only it’s not for me, it’s for my…my boyfriend.”

It was the first time I’d ever called Nick that. First time I’d admitted it out loud, and it felt weird to be doing it for the first time with my boss.

“Oh,” he’d said, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of my request. “Um, can you give me ten minutes?”

“Okay,” I’d answered, not sure what he’d meant by that either.

Jason had hung up, only to call me back a few minutes later. “Dr Adrian Burrows,” he’d said. “He’s a friend and a good guy. He’ll see your…he’ll see you tomorrow at seven. I’ll text you the address.”

I hadn’t known what to say, shocked that he’d come through for me. Shocked he’d even believed me after I’d barely said anything about what this was all about.

“Emma?” he’d said when I still hadn’t said anything.

“Yes, sorry, I’m here,” I’d said quickly. “Thank you, really.”

“Of course,” Jason had answered. “And next week is cool too, okay?”

“Thank you, Jason,” I’d whispered, perilously close to tears again.

I’d heard the long exhale down the phone. “Are you really okay, Emma?”

I’d nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I’d whispered.

“Okay,” he’d said, even though I’m not sure he believed me. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

“There won’t be,” I’d promised him, knowing I’d already pushed things far enough. God knows what he thought of me now and god knows how I was ever going to be able to face him back at work.

“Well, if there is,” he’d said before he’d hung up.

Now I find myself facing Nick, wondering how the hell I’m ever going to make him be okay with what I want him to do this morning.

“Nick?’ I prompt.

“I don’t know,” he eventually says, rolling onto his side so we are facing each other. It’s the first time he’s ever come close to admitting that things aren’t okay with him.

“It’s going to be alright,” I tell him, brushing my fingers across his cheek. “We’re going to fix this.”

Nick nods, saying nothing more as he pulls me against him, holding me tight as though he’s afraid to let me go.

The doctor walks into the waiting room and smiles warmly, which does nothing to calm Nick’s nerves. His body is radiating nervous energy, has been ever since we walked in here, his foot tapping out a constant rhythm on the floor as he holds my hand in a vice-like grip.

I’d expected him to freak out when he’d found out where we were going, but he hadn’t said anything, just silently followed me into the office. We are the only ones in here and I know that’s because Jason has called in a favour. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to thank him for this.

“Nick?” the doctor asks. He’s younger than I expected.

Nick nods, but says nothing.

“I’m Adrian,” he continues. “Do you want to come through?”

Nick glances at the open door behind him before turning to me. I offer him what I hope is an encouraging smile.

“Can Emma come?” he asks.

His request surprises me. I’d expected some anger at the fact I’d brought him here, definitely some resistance to trying this, but I hadn’t expected him to want to talk about it all in front of me. I didn’t think this was what he wanted to do at all. I mean it’s part of why we’re in this mess in the first place.

But Adrian shows no surprise, smiling at both of us as he says, “Of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Nick glances at me again and I smile in encouragement. We both stand and follow Adrian into an open and light-filled office. He gestures towards a couch that faces two single chairs, one of which he takes as both of us sit on the couch. Nick still hasn’t let go of my hand.

“Emma, you work with Jason, is that right?”

I nod, weirdly nervous. “I do.”

Adrian smiles. “Do you like it?”

It’s the wrong question to ask, but I still nod and say, “Yes.”

Adrian nods as though this all makes sense. “Jason and my sister went to med school together,” he continues, as though he knows these are all questions I want to know the answers to. “I followed a couple of years later.”

I nod, not knowing what to say. Despite working with him for six months, I don’t really know anything about Jason’s personal life and it feels strange getting this tiny insight from someone who is essentially a stranger. What’s even weirder is wondering how much Jason has said to him about me. Whether he ever admitted to that awkward night in the past where we both made a huge mistake.

“Anyway,” Adrian says, turning to Nick as if sensing my discomfit. “Should we make a start?”

Nick tenses beside me, as though he’s about to bolt any second. That nervous energy that was pouring off him in the waiting room has only magnified since we walked in here and no amount of friendly chitchat or me being here is doing anything to make it stop.

“You okay?” I whisper, turning to face him.

Nick shakes his head, eyes on the floor.

“Nick,” Adrian says, his voice different now. Gone is the friendly chatter and in its place is something more. Professional, but at the same time, reassuring, as though he somehow understands everything Nick is going through. “I want you to know,” he continues. “That in this room, you should feel comfortable. As painful and scary as this might all feel, that’s the last thing I want. So we’re going to start easy, okay? And today we’ll only talk about why you’ve come to see me.”

Nick nods again, even though I’m not sure Adrian’s words have even registered.

“And,” Adrian continues. “If you want Emma to be here when we do talk, that’s perfectly fine with me.”

Nick glances at me again and I smile, nod in agreement, before he turns back to Adrian. “Okay,” he eventually gets out.

“Great,” Adrian says, smiling as he reaches for a notebook on the coffee table that sits between us. “So, can we start by talking about that night?”

“What?” Nick blurts out, his fingers tightening in mine.

Adrian smiles reassuringly. “Not that far back,” he says. “I just want to start with the night that triggered this,” he says.

~ Nick

Nothing about this feels good…at all. I really don’t want to be here and I most definitely don’t want to be talking to this stranger about all of the fucked up things going on inside my head.

The walls of his office already feel too small, like they’re closing in on me, trapping me and making it hard to breathe. My hands are sweaty and they’d be shaking if I weren’t hanging onto Emma like my life depends on it.

Yet it’s because of her that I’m here at all. I’m scared as hell about all of this, about all the things I know he’s going to ask me, and all the things I know I’m going to have to talk about. I don’t believe this kind of thing works, not after what happened with my sister, but I know I have to try. Which means I’m either batshit crazy or Amy was right.

“What?” I eventually get out, the word lodged in my throat.

Adrian shakes his head slightly. “Not that far back,” he says. “I just want to start with the night that triggered this. Start with why you’ve stopped sleeping, stopped going to work. Why you’ve come to see me at all.”

I glance at Emma, wondering how much she’s told this guy, how he could possibly know about any of this. She meets my stare, defiantly looking back at me as she nods in encouragement. I’m guessing she’s told him some stuff, she must have. The last thing I want to do is answer his questions, but I know I have to suck it up and deal with it because I do not want things to go on like this for us.

I’d do anything to rewind the last two weeks and go back to the way things were in the months after we first met. I’d put up with the crazy work hours and hardly seeing each other. I’d put up with anything if we could just avoid doing this.

But I know that I can’t, just like I can’t go back in time and change all the things that caused this in the first place.

So I turn back and I tell him. I tell him about the fight Emma and I had after she looked up Amy’s file. I tell him about how angry I was and how I needed to get away from her. I tell him how I spent the week at my sister’s best friend’s house, drinking on her couch before she eventually kicked me out. And I tell him how I came back to my apartment, intending to go and see Emma and apologise, only to walk into the bathroom and find Emma asleep in the bathtub.

Then I tell him how I completely freaked out.

Adrian and Emma say nothing as I admit all of this, and by the end of it, I’m so exhausted that all I want to do is go home and sleep, even if that’s what’s been killing me this past week.

I expect him to ask me more, ask me why I freaked out like I did, or what I think it all means, but instead he just nods and says, “Okay, that’s a really good start, Nick. Thank you for telling me all of this, I know it can’t have been easy. We are going to stop now, but I do want to arrange another appointment, so we can continue to talk about everything. Would that be okay?”

I glance at Emma who smiles in encouragement before turning back to Adrian and nodding, not sure what I’m supposed to say.

“Good,” he says, smiling at both of us. “And I’d also like to prescribe you with some sleeping tablets. Just to…”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished, knowing there’s not a chance in hell I can take those.

“Nick,” he says, holding up a hand. “It’s not forever, okay? And it’s a really low dose, just so you can get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“Try,” he says, handing me the script. “Can we meet again on Monday?”

My hand shakes as I take the script from him. I hear Emma answer, “Yes,” as they arrange a time and then we are standing and walking out of his office.

The second we’re outside; I scrunch up the prescription and shove it in my pocket, at the same time inhaling deeply, sucking in the fresh air as though it’s the first I’ve tasted in months. Emma watches me but says nothing as she links her arm through mine and steers us down the street and into a coffee shop. I’d rather just go home, I’m not in the mood to be out in public, but it seems like I don’t have a choice on this one.

Inside, she’s pushes me towards a table in the back while she goes to order us some coffee. It briefly crosses my mind that I could just get up and walk out, go home so I don’t have to deal with this shit. But before I can even process the thought, Emma is back, taking a seat opposite me.

I look up, wondering whether I could actually walk away from her. She offers me a smile, as though giving me the answer, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her, pull her into my arms and beg her to stay and fix this for me.

But I know it’s not going to be as easy as that and as much as I might hate what she made me do this morning, I know this is the only way she knows how to try and help me. Even if the past tells me it isn’t ever going to help.

“How are you doing?” she asks tentatively.

“Shit,” I say, shrugging.

Emma nods as though it’s what she expected. “Do you hate me for doing that to you this morning?” she asks.

I shake my head. I don’t hate her; I just hate what I have to do.

“Really?” she asks, reaching for my hand.

Her fingers slide through mine, pulling my hand closer to her as she wraps her other hand around it.

“Really,” I say, my eyes on our hands.

“Even…” she stops as our coffees are delivered, mumbling a thanks to whoever drops them off. “Even after what I did?” she continues.

I look up, glance around the coffee shop she’s taken me to. It’s not one I’ve ever been to. Not my regular, which has now become our regular after Emma started staying over at my place. It occurs to me that this might be deliberate. That, in addition to giving me an anonymous face to tell my shit to, she’s also giving me an anonymous place in which to tell it. Or try to anyway.

“Nick?”

I turn back to her. “No,” I say. “I get why you did it, Em.”

“You do?” she asks.

I nod.

“Why?” she continues, surprised. I shake my head, unsure how to explain it. Emma says nothing for a bit, before she adds, “You were so angry with me.” Her words are a whisper, almost as though she’s afraid to say them out loud.

I nod again, knowing the rage I felt a week ago was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Even though it’s still there, it has diminished a little, because while I might have thought my anger was about what she did, I also know it was partly because of what I was unable to do.

Amy’s right, I’ve never been able to talk about what happened to my sister. Not with her, not with my parents and not with Tony. They are the four people, aside from me, who know everything about it, but still I can’t bring myself to talk to them about it all.

I’m not even sure why, except that maybe it’s because Amy and I are twins, or were anyway, and that somehow, we shared a connection that was greater than anything they ever shared with her.

I saw this thing once that said; twins share one mind, but it’s the shared heart that’s the problem. I didn’t get what it meant at first because even though we always joked we knew exactly what the other was thinking; I never actually thought Amy and I shared a mind. We were always our own person, doing our own thing and living our own lives, regardless of how close we were. I thought maybe this saying was more an identical twin thing.

But then everything happened to her.

And after that, I understood it. I understood because I could literally feel the pain she felt; the pain of her suffering became my pain too.

Only then she got to be free of it, and I had to keep on suffering.

But then there’s the guilt of it all too. The guilt of that night, which is probably the real reason I can’t ever talk about it.

“Nick?” Emma whispers, squeezing my hand.

I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile before saying, “Amy told me I was an idiot for not telling you.”

“Amy?” she asks, confused.

My smile widens a little as I imagine Emma thinks I’ve truly lost my mind and am somehow now communicating with my dead sister. “Amy, her friend. It’s where I was last week.”

“Oh,” she says.

I nod. “She told me I was an idiot, especially after all the confusion with the tattoo and stuff. She couldn’t understand why I hadn’t told you everything.”

Emma nods as though she understands. “Why didn’t you?” she asks carefully.

I take a deep breath, letting it out in a long exhale. “I don’t know,” I tell her, even though deep down, I know exactly why. “It’s just…it’s just not something I ever want to talk about.”

“So why are you okay with this morning?”

I lift our hands, pulling them towards my mouth as I press a kiss to the back of one of hers. I offer her a small smile, kissing her skin again before saying, “And you always thought it would be your job that would ruin this.”

“Nick,” Emma whispers, moving her chair around so she’s sitting beside me. She uncurls one of her hands, sliding it onto my cheek as she turns me to face her. “Nothing is ruined,” she whispers.

“Are you sure about that?” I whisper back, not certain I can believe her.

Emma nods. “I’m sure,” she says, before leaning in to kiss me.

~ Emma

After we’ve finished our coffees, I take Nick home. I try to convince him to fill the sleeping tablet prescription, but he resists, practically begging me not to force him.

A part of me gets it; especially now I know the pills were a tool in Amy’s death. But the other part of me knows he can’t go on not getting any sleep either.

We spend the afternoon on the couch, neither of us saying much, the conversation we started back in the coffee shop, somehow getting left behind as we walked out the door.

I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to bring all of the bad memories back to his home or because despite our time with Adrian, he’s still not really ready to talk about things. Either way, the second we walk into his apartment, we are back to how things were last night. How things have been for the past week.

Nick is quiet and withdrawn, barely looking at me as he lies on the couch and watches a TV show that he isn’t even paying attention to. I try to continue what we started, but his one-word answers soon become nods and shakes of the head. His silence telling me more than anything else can.

Eventually I give up and wander into the kitchen to make us some dinner that I know he’ll barely eat. I find the screwed up sleeping pill prescription in the garbage and as I reach for it, it crosses my mind that I could force him to take these if I really wanted to. Hell, I could slip one into his beer and he’d never even know.

I know I won’t though, because that’s a line even I won’t cross.

After dinner, during which I somehow manage to get Nick to eat half of what I make him, I return to the kitchen, stalling with the cleaning so I can text Tony.

Me: hey, how’s things?

Tony: all good, bar’s covered this week. How’s Nick?

I take a deep breath, glancing quickly into the living room and Nick lying on the couch. He’s barely paying attention to the TV, let alone the fact I’m not there.

Me: the same.

Tony: shit…how are you?

The half laugh escapes before I can stop it.

Me: the same.

I see the bubbles of Tony’s typing pop up and disappear for what feels like ages until eventually the message comes through.

Tony: he needs help Em. I know you want to give him that, but I think it’s reached the point where he needs professional help. He won’t go, he doesn’t believe it can help, but it’s what he needs. I’m not trying to be a dick here, I know you care about him, a lot. I do too and I just want him to start dealing with this. Finally face everything that’s happened and deal with it.

All of the air leaves my lungs as relief washes over me. I type quickly, needing to respond.

Me: believe me, I feel the same way. I actually took him to see someone this morning.

Tony’s response is quick. A shrink??? Seriously??

Me: yes.

Tony: SHIT! How’d he take that??

I pause, glancing again at Nick to check he hasn’t noticed me. But he hasn’t, his eyes fixed on the TV.

Me: mmm I don’t know. He stayed, he talked…a little anyway. Says he’s going to go back.

Tony: fuck, good on you Em, seriously. I never thought he’d do that.

Me: he needs sleep too, but he won’t take anything so he can.

Tony: you know he never will. He can’t, not after Amy.

I nod, even though Tony can’t see me.

Tony: just be there for him, sleep will come.

I let out a long exhale, wondering when that time will be.

Me: yeah I hope so. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You’ll let me know if you need help with the bar? I’m off work at the moment and can always help out.

Tony: It’s all good, Emma, seriously. And thank you.

Me: for what?

Tony doesn’t respond straight away and I can only assume it’s because he’s had to go. Even though he says he doesn’t need my help with the bar, I can’t help but wonder if that’s really true, if maybe I shouldn’t go downstairs one night and offer to help out for a bit.

I don’t know how Nick would feel about that and I’m not sure how comfortable I’d feel about leaving him up here alone either. I’m certain he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself, but there’s also a part of me that knows, despite his reluctance to talk, he can’t be on his own right now.

I slide my phone into my pocket and head back to the living room. Just as I’m about to sit down, my phone vibrates with another text.

Tony: for walking into his bar that night.

 ~ Nick

The nightmare is different tonight. This time there’s no body in the bathtub and no blood on the floor. In its place is me, sitting on the bathroom floor, the room completely empty except for a dripping tap, the noise echoing off the white tiles. My body feels paralysed with fear for some reason and when I look up, I see Emma standing in the doorway, watching me.

I try to reach for her, but I can’t move my arms. When I open my mouth to speak, no words come out. Emma stares back at me, a strange look on her face as she says something I can’t hear before closing the door and plunging the whole room into darkness.

That’s when I wake up.

What the fuck was that about?

Emma lies asleep beside me. I don’t move, staying in bed as I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling and try to work out what this dream could possibly mean.

If it means anything at all.

The shrink never asked me about the nightmares I’ve been having. He never even asked me about how I was sleeping, just tried to give me the tablets. I don’t know if Emma told him or if he could just tell I haven’t been because I look and feel so fucking exhausted.

I can’t take them though, no matter how much I might want to sleep. It’s not just because of Amy and everything that happened with her. It’s the nightmares too. I’m terrified of getting caught in one of them and not being able to wake up. Right now it’s the only escape I have.

I look over at Emma again, wonder how the hell she is still here. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me right now, how much worse it’s going to get when she finds out the truth.

I’m ruining us with all the shit that I can’t seem to deal with, but I know I’m going to destroy her when she finds out the reasons.

I exhale, knowing I’m not getting back to sleep tonight. I slide out of bed and wander into the living room. I skip the TV this time, instead grabbing my phone and headphones. I scroll through my music, looking for something to distract me, before leaning back on the couch and waiting for morning to come.

~ Emma

The next few weeks pass in much the same way. Nick still doesn’t sleep or talk much, but he doesn’t spend his nights endlessly drinking in front of the TV either. I don’t know what inspired the change, but it feels like a tiny step in the right direction at least.

I go back to work too, and while I try not to worry about him being at home alone in his apartment, I know I’m still distracted enough by thoughts of him that I do. I don’t mess up as much as before, but I can feel Jason watching me. Part of me thinks it’s to make sure I don’t kill anyone and part of me knows it’s because he’s dying to ask me about it all. I’m sure he and Adrian have talked, but I’m confident Adrian won’t break the doctor patient confidentiality thing.

So I force myself to focus, to ignore Jason’s looks and silent questions and to do my job so I can go back to Nick’s apartment and do my job there. Tony and Amy both offer to drop in and check on him during the day and I tell them they should, hoping Nick actually lets them in. I also tell Tony to try and convince him to go back to work, or at least sit down there with him during a shift, but it doesn’t seem to work. For whatever reason, Nick doesn’t answer the door when they visit him, and he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with the bar either.

The disconnect from his friends his bad enough, but given the bar was always his and Amy’s dream and his last tangible connection to her, ignoring that just feels wrong.

“You okay?” I ask, just as I always do when we walk into Adrian’s office.

Nick nods unconvincingly. Even though it’s been a couple of weeks since we started this, he’s just as uneasy as he was that very first we walked in here. No amount of reassurance from me seems to change that.

I squeeze his hand. “You sure you want me to keep coming in with you?” I ask, knowing that while he hasn’t yet talked about the details of what happened to Amy or the night she died, it’s really only a matter of time. Things might have improved with him at least talking, but I know there’s still a long way to go. And as much as it pains me to admit this, I also know that before we can get back to anything resembling normal again, things are going to get much worse first.

“Yes,” he says quickly, turning to look at me. “Will you?”

“Of course.”

As always, Adrian greets us warmly, ushering us inside and offering us the same couch he always does. He once again asks Nick how he’s feeling and how he’s been sleeping since we last spoke.

“The same,” is all he replies.

Adrian nods before reaching for his notebook. “Okay, well it’s going to take some time,” he says, skipping the spiel he normally gives him about the sleeping tablets. “And I’m not going to lie and say it’s going to be easy, because it won’t be. But the more we keep talking about things, the sooner that break will come.”

Nick nods, his eyes on the floor as his foot nervously taps away. I can tell he isn’t really convinced and I know the longer he doesn’t believe what Adrian is telling him, the harder this is going to be. But I also know that no one can force him either. That nothing is going to get better until Nick decides he’s ready for things to get better.

As impatient as we all might be, the only thing we can do is wait.

“Nick,” Adrian says, waiting until he looks up before continuing. “I am here to help you, you do know that, right?”

Nick swallows hard. “Yes.”

“And you do want to get help, don’t you? You want to be able to move past this?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Adrian says, nodding as though he’s glad they can agree on at least that. “So, can we talk about the night that all this started then?”

Nick tenses beside me, his whole body freezing. “What?”

Adrian offers a kind smile. “Can you tell me about the night Amy was…”

“Don’t,” Nick says, cutting him off.

Adrian nods as though he gets it, but says nothing more.

“Do we have to?” Nick asks, the words barely audible.

“You know we do, Nick,” Adrian says.

Shit. It’s time.

About A Year And Three Months Before That Night…

~ Nick

“Amy!!” I yell, in an effort to be heard above the music. Tony grins, shaking his head as he walks past, a carton of beer in his arms. “Amy!?”

“What? Jesus, stop yelling,” she eventually says as she walks out of the kitchen.

“Kinda hard not to with the music so loud,” I say, gesturing towards the jukebox.

Amy rolls her eyes at me before wandering over and somehow turning it down. “Okay grandpa, better?” she asks, smirking. “What’s up?”

“Smart arse,” I murmur. “Is Zach here yet?”

Amy exhales, running a hand through her hair. “No, not yet. But he has texted to say he’s on his way.”

“On his way?” I ask. “He’s two fucking hours late.”

“I know, I know,” she says nodding. “Last straw, right?”

“Yes, last straw,” I tell her. “We can’t keep letting him get away with this. We’re trying to run a business here, not a fucking charity.”

Amy slides onto a barstool. “I know we are,” she says. “What do you want me to do, tell him now or after his shift?”

“We tell him now and there won’t be a shift,” I say. “But there also won’t be any food tonight.”

“So after then?” she says, as the door opens and Zach finally walks in. “You’re late,” Amy immediately says to him.

“I know,” he says, hands up in some half-arsed apology. “I’m sorry, okay? I just lost track of time.”

It’s a bullshit excuse, he knows it and we know it. I’m not sure why we’ve let him get away with it in the past, but Amy’s right, this is the last straw. We’ve worked too long and too hard to get this place open to have him fuck it up by showing up to work whenever he feels like it.

“I’ve made a start on the prep,” she continues. “But you’re going to need to pull your finger out to get things ready for tonight.”

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s pissed off at the way Amy is talking to him. His reaction pisses me off though. Not just his lack of respect for the job, but his lack of respect for her too.

“Zach,” I call out as he heads back to the kitchen to finally start working.

“Yeah?” he says, stopping as he looks back.

“After your shift tonight,” I say. “We need to have a talk.”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say right before he’s about to start work, but if the guy doesn’t already know he’s walking a fine line of remaining employed, then he’s fucking dumber than I thought. Even if me saying this to him now only serves to piss him off even more, I don’t care. He doesn’t get to speak to Amy like that, nor treat her the way he does.

“Okay?” I ask, when he doesn’t respond.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles as he heads back to the kitchen.

“So, before his shift then?” Amy asks, eyebrows raised in question.

I let out a long exhale. “I know, sorry. I just…he just pisses me off with that fucking attitude of his. Like we are somehow doing him a favour with this.”

Amy nods and I know she feels the same way. “Yeah, he’s a dick, I’ll give you that. Bad choice hiring him, but let’s just get through tonight and then we can sort it all out.”

“Yeah,” I say, wondering if it’s going to be that easy.

“Looks like your girlfriend is back?” Amy says, smiling at me as the bar continues to fill with customers.

“What?”

She nods towards the end of the bar, at the ladies standing around, laughing and chatting, and waiting to be served. One of them, the one Amy is referring to because she was in here last weekend, catches my eye and smiles at me. I automatically smile back, even as I feel Amy nudge me in the ribs.

“I think she likes you,” she says, laughing.

“I think you’re making shit up,” I say, turning away.

“Bullshit,” Amy says, pushing me towards them. “You forget, Nick,” she says, tapping her temple. “I know everything, especially when it comes to you.”

I roll my eyes at her, even though I’m smiling. “Whatever,” I reply, as I head down the bar to serve them all. The woman in question is still watching me, maybe wondering about the exact nature of Amy’s and my relationship. I don’t offer an explanation as I ask what I can get them, but I don’t miss the glance at my ring finger either.

She’s pretty and would probably be my type if I were interested in having one. As it is right now, I’m just interested in having fun. I have no desire to have a serious girlfriend and definitely no plans to settle down. But if she’s on board for some casual fun, then I’m game.

I spend the rest of the night talking and flirting with her. The friends she’s with all seem to be encouraging her, which I take as a good sign, and even though we are busy, I spend most of my time hanging down her end of the bar.

I catch Tony grinning at me, while Amy shakes her head as if to say I told you so. It’s not like either of those two can talk, they’ve been flirting with each other ever since we decided to open this bar. And if I was tell Amy I know everything about her too, like how much she fancies Tony, I’ve got no doubt I’d get the same reaction I gave her when she suggested it to me.

“Your friends leave?” I ask the woman, later in the night.

She nods as she slides back onto her bar stool. “They did,” she confirms. “Gone to the club down the road.”

I nod, knowing that’s where most of the customers who want to party go after we close for the night. “You didn’t want to go with them?” I ask, smiling at her.

She returns the smile. “That depends,” she says coyly.

“On what?” I ask, grinning.

She leans forward on her barstool, giving me a better view of her cleavage. It’s not hard to miss with how low cut her top is, but I take advantage anyway. “On whether you’d be interested in coming with me,” she says, eyes on mine.

I chuckle. “Not really a club kinda guy,” I tell her.

She offers up a small pout, as though that’s somehow going to convince me. It won’t, but I am prepared to make her a counteroffer that might be equally appealing.

“You could always come back to my place?” I say casually, as though it’s no big deal. And it isn’t. Because like I said, I’m not looking for a girlfriend here.

“Is it far?” she asks as the pout is replaced with a smile.

I grin. “Not at all.”

“Okay,” she says, her smile widening.

I grin back at her, just as I notice Zach walk out of the kitchen and help himself to a beer. “Shit, just give me a sec, will you?” I ask, already turning away.

I walk down the bar towards him, watch as he twists the cap off his beer, throwing it towards the bucket. It misses, bouncing off the rim and landing on the floor, but Zach makes no effort to pick it up, instead leaning back and drinking.

“Consider this your last shift,” I say, moving so I’m standing in front of him.

Zach’s eyes widen, even as the bottle is still at his mouth. “What the fuck?” he asks, lowering it.

“You’re done, Zach,” I tell him. “Get your things and go.”

“What the fuck did I do?” he asks, finishing his beer. He goes to grab another, but I jam my foot against the fridge door, stopping him.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

He rolls his eyes, slamming the empty beer bottle on the back counter. “Ah, yeah,” he says sarcastically.

I shake my head. “Well for one thing, you haven’t been on time for a single shift since you started working here.”

“Bullshit,” he immediately says, straightening.

I shake my head again. “No, you haven’t. But what’s worse is your attitude. This chip on your shoulder as though the world owes you everything or something,” I add. “It doesn’t owe you shit and neither do we.”

“Fuck you,” he spits out, stepping towards me. “You’re an arsehole.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think about me,” I continue, gritting my teeth as I face off against him. “But you will apologise to Amy.”

“For what?” he asks incredulously.

I roll my eyes, at both his stupidity and his ignorance. “Because you work for her,” I tell him. “And you’ve done nothing but be a pain in the arse since you started. You’re late, your work ethic sucks and you have no respect for her.” I pause, waiting to see if he has anything to say. When he doesn’t, I continue. “An apology is the very least you could do.”

Zach shakes his head, picking up the now empty beer bottle and hurling it into the sink against the back counter of the bar. It smashes, the noise loud even with the music and the chatter of the last remaining customers.

“I don’t owe either of you shit,” he says. “And you’re gonna regret this, I promise you,” he adds before walking off.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, shaking my head as I watch Zach walk back into the kitchen. A small part of me hopes he is going in there to apologise to Amy, but the bigger part of me knows he’s probably just gone in there to get his things and leave.

I give him ten minutes, hoping that I’ll be proven wrong, but when I finally walk out there, I can see Amy, scrubbing down the stove and no sign of Zach.

“He’s gone,” she says, as she glances over her shoulder.

“Fuck,” I murmur. “I’m guessing he just walked out?”

Amy offers a half laugh. “Well, there were a lot of swear words said, but yeah, pretty much.”

“An apology?” I ask.

“Pfft,” she says, straightening. She blows a strand of hair from her face, the curl immediately falling back. “As if.”

“I’m sorry, Aims,” I say, stepping closer. “I’ll help you with close up tonight.”

Amy snorts. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “It’s my turn, I’ll do it. Besides,” she adds, grinning, “looks like you might have other plans for tonight.”

I watch as her eyes flick in the direction of the main room, the small window from the kitchen giving me a glimpse of the woman who’s spent all night sitting at my bar, flirting with me. The same woman I’m about to take upstairs to my bed.

“Like she’s important,” I say.

“Nick,” Amy says, stepping towards me now. “It’s all good, really. Go, have some fun with her. And hey, you never know, maybe this one might actually mean something.”

I laugh now, even as I shake my head. “No chance of that,” I tell her.

Amy grins. “We’ll see,” she says. “One day it will happen. One day, a woman will walk into this bar and you won’t be able to say no to her.”

I shake my head, even as I lean in and give her a quick hug. I’m happy to let my sister continue thinking that one night I’ll miraculously find the woman of my dreams when she walks into our bar. I know better than to correct her, know better than to say that it’s never going to happen.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Amy nods. “Yeah, you will. Love you.”

“Love you too, Aims,” I say, before turning and walking out.

My phone sounds out, the combination of it vibrating on the side table and the loud ring startling us both. She freezes above me as I reach over to silence it.

“Just ignore it,” I tell her, my hands on her hips as if to encourage her to continue what she was doing before the interruption.

“Scared the shit out of me,” she says, hands on my chest.

I grin. “Me too.”

She smiles back as she starts to move again, but almost immediately my phone starts up again, the vibrations sending it off the edge of the table where it lands with a thud on the wooden floor.

It continues to ring, the noisy vibration making it difficult to enjoy what’s going on above me. Finally it stops, only to immediately start up again. At the same time, I hear a loud pounding on my front door. Whoever it is has managed to unlock the door at the bottom of the stairs, meaning it can only be my sister, my parents or Tony.

I’m not sure which option freaks me out more.

“Sounds like someone’s trying to get hold of you,” she says as she stops and glances back at the living room as though she expects them to walk in.

“It’s cool,” I say, fingers digging into her skin. “They’ll give up soon.”

“Nick?!” Tony’s voice echoes through the apartment, only slightly muffled by the distance and the front door.

“You sure about that?”

The pounding sounds up again, as my phone once more starts vibrating and Tony yells, “Nick, open the fucking door.”

“Fuck,” I grumble, sitting up as I ease her off me. I pull on some track pants as I grab my phone from the floor, silencing the third missed call from Tony. “Wait here,” I say, walking out of the bedroom and through my apartment.

I yank open the front door. “What the fuck is going on?” I ask, moving back a little as I narrowly avoid getting punched in the face as Tony resumes his pounding.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he spits out.

I shrug, waving a hand in the air as if to say what do you think?

Tony rolls his eyes at me. “You need to come downstairs,” he says. “Right now.”

I exhale; not quite understanding what this is all about. “What the fuck is going on Tony?” I ask. From the corner of my eye I see the woman who seconds ago was naked and astride my hips, now dressed and walking into my living room. There’s a look of embarrassment on her face, as though we’re a couple of teenagers who have been caught out by their parents.

“I think I should go,” she murmurs, clutching her shoes and bag.

I hold out a hand to stop her as Tony says, “That would be a good idea.”

I shoot him a what the fuck look, but instead of apologising, he gets right in my face and says “You need to get dressed and get downstairs now. It’s Amy,” he adds as though sensing my confusion. “Something really bad has happened.”

Instantly all of the blood in my veins turns to ice, my heart stopping as though it too has been frozen in my chest at his words. Without saying anything more, I immediately turn and run back to my room, pulling on the first clothes I can find.

It takes only seconds but by the time I’m back at the front door, the woman has gone and Tony is standing there, a grim expression on his face, almost as though now he’s told me, he wishes he could take it all back.

And when we get downstairs and I see Amy, bloodied, bruised and bundled up in a blanket on the couch in my office, I realise why.

This isn’t just really bad.

This is totally fucked up.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Tony says as I immediately sit down and pull Amy into my arms. She flinches at my touch, her whole body cowering as she sinks further into the blanket.

“Nick,” he says, his voice hard.

I glance up, nod once as I say, “Call an ambulance.”

Tony shakes his head. “My car’s out the back, let’s go.”

I briefly consider arguing with him, but as Amy starts to shake, silent tears streaming down her face, I know he’s right. So standing, I gently bend down and scoop her into my arms. As I do, the blanket falls partly away and that’s when I register exactly what’s happened.

The torn clothing.

The exposed skin.

The cuts and scrapes and bruises everywhere.

There’s blood on her thighs and when my eyes find it, the knowledge of what’s been done to her hits me so hard I almost drop her.

“Nick,” Tony repeats, covering her back up. I look at him, seen my own terror reflected back in his face. “We need to go,” he says. “We need to take care of her.”

I nod, following him out to the car, where I slide into the backseat, still cradling Amy in my arms. Neither of us speaks as we drive the short distance to the hospital, but I hear Tony on his phone, talking to what I quickly figure out must be my parents.

A part of me is relived that he’s taking care of this, that I don’t have to explain what’s happened or where we are going. But the other part of me is scared shitless. Scared about what’s going to happen when they find out.

Tony pulls into the emergency entrance, slamming on the breaks. My arms tighten around Amy as we slide forward and she winces as though in pain.

“Sorry,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her head.

Inside, Tony does all the talking while I stand there, Amy in my arms. I can feel the eyes of the waiting area on me, the judgment of the nurses as their glances flick between Tony and us.

Before I know it, a trolley is wheeled out and Amy is all but pulled from my arms as a female nurse gently eases her onto it. She moans as though in pain and I start to follow them but am immediately told to wait. My mouth opens in protest but any words I might have are silenced by Tony’s hand on my arm, the firm, “Nick,” that follows.

By the time the nurse and what I assume is a doctor comes back, my parents have arrived. They’ve thrown a million questions at me, none of which I can answer. Instead I’ve stood silently by, watching as Tony recounted the events of what happened.

How he’d driven to the bank to drop the money in the all-night safe while Amy locked up. He’d planned to go back and help her, especially as Zach had walked out. He’d only been gone for maybe fifteen minutes but how somehow, during that time, Amy had been attacked. She’d been lying on the kitchen floor when he’d come back. Her clothing torn and blood all over the place. All over her.

There were smashed plates everywhere, a knife lying beside her as though she’d fought against whoever it was that had done this.

Tony had immediately grabbed the blanket from the couch in my office, bundling Amy up before taking her back there and then gone to look for me.

“Where were you?” my mum had asked, the pain in her eyes almost too much.

I couldn’t answer, instead, shaking my head as I’d all but crumpled to the floor in agony. I had no idea what answer Tony had given them, but the next thing I knew, the doctor was standing in front of us.

I force myself to stand and meet her stare. She looks worn out and exhausted, not offering a smile as she looks at each of us in the eye before saying, “We should talk in private.”

My dad nods, my mum letting out a sob as he slides an arm around her shoulders, pulls her close and they both follow the doctor. I can’t move, my feet rooted to the floor because I know as soon as I do, as soon as I follow them to wherever the doctor is leading us, everything is going to get so much worse.

“Nick,” Tony says, glancing back.

I shake my head. “I can’t,” I whisper.

Tony walks back towards me, grabbing my arm and squeezing. I have no idea how he can be so calm and sane right now, when everything inside me is practically screaming to be let out. To find whoever it was that did this to her and fucking kill them for it.

“You have to,” he says. “For her.”

I swallow hard, forcing the razor blades that seem to have lodged inside my throat down into my chest where they immediately take up residence inside my heart.

“Come on,” he says, pulling on my arm until I start to follow him. My legs feel like lead as they lead me to what I know is going to be hell. I have to remind myself that whatever this is though, it’s nothing compared to what Amy must be going through.

When we’re all finally inside a small room, the doctor and some other lady who has joined us, both turn and face us.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” the doctor says as it occurs to me that we don’t even know her name. How can she possibly say any of this without telling us her name?

Mum sobs once, as Dad pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. I turn to Tony, whose face is buried in his hands as he sinks into a chair.

“What?” I ask, turning back to the stranger.

“Amy,” she says again, stepping a fraction closer as though she senses my fear. “She’s been raped.”

Back To This Night…

~ Emma

Neither Adrian nor I interrupt Nick as he recounts the events from the night of Amy’s rape. Watching him though, the way he struggles to get the words out as silent tears stream down his cheeks, is almost unbearable. I’ve never seen him in this much pain before, never felt the anguish that pours off him as he tells his story. And it’s only as he does, that I realise the full extent of what he’s been through, what he’s still going through now.

This is so much more than just grief and guilt. This is trauma.

Blunt force trauma.

When he’s finally finished he stands, pushes both hands through his hair and walks towards the full-length window on the far side of the office. He stops in front of it, stares out at the street below and even though his back is to us, I can see that this has been one of the most difficult things he’s ever had to do.

“You okay?” Adrian says quietly as he hands me the box of tissues.

I turn to him; see the concern on his face as I shake my head and realise I’m also crying.

He nods, as though he understands. “First time hearing this?”

I nod, not knowing what to say or why he’s so concerned about me when it’s Nick who’s the one struggling here.

“Why don’t I give you both a minute,” he continues, gesturing towards Nick as though telling me what I need to do.

I swallow, only managing another nod as Adrian gets up and quietly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. I turn back to Nick, who’s still staring out the window, hands clasped behind his head. His body is tense, even though I’d expected him to be crumpling to the floor in exhaustion by now.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to stand and walk over to him. I gently place a hand on his back and feel him stiffen beneath me before he releases a long breath. I step closer and slide my arms around his waist and press against him, resting my cheek between his shoulder blades.

Even like this, I can still feel the pounding of his heart, the deep breaths he continues to take, as though he’s trying to calm himself down. I say nothing in response; just hold him against me and hope that he understands.

Eventually he lowers his hands, scrubbing them down his face before turning in my arms so he’s facing me. I offer him a smile, which isn’t returned, before he pulls me against him, crushing me against his chest in a tight hug.

His heart crashes against my cheek now, pounding in a rhythm that’s too fast to even count.

I have no idea what to say to him, what words I can possibly offer that will be of any comfort right now. I’m not sure I ever fully realised the extent of his grief, at the huge amount of blame he places on himself for everything that happened that night, or the guilt he still carries for it all to this day.

“Nick?” Adrian asks and both of us pull back, surprised because we didn’t realise he was in the room again.

Nick looks at him but says nothing.

“You okay?” he asks, which seems like a ridiculous question given everything Nick’s just told him. Nick shakes his head and Adrian nods in response. “I know it’s going to seem like telling me all of that has made everything worse,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “But I promise you it hasn’t. Giving voice to these feelings, these fears and this blame, actually lessens their impact. It removes the power they have over you until one day, when you’ve said them many times, they will no longer seem as terrifying.”

Nick and I both sit down, my hand in his as he struggles to stay calm beside me.

Adrian watches both of us, saying nothing for a moment before continuing. “It’s only when we bury our pain and our grief that it continues to haunt us and hold us in its grip.”

Nick opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch before he clears his throat and he tries again. “If I’d never said those things to Zach,” he eventually gets out, the words husky and strained. “If I’d never been with that girl. If I’d just…if…” he trails off as his voice cracks with emotion. I slide closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his head falls.

“Zach did this?” I whisper, immediately regretting it when I see Nick’s face contort in pain.

“Nick, I know you want to believe that you saying those things were the cause of all this,” Adrian says, ignoring my question as he leans forward slightly and speaks to Nick. “But it’s simply not true. Nothing you did or didn’t do that night caused those things to happen to Amy. That was all the choice and the fault of Zach, and Zach alone.” Nick shakes his head as though he doesn’t believe what Adrian is saying to him. “Tell me something?” he continues. “Did they ever catch him?”

Nick looks up now, meeting Adrian’s stare. “Eventually,” he says. “My dad, he’s…he’s a detective and…”

“And he didn’t stop until he’d caught him?” Adrian offers.

Nick nods. “He wasn’t officially on the case, he couldn’t be, but yeah. He made sure they got him.”

“And how did Amy feel when this happened?” he asks.

I turn to look at Nick, see the anguish on his face deepen. “It was too late,” he says. “She was already gone by the time it happened.”

Adrian nods, but says nothing more. Nick buries his face in his hands now as though it’s all too much. I wonder how much more of this he’s going to be forced to relive today, how much longer Adrian is going to put him through the torment of rehashing the past. Even though I know he’s right when he says burying it will never solve anything, there’s a part of me that just wants to let Nick do exactly that.

It’s wrong and I know it, but I also know it’s a form of protection, a coping mechanism. That the only way for Nick to be able to deal with everything that happened, everything he blames himself for, is to bury it so deeply that he can pretend it doesn’t actually exist at all.

Even if he carries the scars of it with him everyday. Not just in the words he has inked on his skin, but the connection he still has to his sister that can never fully be taken away from him.

“I think that might be enough for today,” Adrian eventually says.

I nod and Nick all but collapses against me.

“Before you go though,” he adds, looking at both of us. “Do me a favour?” I nod and both of us turn to Nick whose face is still buried in his hands. Adrian keeps looking at him, even as Nick all but ignores him. “Don’t walk out of here and not talk about what’s been said,” he says. “This isn’t the only place we need to be having these conversations and it’s important that both of you talk to each other as well.”

I nod, wishing it were as simple as that. Nick is silent and Adrian stands, as though he doesn’t expect a response. I pull Nick up with me and after I arrange his next appointment, we head downstairs and out on to the street.

It’s dark when we get outside. Adrian giving us late appointments so that I can still come now that I’m back at work. We skip the coffee shop though and head home. When we get there, Nick walks straight into the bathroom and showers, as though he needs to wash all the things he said and all the things he admitted to, away.

I leave him in peace and instead reheat some leftovers for dinner. When he finally walks into the living room, I’m sitting on the couch waiting for him, a plate of pizza on the coffee table.

“You must think I’m a total arsehole,” he says as he sits down. His face is weary with exhaustion and what might be resignation. His eyes are bloodshot and red too, as though more tears have been shed in the privacy of the shower.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would I think that?”

He half laughs and runs a hand through his wet hair. He hasn’t tied it back like he normally does and the tips of it reach his shoulders, leaving wet patches on his t-shirt.

“Because of where I was,” he says, his voice cold as he watches me. “Who I was with and what we were doing.”

I stare back at him, wondering why of all the things that were said tonight that this is what he’s worried about. Adrian was right before, about us not talking about anything, and as much as I know he’s asked us to do exactly that tonight, I get the feeling this isn’t why Nick is saying these things to me now.

I shake my head, unsure how to respond to this.

“I don’t even remember her fucking name, Emma,” he says, his fingers curling into a fist as they rest along the back of the couch.

“Why would you?” I ask, knowing this isn’t even about her. “After everything that happened,” I continue. “I’m surprised you could remember your own name.”

Nick offers me a wry smile as though he appreciates the effort, but doesn’t actually believe what I’m telling him.

“Makes you think differently about that night we met though, I’ll bet?”

And for a second, despite me knowing this has nothing to do with me either, his words still sting. I know he was a different person back then, he had to have been. What happened with Amy changed him, in so many ways, because there’s no way something like that couldn’t change him. And I’m not judging him for how he once was or what he did or who he was with. I’m not judging him for who he is now either, none of that bothers me.

“Why would you say that?” I ask.

But even as I do, memories of my own reactions from the night we first met float to the surface; my antagonism of him over the bar and his job, or my reaction to his tattoo, and my refusal to stay and let him explain it to me. My anger even, when he finally did track me down at work and then my fear after that first night we slept together. Back then I had thought he was that kind of guy, even if I now know differently.

Nick shrugs. “Because we almost hooked up that night.”

“But we didn’t,” I say.

“But we almost did.”

I stare back at him, wondering why he’s pushing this. “What are you trying to say?” I eventually ask, as a ripple of fear curls through me.

He shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he says, even though I can tell from his eyes that he does. “That I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to bail, that’s all.”

“What?” I ask as that fear now extends, radiating throughout my entire body.

“I’m an arsehole, Emma,” he says, thumping his chest with his fist. “I’m the arsehole who was busy fucking some meaningless girl while his sister was getting beaten and raped by the guy I’d provoked in the first place. I mean it really doesn’t get much worse than that, does it?”

He’s breathless by the time he finishes, his chest heaving as though just getting these words out has been a monumental effort for him. I don’t know what to say to him either, what explanation I can possibly offer to convince him that I don’t see him as being at fault for what happened to Amy. That I’m not judging him for whatever it is he thinks he did that night.

“Look,” he continues, taking a deep breath. “I’m sure this, all this,” he adds, waving a hand between us, “is a lot more than you ever bargained for. And all I’m saying is I’d…I’d get it if you…if you wanted to leave. That’s all.”

All of the air leaves my lungs in one giant rush so my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, crushing my heart beneath it. I feel my hands start to shake, my fingers curling in on themselves as though I can somehow make it stop.

“Is that what you want?” I whisper, my voice shaking.

Nick stares at me, watching me for what feels like forever. “No,” he eventually chokes out, shaking his head.

I swallow hard. “Then why are you trying to push me away?”

Now it’s Nick exhaling hard, running another hand through his hair as his eyes close. “I don’t know,” he says. “Because you deserve so much better than this, Emma.”

I reach for the hand that’s still curled in a fist on the back of the couch. Prying his fingers open, I slide mine over his palm, encircling his wrist.

“I think you do too,” I whisper, brushing a thumb across the beginning of the ink.

He shakes his head as though he doesn’t believe me. “I tried to fight it, you know?” he says, opening his eyes.

“Fight what?”

“Wanting you. Being with you,” he says, offering a half smile. “That night in my bar, when I asked you to stay, I knew it was a mistake. That it was going to ruin me.”

“I was going to ruin you?” I ask, as a lump lodges itself in my throat. I can feel the tears forming, but as much as he’s hurting me with everything he’s saying right now, I know I have to let him continue.

“Yeah,” he says nodding. “I didn’t deserve you. Didn’t deserve to be happy after everything that had happened. I’d been so strong too,” he adds. “Never again breaking my rule about hooking up with a customer.” He stops, his eyes closing again as he takes a deep breath. “But then you walked in,” he whispers, his eyes opening as his fingers encircle my wrist now. “And I couldn’t help myself,” he adds, shrugging a little as he offers me a smile, almost in apology. “I wanted you so badly, even though I didn’t understand why and I knew I didn’t deserve you anyway. Still don’t.”

“Nick,” I breathe out as I slide over and into his lap. I can see he is struggling to keep it together now. That this confession he’s made is slowly pulling at something inside him and unraveling. I have no idea how long he’s thought this, whether he’s always thought it, but as he pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face against my neck, I know that regardless of how long, it is all very, very real to him.

“I’m not that guy anymore, Emma,” he says, his words pleading as though he needs me to believe them.

“I know you’re not,” I tell him, my arms tightening. “Even though there’s nothing wrong with who you were back then anyway.”

I feel his body shudder beneath mine. “You are more than just that night,” he says. “More than that girl ever was, or the ones who came before her.”

I nod against him, unable to get any more words out as he slowly falls apart in my arms. This is different to the night he pulled me from the bathtub. That version of him, that pain…it was shock, disbelief and confusion as he slipped into an almost catatonic state at what he thought he’d walked in on.

This right now though, this feels like anger, punishment and regret, raw guilt at all the things he can’t change and the ways that makes him feel. And even though I know it’s good for him to get these words and thoughts out, it kills me to see him struggling like this.

“We’ve always been different,” I eventually say, my words a whisper against his ear. “I know that, and I think deep down, you know that too.” Nick nods, his body still shaking a little. “I’m not going anywhere, Nick,” I add, knowing that it’s this fear that’s driving this whole confession. “I promise you.”

Nick finally lifts his head and for the second time today, I see tears streaming down his face. He cups my face in his hands now, his eyes searching mine as though he’s looking for answers and trying to believe me.

“I’m not bailing,” I whisper.

Nick nods once before crushing his lips against mine where I can taste the salt of his tears and the desperation as he kisses me.

~ Nick

I dream of that night.

Of me fucking a nameless, faceless girl.

Of my phone constantly ringing.

Of the pounding on the door.

Only this time when I open it, Emma stands on the other side. She looks at me with what I can only describe as sorrow on her face. And as I stare back at her, it feels like I can literally see her heart break at what she’s just discovered about me.

Then she turns and runs, and I wake up.

I lie in the darkness beside her. The apartment is quiet except for her soft breathing. She lies on her stomach, hands beneath the pillow, her face turned in my direction.

She looks like perfection, and I can’t for the life of me understand why she’s still here, how she can even stand to look at me anymore.

Saying all those things to her, all the things I felt and the way I tried to stop myself with her, I could see it hurt her. But a part of me knew she needed to hear it, that if there was ever a way I could give her an out in all of this, it was by saying those things to her.

I didn’t actually want to hurt her, but I knew I needed to give her a chance to leave, to walk away and forget she ever met me. Like she tried to do on that very first night.

How differently things would’ve been had I been able to ignore my heart and follow my brain back then. But I hadn’t, instead doing the complete opposite, knowing the whole time that it was wrong of me to ever think I deserved a life with her.

But I’d done it anyway and in doing so, I’d found her, somehow convinced her I wasn’t the arsehole she thought I was, even if it was all a big fat lie.

Yet despite all the things she now knows about me, she stays, only confirming once again why I don’t deserve her in my life and how I’m not only an arsehole, but also a selfish bastard for continuing to hang on to her.

I roll onto my side so I’m facing her, watch as my fingers gently brush a path down her spine. She exhales at the touch, her body moving a tiny bit closer. I repeat the movement and this time her eyes open, finding me in the dark.

She offers a small smile as one of her hands slips out from beneath the pillow and brushes against my cheek.

“Sorry,” I whisper, the apology for so much more than just waking her up.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back.

My fingers run down her spine again and her eyes slowly close as though she’s going back to sleep.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, opening them.

“Of course,” I say, swallowing hard as I wonder what it is she needs to know in this moment.

“That night we met,” she continues. “When you threw that guy out, the one who…”

“I know who you mean,” I quickly say.

She smiles again. “Is this why you reacted so strongly?” she asks. “Why you were so angry about what he was doing?”

I exhale, sliding closer as my hand smoothes across her lower back. Emma turns so she’s lying on her side facing me.

“Yes,” I eventually say, knowing my reaction was a combination of many things, not just about him harassing Emma when she so clearly didn’t want his attention.

“You are a good man, Nick,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

As I slide my hand up her back and hold her against me, I wish this could be the perfect time to tell her all the other things I want to say to her. The good things, like all the ways I feel about her in this very moment. About how Amy was right when she said that one day it would happen. That someone would walk in to my bar and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

But it’s about as imperfect as it gets, so I don’t say anything, just pull her closer and allow myself to get lost in her for a while, knowing that things are going to get far worse before they will ever come close to being perfect.

~ Emma

Adrian calls me the next morning, asking how Nick is. I try to explain the pain I can see he’s in and how him talking about that night only seems to have made it worse.

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” I ask, even though I know it’s a ridiculous question.

“You know it is, Emma,” Adrian says, his words kind. “And you have to keep him talking,” he adds. “Don’t pressure it, but if he opens up, let him talk, encourage it.”

I nod, even thought Adrian can’t see me. “Yeah, we talked more when we got back,” I say, wondering if he expects me to elaborate on it all.

It feels like a betrayal of trust, telling Adrian all those things Nick said last night about me and us and that other girl. I don’t want him to judge Nick for anything and I definitely don’t want Nick to feel any worse than I know he already does.

“That’s good,” he says. “You should also try to encourage him to start doing normal things again.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Getting up, going out, seeing his friends,” Adrian suggests. “I’m not saying it has to all be back to normal straight away, but don’t let him sit around at home doing nothing.”

“I’ve tried,” I say, knowing that my suggestions are shut down every single time. It’s like he no longer cares about his friends or the bar.

“It doesn’t have to be much,” Adrian says. “Just find a way to introduce it all slowly,” he adds. “Carefully.”

“Yes.”

“You can even be…” Adrian trails off, as though he isn’t sure what he’s about to say next is a good idea.

“Be what?” I prompt, knowing I’m willing to try anything at this stage.

“Mmm, slightly covert about it,” he says, almost as though it’s a suggestion. I’m nodding at his words, an idea immediately forming for a way in which to do exactly that. “And you should know,” he quickly adds. “That’s me being a friend saying that, not a doctor.”

I smile. “It’s all good,” I tell him, knowing the fine line he’s walking. “I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”

~ Nick

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Emma asks as she walks into the kitchen, sliding her phone into her pocket.

I wonder who it is that called her this early.

“I’m okay,” I say, trying for a smile.

Emma slides her arms around my waist. “Bad one last night, huh?”

I nod as I lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head. This is so much more than I deserve.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, resting her cheek against my chest.

“No,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “They’re all the same anyway. It’s nothing new,” I add, knowing that’s part truth and part lie. I knew it was going to be a bad one last night. After everything I’d been forced to talk about with Adrian at my last appointment, how could it not be?

I’d been expecting the worse and that’s exactly what I’d gotten. That and more. God, opening the front door to find Emma standing on the other side of it had been fucking awful. The look on her face, a look that screamed disappointment and disgust at everything she now knew about me.

Emma pulls back and looks up at me, one arm sliding out so she can brush her hand across my cheek. “I can stay home if you want me to,” she says. “It’s okay.”

I smile down at her, closing my eyes as I lean in and press a kiss to her mouth. “It’s okay, really,” I whisper, knowing I can’t ask her to do that, no matter how much I might want to. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Emma kisses me once more before pulling back. She watches me now with a look of uncertainty, as though she doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying but knows I’m not in the mood to argue about it.

“Okay,” she eventually says, pressing up on her toes to kiss me again. “Call me if you need me though, I’ll have my phone with me all day.”

I nod, smiling as I walk her to the door.

After she leaves, I walk back into the kitchen to make myself some strong coffee, knowing I’m going to need it if I want to make it through the day. It’s one thing to fall asleep when she’s around, but it’s totally different doing it when she’s not. As bad as it is that I wake her so often, at least she’s there to pull me from the nightmare, to comfort me when I wake up. When she’s gone and it happens, it’s harder to convince myself that it’s only a dream; something I can actually wake up from.

Oscar follows me into the living room and both of us park it on the couch. I turn on the TV, my eyes focusing on the news program that my brain is not taking in.

Before long though, I’m thinking back to the night I met Emma. The night she walked into my bar and changed everything. But right around the time I remember us in my office, me sitting across from her after she’d ended her call with Sarah, is when things start to change.

At first it’s just a bruise on her arm that wasn’t really there that night. But even though I notice it, it doesn’t stop me from kissing her. When she pulls me onto the couch and on top of her, I pull back, expecting to see her smiling up me. Instead, I see make up smeared across her face that wasn’t there that night.

Then she does smile at me and everything is forgotten as she pulls me closer, her hands sliding up my back, under my t-shirt and over my skin. I groan, forgetting about the anomalies as I let her pull it off me, just like she did that night.

“You okay,” I whisper, her hands on my chest. I know what comes next and even though I know it isn’t going to be good, this time at least, I know I can imagine a different ending to that night.

“Mmmm,” Emma murmurs, smiling as her eyes follow a path to her hands.

And that’s when everything about that night really does change.

Because Emma doesn’t just freeze at what she sees tattooed into my skin, she morphs into something else entirely. Suddenly the woman I’m afraid to let go of, lies bruised and broken beneath me. Her cloths torn and her skin bruised and bleeding as her bloodied fingernails dig into my skin as though she’s trying to rip it off me.

“Emma?” I ask as panic flares through me.

She opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

“Emma, no,” I repeat, the fear uncurling in my gut and seeping through me. I roll off her, my body landing with a thud on the floor beside the couch.

Suddenly I wake up, my body shaking and covered in sweat like it always is.

Fucking hell.

I fell asleep again and that wasn’t me remembering the night Emma and I met, that was me having another fucking nightmare; a nightmare that seemed to morph the past into the present in order to screw with me in yet another way.

I spend the rest of the day lying on the couch, practically mainlining coffee in an attempt to stay awake until she comes home. As the hours tick by though, a part of me can’t help but wonder when this miracle cure Adrian keeps promising me is ever going to happen. When there will ever come a time that I don’t fear going to sleep or even just having the conversations I’m expected to have about that night.

But more than anything, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, I’m just too broken to ever be fixed, and if so, if maybe Emma isn’t just better off without me.

When Emma gets home from work, she somehow manages to convince me we should go out for dinner. She makes up some excuse about not having any food in the house because she hasn’t had time to go to the shops. I’m not sure if that’s a dig at the fact that she’s back working all day while I sit on my arse and do nothing, but it’s enough to make me say yes, even though going out is the last thing I want.

We don’t venture far, just a quiet café at the end of the street. Over dinner she tries to ask me about the nightmare I had last night and I force myself to tell her that it really was no big deal. I don’t bother mentioning the second nightmare I had after she left, because I really don’t need her thinking she needs to stop working to look after me.

I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t bring myself to confess about this latest dream. The one filled with visions of her and not my sister, lying on my couch, her body broken as though all those awful things Zach did to Amy were instead done to Emma. I don’t like the fact that in this new version of events it happens while I’m kissing her. Fuck knows, I don’t want to think about whatever shit that is supposed to mean either.

Emma doesn’t push and I’m grateful. Instead I turn things around and ask her about her day. Even though I know she knows it’s a diversion, she still talks, and we somehow manage to spend the rest of our meal focusing on her instead.

Afterwards, instead of heading back upstairs to my apartment, Emma steers me towards the bar’s entrance. It’s all shut up, the bar closed as it normally is on a Tuesday night, so I’m not exactly sure what we’re doing.

“Do you have the keys?” she asks.

I pull the keys to my apartment from my pocket. There are only five keys on the ring, two for my apartment, one for my parents’ place and the other two for the bar. “Why?” I ask.

Emma smiles as she takes the keys, sliding the right one into the lock and opening the door. The alarm sounds out as soon as she does, making her jump and she turns to me, a questioning look on her face.

I step inside and punch in the code, not bothering to hide it from her. Emma follows me in, closing and locking the door behind us. The room is dark, the only light coming from the jukebox and the various emergency exit lights.

It feels like forever since I’ve been in here, even though nothing looks any different to the last time.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, as Emma walks past, brushing a hand across my back before she moves behind the bar.

“Having a drink,” she says, gesturing to a stool in front of her.

I walk over and sit down, not quite sure what she’s getting at but going along with it all anyway. Emma smiles at me as she reaches for a clean glass and I watch as she holds it beneath one of the beer taps before pulling on the handle.

The liquid streams out, filling the glass quickly and in the worst way possible. It’s practically half beer, half head. She hands me the glass, an almost triumphant smile on her face and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“What?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Emma, that’s like the worst beer pull I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” she asks, eyeing the glass in her hand.

“Yes, really,” I say, standing. I move around to her side of the bar, taking the glass from her hand and pouring it down the sink. I grab a fresh one and move so I’m standing behind her, my arms on either side of her body.

Emma looks up at me, a small smile on her face.

“Watch and learn,” I tell her, nodding towards the glass.

She looks back, watches as I tilt the glass, gently pulling on the beer handle and allowing the liquid to run slowly down the side of the glass. When I’m done, she studies it, before nodding and reaching for another fresh glass.

I don’t move and as she reaches for the beer handle, my hands fall to the side, finding their way to her hips. Emma glances up at me, offers another small smile before turning back and trying again.

“Well?” she asks, holding up her second effort. It’s only a third head this time.

“Definite improvement,” I say, eyeing the glass. Just as I open my mouth to suggest I might consider letting her work here, the door opens and Tony walks in.

“Oh, hey,” he says, stopping. “What are you guys doing here?” His eyes flick to Emma quickly, before returning back to me, a strange look on his face as though he isn’t sure if he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have or he’s been busted doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing.

“Having a drink,” Emma says, as though this is all completely normal. “Do you want one? She offers him the beer she just poured.

“Jesus,” Tony says, laughing as he walks towards us. “You poured that?”

Emma nods, her smile widening. “I did,” she says. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Ummm,” Tony says, flicking me a quick glance that I’m pretty sure says; help!

“You should’ve seen her first one,” I say, gently squeezing her hips.

Tony’s glance flicks back to Emma and the two of them share a silent look that I can’t decipher.

“Well, fine,” she eventually says. “Clearly I’m not bartender material after all,” she adds, taking a loud sip of the beer she poured. “Still tastes pretty good.”

“I’m only teasing you, Em,” I whisper, my fingers tightening.

She turns now, so she’s facing me. “I know you are,” she says, pushing up on her toes to press a kiss to my lips. “I’m going upstairs. You should stay, hang out with Tony,” she adds before slipping out of my arms.

I open my mouth to say no, I’ll come with her, but she’s already saying something to Tony that I don’t catch, before she squeezes his arm and walks out of the bar. After she’s gone, I turn back to him, notice the guilty look he now wears as he stands awkwardly on the other side of the bar watching me.

“She totally set this up, didn’t she?” I ask. Tony shrugs as though he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Right,” I say, nodding. I grab both glasses, handing Emma’s attempt to Tony while I hang on to the one I poured. “This one’s yours then.”

Tony eyes the glass, the look on his face letting me know just how much he doesn’t want to drink a beer that looks like that, as though it goes against everything he believes in.

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah because you’re totally innocent in all of this now, aren’t you?”

“What?” he asks with mock surprise. “I’m just here to sort the roster for next month.”

“Uh huh, sure you are,” I say, moving around to the other side of the bar and taking a seat. Tony walks cautiously over, reluctantly taking the beer I hand him. I watch as he takes a small sip, wincing a little as though he can’t believe he just did that.

We sit in silence, side by side, both of us staring at the shelves of bottles lined up behind the bar and unable to speak. I’m not even sure where to begin with all the things I know I need to say to him.

“So how are things?” he eventually asks.

I turn, cocking an eyebrow.

Tony shrugs. “Well,” he says. “We gotta start somewhere.”

I shake my head, even as the smile forms. “We should start with me apologising and thanking you,” I say.

“You don’t need to do that,” Tony says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, Tony,” I say, turning so I’m facing him. “I really do.”

“It’s all good, Nick,” he says, taking another sip of his beer before finally conceding and pouring it down the sink. I watch as he half stands, leaning over the bar and refilling his glass, properly this time. “I know that what happened isn’t easy for you to deal with,” he says, sitting back down. “And I know sometimes you just need to not be here. But you know that when those times come, I will be. Always.”

He’s not looking at me now and it dawns on me that for all the words and thoughts and feelings I’ve buried about that night, about what happened and about what we both saw; I’ve never heard Tony talk about it either. Even though we were both there, we’ve never discussed what happened to Amy that night.

“I should’ve thanked you a long time ago,” I say. “For so many things.”

“What,” he asks, his voice cracking. “What do you mean?”

I pause and Tony finally turns to look at me. “You were there that night,” I whisper, forcing the words out. “You found her, you saw what he did to her, you…”

“Nick,” Tony says as he reaches over, grips the back of my neck and half pulls me into a hug. “We both saw what he did to her,” he says.

“Yeah but I’m the one who shut you out,” I say, pulling back. “I shut you out as though none of that affected you, like none of it mattered to you.”

I have to stop, even though there’s more I know I need to say. Things like how Amy felt about Tony, how I knew he felt about her. How awful that must have been for him to walk in and find her like that.

But I can’t because I have no idea how to even start that conversation, especially now, when none of those feelings they both had for each other can ever matter anymore.

“You know, for the past year or so,” Tony finally says, his voice rough. “I’ve been waiting for you to either fire me or tell me to fuck off.” He pauses, stares at the beer in his hands before he shrugs and adds, “Maybe both.”

“What, why?”

“For my part in it all,” he says, without looking up.

“What part?” I ask, confused. “You had nothing to do with it, Tony,” I add, knowing that the events of that night have always been on me.

“Didn’t I?” he asks.

I stare at him, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. “No,” I eventually say, shaking my head. “Tony, how could you possibly think that?”

He finally looks over, lets out a long breath. “I always liked Amy.”

“I know.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean I really liked her.”

“I know you did,” I say. “Just like I knew she really liked you too.”

Tony smiles now, gives a half laugh as though he’s remembering something. “Of course she did,” he says, taking another sip of beer. “How could she not?”

Now it’s me smiling, wondering how different things could’ve been if one or both of them had been able to act on those feelings. How happy I would’ve been to see them end up together if they had.

“Why do you think you had anything to do with what happened that night?” I ask, needing to know.

He shrugs now as the smile disappears. “I never should’ve left,” he murmurs. “I’d seen Zach leave, heard all the shit he’d said to her as he walked out. None of it felt right. I should’ve trusted my gut and stayed.”

I watch as he finishes his beer, glancing at the beer taps as though he’s contemplating another one. I reach for his glass, refilling it for him.

“I’m the one who shouldn’t have left,” I say, sliding the glass over. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said to him, and I definitely shouldn’t have disappeared upstairs to fuck some random girl while all of it was happening.”

Tony exhales hard, running a hand through his hair as he lifts the fresh beer to his mouth. “Like I said, I left too,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, but I’m the one who provoked him, Tony. I’m the one that started it. You did nothing wrong.”

I watch as he drains the beer in his glass, swallowing hard as though it’s more than just liquid that he’s trying to force down. I wish I knew what else I could say to him to let him know that I don’t blame him for anything that happened. That I never have.

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing someone about all of this,” he eventually says, glancing at me. “That you’re finally talking about it all.”

“Emma told you?” I ask.

He nods. “She cares about you.”

“I know,” I say, nodding. “I know she does.”

“You’re allowed to let her, you know,” he adds. “And you’re allowed to not feel guilty about it, too.”

Now it’s me emptying my glass. I can feel Tony watching me, waiting for a response. Instead, I stand and move back around to the other side of the bar. Reaching up to the top shelf, I grab a bottle of whisky and two glasses before returning to my stool on the other side.

I pour us both a shot, my fingers sliding one in Tony’s direction before wrapping around the other and lifting it in an empty salute to the room.

“I just wish I knew how to make that happen,” I say before pouring the warm liquid down my throat.

~ Emma

By the time Nick comes upstairs, it’s late. I’d half expected him to follow me straight up when I’d left earlier and he worked out just what I’d orchestrated, but he hadn’t. And even though I can now hear him stumbling into the apartment, undoubtedly drunk, I’m glad he stayed.

It wasn’t just about him going back to his bar, he needed to go back to his life and most importantly, his friends. And while Tony had shown up earlier than I’d expected, it looked like things had still managed to work out. I just hoped they’d been able to talk and that it hadn’t all been about drinking down there.

“Hey,” I say, looking up as Nick stumbles into the bedroom.

He freezes. “Shit, sorry,” he slurs. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I smile. “It’s okay, I was still awake,” I tell him.

He stares at me for a second before glancing at the clock, his eyes squinting as he tries to focus on the numbers. It’s after two in the morning.

“Why?” he eventually says, turning back to me.

I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not working for the next four days, remember?”

Nick shrugs as he shakes his head, his brain apparently unable to process this information right now. I watch as he kicks off his shoes, his fingers fumbling with his belt and jeans before he finally manages to shove them down his legs. He leaves them on the floor before walking over and climbing into bed.

No sooner is he under the covers though; he’s getting back out, mumbling something as he walks into the bathroom. I hear the shower start up and I can’t help but smile, knowing that even though he’s drunk, it’s a different kind of drunk to all the earlier nights he’s spent sitting on the couch drinking in front of the TV.

Back then, it was more like endless drinking to block out the pain of what he wasn’t ready to face or deal with. It was a Band-Aid that wasn’t sticking, despite the effort he put in to trying to make it.

Tonight though, it feels different, as though he’s drunk because he’s been sitting with a friend, maybe baring his soul a little, as though to test what ripping that Band-Aid off and facing the pain might feel like.

“Good night?” I ask, when he eventually comes out of the bathroom.

I watch as he walks naked around to the other side of the bed, climbing in even as his eyes are half closing. “Mmmm,” he answers, head on the pillow.

I smile, leaning over to brush the hair from his face. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Mmmm,” he says again, eyes fully closed now.

I lean in and press a kiss to his forehead before slipping out of bed and walking into the kitchen. I know there’s a very good chance he’ll be fast asleep by the time I get back, but it doesn’t matter. I’m grateful that it means he’ll get some and I know he’ll need the water when he wakes up later.

When I walk back into the bedroom, I see he’s asleep. I put the glass of water on the side table next to him before sliding carefully back into bed, even though I doubt anything could wake him now.

Slipping a post-it into the book I was reading, I drop it on the floor, before switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness, the only sound that of Nick breathing beside me.

I roll onto my side so I’m facing him and gently slide a hand onto his chest. He murmurs something I don’t understand as he slides his own hand over the top of mine, holding it against him.

In the dark, my lips find his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss as I close my eyes and allow myself to go to sleep.

It’s only later, when I feel Nick roll over beside me, his mouth now against my neck as his arm curls around my rib cage, that I understand what he said. The words now repeated as a barely audible breath against my skin.

“Thank you.”

I smile, even as I sink back into sleep.

~ Nick

I wake with a dull ache in my head. Opening my eyes, I can see sunlight streaming into the apartment and it hits me that this is the first time I’ve woken up to the daylight in ages.

I lie in bed, trying to process what this means and whether I actually managed to sleep through the night. But then I remember the dream, the images of Emma running from my bar that night. It’s different again, not the truth of what really happened, but close enough that it still scares me.

I remember watching her as she ran to the door, her bloodied fingers reaching for the bolt as she tried desperately to unlock it. She’d screamed in frustration when she finally did, because even though it was now unlocked, the door hadn’t budged. I’d stood there watching as she kicked at the glass, her legs covered in cuts, until eventually the door had opened.

I’d moved then, stepping towards her. I wasn’t quick enough though, and instead, I’d reached the door and watched her chasing a taxi down the street, even as her torn clothes hung from her body.

It wasn’t anything close to what happened for real that night, but it was enough to wake me. I guess this time though, I’d somehow managed to fall back to sleep again.

I roll over and slide out of bed. The apartment is silent; the only noise that of the street outside. I grab some track pants and a t-shirt, pulling them on before walking out to the living room.

Emma’s lying on the couch reading, Oscar curled up beside her and a mug of steaming coffee on the table. She looks up as I walk over, smiles as I crawl onto the couch, laying my head in her lap and closing my eyes as she brushes her fingers through my hair.

“How’s the head?” she asks.

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Did you have a good night?”

I shrug again. “It was good to catch up,” I say. “Good to talk.”

“I’m glad,” she says, and I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling.

“Thank you for making it happen,” I add, sliding my hand beneath her legs.

Emma says nothing, just continues to run her fingers through my hair, over my shoulders. Already I can feel the headache fading, as though her touch isn’t just comforting, but healing. There’s a familiarity to it now that is so easy to get lost in.

“Tony feels guilty about what happened that night,” I say, even though she isn’t asking for details and I don’t know why I’m feeling the need to share them.

“What do you think about that?” Emma asks.

“I think it’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

I open my eyes, rolling a little so I’m looking up at her now. “Why should he feel guilty?” I ask. “He didn’t do anything.”

Emma raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“He had to take the money to the bank,” I continue, as though justifying why he wasn’t around when it happened. “He was gone like fifteen minutes. How the hell could he have known what was going to happen?”

“He couldn’t have,” she says, her fingers brushing over my cheek. “Just like you couldn’t have either.”

I roll over again. “That’s different,” I mumble.

Emma doesn’t speak, just reaches for her coffee. She offers it to me and the smell is enough to have me taking the mug from her hands. I take a sip before passing it back to her.

“Seems like you slept better last night,” she says changing the subject as she puts the coffee back on the table.

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Still had a nightmare though.”

I expect her to ask me about it and just like the last time I dreamt about her, I don’t want to have to tell her about this one. “Are you going to go and see Amy?” she asks instead, and for a second I’m not sure exactly who she means. “You said talking to Tony was good?”

“Mmmm,” I answer, closing my eyes again. I know that as much as it might have been awkward and weird at first, it was good to finally talk to Tony, especially as I’ve been MIA from the bar these past few weeks. I’ve been a shit boss, but I’ve been an even shittier friend, and I’m lucky he knows enough about what happened to get it.

But at the same time, I really don’t need him thinking he did anything wrong that night. Nothing he said or did played a part in what happened to Amy and I hope I got through to him enough that he understands that.

I also know that I really need to go back to work again, if only so I don’t push things so far that I lose him as a friend.

When I next open my eyes, it’s late in the afternoon. I’m still on the couch, my head in Emma’s lap as she reads. I roll over, looking up at her as she does. I know she knows I’m awake, but her eyes stay on the page, skimming over whatever it is she’s engrossed in. Eventually she slips a post-it note into the page, closes the book and looks down at me.

“Hey,” she says, smiling.

“Hey.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks and it occurs to me that for all the hours I’ve spent asleep on the couch, my head in her lap, she hasn’t been able to move. Not to get food or to go to the bathroom. She could have woken me up, but she didn’t, as though staying here and letting me sleep was more important to her than either of those things.

“Why do you stay?” I blurt out.

“What?” she asks, her smile disappearing.

“Why do you stay?” I repeat. “Why are you so good to me?”

The smile returns but it’s sadder now. Her eyes move to her fingers, watching as they comb through my hair. “Because you need me,” she eventually says, her words a whisper.

“Is that the only reason?” I ask, unsure what I’m really asking. “Because I’m sure none of this is fun for you.”

The hurt flashes quickly across her face, but almost as soon as it appears, it’s gone, as though she’s buried it somewhere, somewhere I can’t see it.

“Are we back to this again?” she asks, her hand falling to her side, her fingers no longer in my hair.

“No,” I say, even as a knot of tension forms in my stomach at the possibility that we might be.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine.

“No,” I tell her, wondering how it is I manage to keep fucking things up so much.

“Why?” she asks, staring down at me. “Why do you want me to stay then?”

I stare up her, our eyes locked. I wish she could see inside my head and all of the reasons, all of the answers I could give her to that one question. But she can’t, and as shitty as it is for me to do this right now, with all the other crap that’s going on, I know I owe her the truth. The truth I haven’t wanted to admit to myself, much less to her.

“I like the person you make me want to be, Emma,” I say, my eyes still on hers. “I like that you never let me go either. That as fucked up as things get, and as much of an arsehole as I am, you never give up. On me,” I add, a hand on my chest. “Or on this,” I whisper, lifting that hand to gesture between us.

Emma stares down at me, not saying anything. I can’t tell what she thinks of my reasons; the look on her face is unreadable. Even though I’m scared and confused about all of this, about what’s been said and what’s still to come, I know there’s one truth I can no longer hide from her.

“But the main reason I want you stay,” I whisper, swallowing hard as I force myself to continue. “The only reason is that I’m in love with you and I don’t ever want you to go.”

Emma’s eyes immediately fill with tears and it scares me enough that I sit up, grabbing her hands as I pull her towards me. She resists though, shaking her head as she swipes her fingers beneath her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately say.

She shakes her head again. “Don’t,” she says, finally looking up at me. “Don’t be sorry, don’t say that right now.”

I nod, even though I have no idea what she means or why she’s reacting the way she is. Maybe my confession was too much or not what she wanted to hear. I know the timing is fucked, and that having someone as messed up as I am in love with you cannot be a good thing.

But I need her to know it, need her to hear me say it. Because as fucked up as everything is, I really need her to understand why I want her here, why I continue to try and do this even though every second of it kills me. Reliving the past, talking about what happened, showing this side of me to her. Fuck, the things I’m doing to her and the things I’m putting her through; that kills me more than anything and I’d do anything to be able to make it all go away.

“Do you mean it?” she eventually asks, her words a whisper. She looks up at me, her eyes still swimming with tears as they meet mine.

I nod. “Yes.”

She bites her bottom lip as she slides closer on the couch. I watch as she picks up my hand, encircling it in both of hers.

“The reason why I stay,” she whispers, her eyes falling to our hands. “The reason why I want to.”

“Yeah?” I say, my voice hoarse.

She looks up. “It’s the same reason as yours,” she says, offering me a small smile as a tear slides down her cheek. “I love you too and I would do anything for you.”

This time she doesn’t resist when I pull her towards me.

And afterwards, it’s both of us who fall asleep on the couch.

~ Emma

Nick goes back to work the next night. He asks me to come with him and I agree, knowing that even though it will likely be slow because it’s mid-week, he’s still going to be nervous.

Nervous about facing his staff and answering questions about where he’s been these past few weeks and nervous about dealing with customers, especially the regulars who haven’t seen him in a while.

But as nerve-wracking as it all is, I can also see that it’s something he wants to do, maybe needs to do, and like I told him, I would do anything for him.

His confession had come as a shock yesterday. Despite knowing how I felt, I never expected him to feel the same, especially now, with everything he was going through. Feeling like that just seemed like an impossibility when he was in so much pain.

I hadn’t wanted to add to it by telling him how I felt, so I’d kept it to myself. Then when he’d brought up me staying, why I kept staying, I’d thought it was the beginnings of another fight. Thought that for the few tiny steps forward we’d managed to take with him talking to Tony and finally getting some decent sleep, we were now about to take a giant leap backwards.

But then he’d said it.

I’m in love with you.

I’d been so shocked at first that I hadn’t been able to say anything, practically pushing him away as I’d tried to process it all. I wasn’t even sure when it had occurred to me that this was how I felt about Nick too. Just like him feeling it for me seemed like an impossibility, I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to get there either.

Regardless of how good things were between us when we first started, all of that felt like a lifetime ago now. Deep down, a part of me thought that too many bad things had happened for us to ever get back there, let alone reach this point.

But then he’d proven me wrong and after we’d both confessed to each other how we really felt, I couldn’t help but think that maybe things were finally heading in the right direction after all.

“Thank you for doing this,” Nick says as we walk down to the bar.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as we step out into the late afternoon.

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, taking my hand. “Nervous, I guess, which seems really stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I tell him, stopping. He turns to face me and I smile up at him, press a quick kiss to his mouth. “A lot’s happened, Nick. Things have changed and it’s normal for you to feel nervous about it. But I’ll be here with you, okay? We can leave whenever you want to.”

Nick pulls me again him, pressing a hard kiss to my mouth as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Come on lovebirds,” Tony suddenly shouts. “Keep it clean, there are small children around.”

Nick and I pull apart, both of us glancing around at the almost deserted street. Tony laughs, slapping Nick on the back before he turns and opens the door to the bar and we all step inside.

I help the guys set up and then take a seat at the end of the bar, on the same stool I sat on that first night I walked in here. There’s a small crowd in tonight, enough that it keeps Nick occupied, but not too much that it’s overwhelming.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says and when I turn, I see Owen and Will standing beside me.

“Hey,” I say, jumping out of my chair and giving them both a hug.

They take a seat and Nick gets them both a drink before disappearing off to serve another customer.

“How’s he going?” Owen asks.

I shrug. “Okay,” I say, watching him as he works. To anyone else, he would look completely fine. He smiles at the customers, engages them with small talk and friendly banter, all the usual stuff he did before. But underneath it all, I can see the real Nick. See all of the pain and guilt and blame he still carries around with him. The way he’s struggling just to be here and to keep it together.

“You worked out you’re in love with him yet?” Owen asks, nudging me.

“What?” I ask, turning to face him.

“She totally has,” Will says, smiling.

“I don’t know,” Owen adds, as he gives me a strange look. I can feel myself blushing under his scrutiny.

“She has,” Will says draping his arm over Owen’s shoulder. “Look at her, it’s obvious.” I turn to Will, then back to Owen, wondering what’s going on here. I watch as Will continues smiling at me, nudging Owen who only rolls his eyes. “Guess that’s fifty bucks you owe me,” Will says now.

Owen squints at me, as though he’s trying to see if Will is right. “So are you officially not my roomie anymore?” he asks, pulling his wallet out and handing a fifty-dollar note to Will. I watch them, still not quite getting what’s going on.

“Told you I was right,” Will says, winking at me.

“Em,” Owen prompts.

“I’m,” I start. “I just…I’m…”

“Ah shit, you were right,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close as he presses a kiss to my hair and Will bursts out laughing.

“I will come back,” I tell him. “I just…I just don’t know when.”

“Take your time, Em,” he says, pulling back. “It’s good you’re doing this for him.” He stares down at me, his eyes still searching. “I like you like this,” he says, nodding a little.

“Like what?” I ask, searching his face.

“In love,” he says, smiling now. “I’m glad it’s finally happened.”

I glance over at Nick, see he’s watching us; a curious expression on his face as though he can’t work out what’s going on. I smile at him, watch as he returns that smile, staring at me for a second longer before moving off to serve a customer.

When I turn back, Owen and Will are both watching me, small smiles on their faces.

“What?”

Owen laughs, shaking his head a little as he hugs me and says, “Yeah, it’s good you hung on to this one.”

~ Nick

It feels surprisingly good to be back at work. It helps that both Tony and Emma are here and that it’s a quiet night, but I’m surprised by how much I’ve missed it.

I like that Owen and Will come by too because I feel like in addition to dragging Emma into all the shit going on in my life, I’ve also kept her from hers too.

These past few weeks, she’s spent every night at my apartment. I like it, have grown used to it, and I’m not sure how I’m going to feel when the night she doesn’t stay finally arrives. I know she’s only doing it because she’s worried about me, about all the shit that’s going on inside my head. But as much as that’s what’s keeping her at my place, I don’t want this to become our normal.

Which leaves me stuck somewhere between sorting all this shit out and knowing that the day I finally do will ultimately mean she goes back to her own apartment.

“Anything else we need to do?” she asks, smiling at me.

I glance around the now empty bar. Tony’s gone. I sent him home early, knowing that if anyone needed a break, it was him.

“Nope,” I say. “We’re all done.”

Emma nods, smiling as I walk towards her, wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

“You’re coming upstairs?” I ask, half expecting her to say no now that I’ve actually managed to re-enter the real world for a couple of hours.

“Yes,” she says, as we head outside.

I exhale, grateful that it won’t be tonight I have to face it.

It’s selfish of me and I know it, but I’m doing it because I genuinely feel like I need her here. She’s the only thing keeping me going in all of this. And despite our earlier confessions, both of us finally admitting to each other how we really feel, things are still a long way from being back to normal.

~ Emma

The rest of the week almost feels like we’re back to normal. Nick keeps going back to work each night and actually seems like he’s enjoying it. He’s eating better too and drinking less. And we’re talking more; not necessarily about that night, but about how he’s feeling and how much he wants to fix this.

He still isn’t sleeping that well, the nightmares waking him most nights, but he does seem to be coping with them better. He’s often able to shake it off and actually go back to sleep instead of spending the rest of the night awake in front of the TV.

So we fall into a routine of work and the bar and occasionally spending time with friends who drop by for a drink.

I try to spend as many nights as I can downstairs, even though it means I’m exhausted when I have to get up for work the next morning. It just feels like something Nick needs from me and I don’t want to undo how far we’ve come by bailing on him.

Even though I’d never admit this to him, it feels like some sort of peace has been reached.

Fragile peace, but peace nonetheless.

“Emma!”

I turn; see Adrian walking towards me, waving.

“Hey,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

He waves a file. “Patient consult,” he says, glancing down the corridor. “I don’t do them often, but every now and then I get asked to come to the hospital. How’s things?”

“Good,” I nod. “Nick’s back working again,” I add.

“Nice,” Adrian says, smiling.

“I took your advice,” I say, half shrugging. “Got him back there. It seems to have helped…a lot.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he says.

“I feel like he’s really starting to improve,” I continue, eager to tell him how much things have changed just this past week. “As though he’s finally starting to move past all of this and get back to…”

“Emma,” Adrian says, cutting me off.

“What?”

He offers me a sympathetic smile. “This isn’t going to happen overnight, you know that,” he says. “Nick’s suffering a lot of grief, a lot of stress and trauma, most of which he’s only just beginning to acknowledge. It’s going to take time, especially as we haven’t even discussed Amy’s death yet.”

Adrian’s words hit me with a thud; knocking the joy I was feeling at all the progress Nick’s made right out of me. The worst thing is, I know he’s right too, but I’ve been so blinded by finally seeing him acting normal, that I thought it was all basically over.

God, I’m an idiot.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. “He will get there, I promise. You both will.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And I know you want it to happen quickly,” he adds.

“No, I get it,” I say quickly, embarrassed by my obvious stupidity. “I get that it’s going to take time, really. I just…”

“You wanted it to happen quickly,” he suggests.

I nod, flushing a little at how stupid that is and especially considering that I really should know better.

“Don’t give up,” he says. “We will get there.”

I take a deep breath, nodding as I meet Adrian’s eyes. They’re kind, sympathetic and I’m reminded of how lucky we are that he’s helping Nick. “I won’t.”

Adrian nods once before glancing at his watch. “I have to go,” he says. “I’ll see you at the usual time tonight?”

I nod again; watch as Adrian smiles once more before turning and walking away. I watch as he disappears down the corridor, turning into a room at the end.

I feel so stupid for thinking we were even close to getting back to normal. Like an idiot for acting the way I just did.

When I walk out of work tonight, Nick’s waiting for me, sitting on the same bench he sat on all those months ago. He smiles as he stands and hands me a coffee, just like that first time, and for a second I stop, wonder if maybe Adrian’s wrong about it all taking time.

“Hey,” he says. “How was work?”

I glance up at him, searching his face for some sort of sign that he’s getting better. But despite the smile, the eyes that are fixed on mine, I know it’s not there. Adrian’s not wrong, I am.

Nick is still in pain and although he might be trying to hide it by going back to work and coming to meet me now, I can see it, right there in his eyes.

“Em?” he prompts.

I shake my head. “Okay,” I tell him. “Ran into Adrian,” I add, not elaborating.

“Huh,” Nick says, not asking for details.

We turn and head towards Adrian’s office in silence. When we arrive, he greets us with a warm smile, as he normally does. He makes no mention of running into me today and neither Nick nor I bring it up either.

Instead he goes through the usual questions, asking Nick how he is, how he’s sleeping and whether he’s gone back to work yet. He doesn’t look at me once, instead praising Nick for going back to the bar and encouraging him to keep it up.

Eventually, he turns to look at me, gives me a quick smile that I can’t decipher before turning back to Nick.

“So, can we talk about the night Amy died?”

And despite how much I wish Nick really were getting better, I suddenly want to ignore all the things we still need to talk about and deal with and instead stay exactly where we are.

About One Year Before That Night…

~ Nick

“You sure you don’t want to come downstairs for a bit?” I ask, sitting on the couch.

Amy shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the TV, not looking at me.

“Aims,” I say, resting a hand on her foot. She flinches and I immediately remove it, knowing she can’t stand to be touched by anyone these days. “Sorry,” I murmur.

She pulls the blanket further under her chin, her bloodshot eyes still fixed on the screen. She barely sleeps, hardly ever talks anymore, just spends day after day and night after night, sitting on my couch watching TV. I’m not even sure she’s actually watching it, she never changes the channel, and once I caught her staring at a signal error message as though she was fascinated by it.

“It might do you some good,” I suggest, knowing that nothing I suggest ever seems to get through. “Come down and hang out with everyone, have a drink. You don’t need to work.”

She shakes her head again, still not looking at me.

I let out a long exhale, running a hand through my hair as I stand up. “Okay,” I say, slowly bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes close when I do, her face contorting as though she’s in pain from this one action. “I’ll come up and check on you later, okay?”

She shrugs and I watch her for a second longer before I finally drag myself downstairs to work. In addition to not sleeping or talking, she won’t eat either and me coming back to check on her is partly to get her some dinner and make sure she eats it and partly to check that she’s actually okay.

I don’t think that she would ever do anything. I believe her when she said the sleeping tablet overdose was an accident. It seemed legit, especially after everything that had happened to her, but I’m still reluctant to leave her by herself for too long. I don’t like the dark places she takes herself to, her mind seemingly disappearing into an endless pit of despair that I’m afraid she’ll never get out of.

I get it though, knowing everything that happened to her, but it’s unbearable to watch someone so connected to me suffer this much. I catch her crying sometimes, scratching at her skin as though she can barely stand to be in her own body, and it literally kills me.

It breaks my heart to know that she’s so irrevocably changed from the person she used to be. But as much as I want to help her, help her find a way back to being that person again, I have no idea what to do.

Or if it’s even possible.

How the fuck do you undo something like what she went through? Doctors can give medicine for the pain, sew up the cuts and tell her she needs to talk. But none of that will undo what’s been done to her.

“She okay?” Tony asks, as I walk into the bar.

I shake my head. “Nope, the same.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling hard. I know he’s tried talking to her too, encouraging her to come downstairs, even if it’s just to sit with us while we set up the bar. But just like with me, she refuses his pleas as well.

For a while we thought it might be because here is where everything happened. That she couldn’t stand to be in the one place she associated with the attack. But then it became apparent that she didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. Not home to her place, not to Mum and Dad’s, not even to Amy’s.

I’m not sure what it is about my apartment that seems to comfort her, but there is no way I’m ever going to kick her out. If she sees it as some sort of refuge, then she can stay here as long as she needs to. I’ve even brought Oscar over, in the hopes that he might help. She allows him to sit on the couch with her, but she all but ignores him too; rarely stroking him and only occasionally remembering to feed him.

“You want me to go up and try?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, just leave it for now. I’ll go up and check on her later.”

“I mean,” Tony starts, then stops, running a frustrated hand over his head.

I know exactly what the rest of his sentence is going to be. It’s the same thing he says every night we can’t get Amy down here. The same thing we’ve all been wondering these past few months.

“I get she’s gone through a lot,” he continues. “I mean seriously, I fucking get it. But is this shrink she’s seeing actually doing anything?”

I shrug. “I dunno,” I say. “It’s supposed to be helping.”

“Doesn’t really seem like it,” he mutters.

I understand his frustration because even though I don’t say anything, there’s a part of me that wonders the same thing. Is talking to this therapist actually doing anything?

I get that it will take time; it’s a pretty massive thing to have to deal with. What I don’t get is how she only seems to be getting worse with every day that passes.

It’s a busy night and by the time I finally make it upstairs, it’s been nearly two hours. I take up the burger I’ve ordered her, knowing that most of it will be left on the plate. Amy’s still curled up on the couch, same spot I left her in.

“Here,” I say, smiling as I crouch down in front of her. “I brought you some dinner.”

Amy eyes the plate in my hand before looking back at me. “I’m not hungry,” she says, her voice scratchy as though she hasn’t spoken in a long time.

“I know,” I say, offering a smile. “But you need to eat. And you need to take these,” I add, reaching for the tablets on the coffee table.

Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills; you name it, Amy’s on it. I worry that all they’re doing is turning her into a zombie, but her therapist assures us that just like their regular meetings, the tablets are a good thing. Says she needs some peace in order to be able to start processing and dealing with what’s happened to her. That these tablets will help give her that peace.

In my mind, the only thing that’s going to bring Amy peace is Tony and I finding that fuckhead Zach and beating the shit out of him. Pretty sure Dad feels the same way and if the day ever comes when we do, I don’t like Zach’s chances at being able to walk away…ever.

Amy holds out her hand for the tablets and I put them in her palm, holding a glass of water out too. She swallows them down, her head falling back onto the pillow.

“Come on, Aims,” I say gently. “Eat something, please. For me?”

She looks up at me now, her blue eyes filled with so much pain it breaks my heart. It’s unbearable to see her like this, to know that I can’t take any of it away for her.

I remember back when we were kids and Amy broke her arm falling from the tree, and she’d cried and cried at the pain. I’d been so scared, not because I thought we’d get in trouble, but because I’d never seen her like that.

I’d wanted to break my arm instead, even offered to do it, just so I could take the pain away from her, make it mine so she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.

But of course I couldn’t do that, just like I can’t now.

She eventually reaches out and takes a couple of fries from the plate, shoving them in her mouth, chewing and swallowing them as though she’s barely even tasting it.

I smile in encouragement. “Keep going.”

She repeats the movement, shoveling the fries in one after the other until they’re all gone. I know she hasn’t tasted a single bite, hasn’t even come close to enjoying it.

“Burger?” I suggest.

Amy shakes her head once before it falls back onto the pillow again.

“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, already knowing what the answer will be.

“No,” she croaks out.

I reach over, slowly so she knows it’s coming, and gently brush my fingers against her cheek. “This will get better, Aims,” I whisper. “I promise you, eventually it will get better.”

It feels like an empty, hollow promise, but despite my own lack of belief in the words, I know I still need to say them.

Her eyes flick to mine now, the pain briefly receding so they are nothing but empty pools of blue. She watches me for a moment, searching my face as though she’s looking for answers, or maybe the truth behind my words.

It’s unnerving the way she looks at me, but as scary as it is, I don’t want to look away. I need her to know that I’m here for her, and that no matter what happens, she will never be alone in this.

“Aims?” I whisper.

She smiles now, the tiniest, briefest flicker of a smile before she reaches out and mirrors my earlier action, brushing her own fingers across my cheek. It’s such a small gesture, but right now, it feels huge.

Amy hasn’t smiled since any of this happened. I totally get it, but it’s been so long, I just wasn’t expecting it. And coupled with her actually initiating touching me, it just feels massive right now.

“Do you,” I start; swallowing hard as I force the emotions I’m suddenly feeling down. I don’t want to scare her with how much this means to me. “Do you want me to stay and hang out for a bit?” I ask.

“S’okay,” she says, brushing her fingers against my skin once more.

I wait, hoping she’ll change her mind. But she doesn’t, instead, turning back to the TV, the moment we just shared seemingly forgotten. I turn to go, but for some reason, turn back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again.

As much as this small change in her is a good thing, there’s something about it that scares me, as though there’s more to it than what I’m seeing. But then she glances up, smiles at me again and I push that feeling away, wondering if maybe instead of it being a bad thing, it’s actually a sign that things are going to get better after all.

I head back downstairs, confused about how I’m feeling. I so desperately want this to be a sign that things are getting better, but at the same time I wonder how it can be. Nothing’s changed. Not how she’s feeling, how much she’s talking, eating or even anything she’s doing. Zach still hasn’t been caught, and so far that doesn’t look like it will be changing anytime soon.

So how could Amy possibly be getting any better?

“You okay?” Tony asks, as I walk back into the bar.

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” he asks, giving me a strange look. “You don’t seem it.”

I shake my head, trying to shake off whatever this bad feeling is. It was just a smile, just a touch. Maybe it was more, but maybe it was exactly what it was and nothing less.

“It’s nothing,” I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

Tony watches me as though he isn’t sure whether he believes me. “How was she?” he eventually asks, evidently deciding not to push it.

I shrug. “Okay,” I say. “Pretty much the same.”

Whatever it is though, I don’t want to jinx it by saying anything else, as though by allowing myself to vocalise it, I will turn it into something it’s not.

Tony mumbles something I don’t catch and we both go back to work.

But as the night drags on that feeling, whatever it was, doesn’t diminish, it intensifies. By the time we are ready to close up, it’s become so prominent, it’s practically screaming at me to wake up and pay attention.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“I’m just gonna run up and check on her,” I say, already walking to the door.

“You want me to come?” Tony asks, glancing around at the now empty bar.

“I’m good,” I say, already halfway out.

I leg it up the stairs to my apartment, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door.

I’m greeted with silence. Complete and utter silence, which given the TV has literally been running twenty-four-seven since Amy came here, unnerves me.

“Amy?” I call out, walking inside.

The living room is empty, the TV off and the blanket she’s been curled up under these last few months, neatly folded over the back of the couch. I glance in the kitchen as a wave of panic unfolds inside me, curling up through my gut until it crashes somewhere inside my chest.

“Amy?” I call out again, louder.

I walk into the bedroom and see the empty bed before turning to go into the bathroom. It’s also empty, but as I walk back into my bedroom, I see it.

An envelope.

It’s propped up against the pillow of my now made bed, my name scrawled across the front of it in what I recognise as her handwriting. I walk over and pick it up, but as I do, it hits me.

Hits me what the envelope contains.

What that touch before I left was really for.

What that smile really meant.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, throwing the envelope back onto my bed as I practically run from my apartment. “Fuck, Amy, please, please,” I say as I yank open the door to my bar. “I need to borrow your car,” I yell.

Tony’s head snaps up. I expect questions, but apparently the look on my face tells him everything and without a word, he pulls the keys from his pocket and throws them to me.

I don’t say anything, just turn and run.

The drive over to Amy’s apartment feels like it takes forever as I catch every fucking red light, get stuck behind every slow driver. By the time I pull up outside her building, my heart is racing, my skin covered in sweat.

It takes me three attempts just to open the door my hands are shaking so much.

Inside, I jam on the elevator button, cursing when it gets stuck on the third floor. Just as I’m about to abandon it and take the stairs, the doors finally open, an older couple smiling at me as they walk out.

I practically shove them aside as I get in, hitting the button for her floor until the doors close. As the elevator ascends, I pray that no one else wants to go up.

As soon as the doors open on her floor though, I feel sick, unable to step out. The doors close again and it’s only as they do, that I force myself to hit the open button, step out and walk towards her apartment.

The front door is closed and locked.

I slide my key in and unlock it, opening the door.

The place is in darkness; the only sound that of a ticking clock somewhere. My footsteps seem to echo throughout the space as I force myself to go inside.

“Amy?” I say, the word a whisper.

I lift a shaking hand to the light switch, taking a deep breath as I flick it on and flood the room with light.

It’s empty though, no sign of her.

“Amy?” I repeat, my voice a little louder this time.

Nothing comes back to me and I know that if I want to know the truth, face the fear that’s been lurking inside me ever since I last checked on her, I have to go inside.

I walk towards her bedroom, my heart pounding as I flick on the light and look inside. It’s empty though, her bed still unmade from the last time she slept here, over three months ago now.

I check the spare bedroom, which is also empty before returning to the kitchen, which I already know was empty.

The door to the bathroom is closed. I stand there looking at it, my stomach churning as the bile rises in my throat. I see my shaking hand as it reaches for the door handle, my sweaty fingers struggling just to turn it.

I open it a tiny crack and see the light is on inside.

The last words I said to her flash inside my head.

This will get better, Aims. I promise you, eventually it will get better.

I push open the door and when I walk in there…

      …the arm hanging lifeless over the side of the bath…

      …the red stain of blood on the tiles…

My whole fucking world falls apart…

I was an idiot to ever think things were getting better, because that touch, that smile, they weren’t Amy getting better.

They were Amy saying goodbye.

Back To This Night…

~ Emma

Nick is exhausted by the time he’s done. Emotionally and physically exhausted. There are no tears this time though, just a hollowed out version of the person he used to be.

Only now that everything is finally all out in the open can I understand the full extent of everything he’s been carrying with him this past year and a half.

The grief. The trauma. But most of all, the guilt.

The guilt over everything he thinks he’s done.

I reach for the water on the coffee table between us, holding the glass to Nick. He nods as he takes it from me, his hands shaking, but he doesn’t look at me as he drinks it in one long gulp. I take the glass from him and refill it, holding it out to him again, but Nick shakes his head.

“Nick,” Adrian eventually says.

I watch as he looks up, his eyes devoid of any emotion now as they stare at him.

“Do you honestly believe you should have been able to save her?” Adrian asks. “That you should’ve seen what was happening that night?”

Nick swallows hard as he nods.

“Why?”

Nick shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak before changing his mind and reaching for the water instead.

“How could you possibly have known?” Adrian asks.

Nick stands and we both watch as he walks over to the window. He stops in front of it and leans his head against the glass. I glance at Adrian, but he’s watching Nick, waiting.

“Why haven’t you read the letter?” he asks.

Nick looks up, his whole body turning. “How do you know I haven’t?” he snaps defensively.

Adrian offers him a sympathetic smile. “Have you?”

Nick stares back at him before he shakes his head once.

“Is it because you don’t want to know what she really thinks, how she really feels about what happened to her?”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious how she felt,” Nick says, anger in his voice now. “It was unbearable, wasn’t it? That’s why she did it. That’s why she couldn’t live with it anymore.”

“So these words,” Adrian says pointing to the words inked onto Nick’s forearm. “Do you really believe she’s free now, that death offers up some sort of peace for her?”

Nick glances at the words on his arm, nods as though he’s not really sure and is trying to convince himself.

“You sure about that?” Adrian continues. “Or are they just there to make you feel better about it?”

Nick’s head snaps up again. “What?” he says, the word harsh. “You think I give a shit about how I feel in all of this?”

“I think you must,” Adrian says, his voice calm. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head as he walks back over and sits down. “I’m not here for that.”

“Then why are you here?”

Nick glances at me, his blue gaze locking with mine. Gone is the emptiness and in its place is fire, anger and maybe a little resentment, as though none of this is what he signed up for.

“You’re here for Emma?” Adrian asks, although his tone suggests it isn’t really a question, at least not one he needs the answer to.

Nick nods, his gaze never leaving mine.

“What about you?” Adrian says, not letting this go. “What about how you feel or what you need?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Nick says, his voice strained as his hands now curl into fists on his knees. “What matters is what happened to her.”

“No,” Adrian says, shaking his head. “What matters is how you feel about it all. About why you continue to blame yourself for it, and why you can’t bring yourself to forgive her for what she did to you.”

“What the hell did Amy do to me?” Nick asks, finally turning back to Adrian.

“She left you,” he says.

“She was in pain for fuck’s sake,” Nick says, standing again.

We both watch as he walks back over to the window again and stares out into the night. His body is rigid with tension and frustration and I half expect him to call it done and walk out. I glance over at Adrian, who gives me a kind smile as though all of this is normal and expected before turning his attention back to Nick.

“You know, Nick,” he says, his voice still calm. “Some people think suicide is incredibly selfish.”

“What?” he says, turning to face us.

 “Just let me explain,” he says, holding up a hand. Nick opens his mouth to speak, but Adrian continues before he has a chance. “Suicide takes away the pain, but it does so at the expense of those left behind. Suddenly it’s those left behind who are left in pain.”

Nick gives a short laugh, but it’s harsh and without humour. “Yeah my pain, the pain at everything I caused, everything I did, the life I destroyed. That I do get.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, Nick,” he says. “What I’m saying…”

“I think what you’re saying is a load of shit,” Nick shoots back, his voice laced with anger and frustration. “I think you’re somehow trying to justify what you’re doing here, giving me an excuse to feel like shit because I’m the reason my sister was raped. I’m the reason my sister ultimately decided to kill herself, and you know what, I think that’s a really fucked up way to look at things.”

“Nick,” I murmur as I stand.

His whole body is vibrating with a simmering fury. It’s probably the angriest I’ve seen him since this whole thing started.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Adrian says, offering me a kind smile before he turns back to Nick. “None of what’s happening to you or what happened to Amy is fair,” he says. “You’re right, it is fucked up and it is painful, but what I’m trying to say to you now, is that aside from none of it being your fault, it’s also a way to remind yourself of what you still have. Life isn’t a given, Nick, it’s a gift.”

Both of us stare at Adrian now as though we don’t understand what he’s trying to tell us.

“It’s because of these things, the things that really hit us hard,” he says, hitting his fist against his chest to emphasise his words. “That we really know we’re alive at all.”

“What?” Nick murmurs.

“Use that pain and the love you have for your sister to forgive yourself,” Adrian says, leaning forward a little. “But use it to forgive her as well.”

Nick stares back at Adrian as though he has no idea what he’s talking about. I have to wonder myself, exactly what point he’s trying to make here. Is he asking Nick to forgive Amy for committing suicide or is he asking him to let it go and to move on and live his own life.

Neither of these options seems right and judging by the look on Nick’s face, I’m not the only one who thinks this.

“I don’t…I don’t need to forgive her,” Nick eventually says, his voice catching. “There’s nothing there to forgive.”

Adrian offers him a half smile but says nothing.

“What?” Nick asks, defensively. “You think I blame her for what she did? You think I blame her for bowing out?”

Adrian shrugs, as though he isn’t sure he wants to commit to an answer just yet.

“I don’t,” Nick says, giving a half laugh. “I don’t.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

When we get outside, I automatically lead Nick towards a taxi, knowing there’s no way he’s going to be in the mood for grabbing some dinner. Not tonight.

We don’t talk on the ride home, Nick staring out the window as I hold his hand in mine, my thumb gently brushing across his knuckles. I’m not sure either of us fully understands what Adrian was trying to tell him just now, but I know bringing it up again isn’t what he needs; certainly not in the back seat of a taxi anyway.

When we get back to his apartment, Nick disappears into the bathroom as he usually does and takes a shower. I wait on the couch, not sure what to do. This feels different to every other time we’ve come home from speaking to Adrian. Different from the night Nick first talked about what happened to Amy.

I wish I’d asked Adrian how to deal with this. Asked him what I could possibly say to keep Nick talking about all of it but without making him any more pissed off or broken than he already is.

But I hadn’t and all Adrian had offered me on the way out was a squeeze on the arm and a reassuring smile, as though that was supposed to explain everything.

“Do you think I should read it?”

I look up; see Nick standing before me, an envelope in his hands. My eyes fix on it for a second before moving to his face. He watches me, as though waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully.

Nick nods, sitting beside me. “He’s right,” he says. “I haven’t read it.”

I take a deep breath. “I get why you’d be scared to,” I say.

“I don’t want to know,” he whispers. “I can’t know.”

I let it out on a long exhale; knowing this is finally getting real now. That everything we’ve been working towards and getting Nick to talk about, getting him to admit, it’s all about to happen.

“Know why she did it?” I ask.

Nick shakes his head. “Know if she blames me.”

“Oh, Nick,” I say, sliding closer, refusing to believe that’s even possible. I’ve never met Amy, but if she’s anything like her twin, I just can’t believe that could possibly be true. I wrap an arm around him, my other hand sliding onto his cheek as I pull him against me. “Do you really think she does?” I ask. “Truly?”

He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he whispers hoarsely. “I don’t think so.”

I kiss his cheek. “Then I think you know what you have to do,” I say.

Nick nods, turning the envelope over in his hands as though he’s looking for something, clues maybe as to its contents. His name is scrawled across the front of it, and I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now. The fear at what might be inside, the knowledge that he’ll hear his sister’s voice again, so long after she’s gone.

The pain as finally learns the truth about why she did what she did, forcing him to relive her death all over again.

He stares at it for so long that I think he’s going to change his mind, but then he takes a deep breath, opens the envelope and pulls out the letter.

~ Nick

Dear Nick,

I know this is going to be hard for you to understand and I wish there was some other way to do this, to explain it, to make things better. But there’s not.

I can’t breathe, Nick. I can’t breathe because I’m drowning under the nightmare of what happened, of what he did to me, of what he took from me. And as much as I want to wake up from this nightmare, I can’t.

I can’t.

I want you to know that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life. You are my best friend and I am so lucky to have been your sister. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this, just understand that this is the only way I can see out, the only way I can be free.

I love you, more than anything. Keep our bar alive and take care of Oscar for me.

More than anything though, please forgive me for doing this to you.

Amy x

The tears hit the paper, one landing on her name, blurring it. Emma takes the letter from my hands, puts it on the coffee table and then pulls me against her where I completely break down and sob like a fucking baby.

I feel her arms tightening around me as though she’s trying to hold me together. She says nothing though, and I’m grateful, because there are no words that can be said. Instead, she simply holds me against her and lets me fall apart in her arms.

I don’t know how long we sit here for, but eventually the tears stop. I pull back, running a hand through my hair, unable to look at her. Emma reaches over, her fingers brushing away the tears on my cheeks before she turns me so I’m facing her.

“Can I get you anything?” she whispers.

I shake my head, exhausted. “Just stay with me,” I whisper, pulling her close as we sink back into the couch. My head is pounding, a throbbing pain that’s mirroring the ache inside my chest.

It hurts. Hurts far more than when it first happened, far more than I expected it would. To think she was in that much pain, that there was no other way out for her, that she could think I would hold any of it against her.

Fuck, how could she ever think that?

Oscar jumps up onto the couch, watching me as he walks towards us. I drop a hand to his head; pat him as rubs against me, as though he knows what’s happened. He curls up against us both, his warm body pressed against my leg.

“He’s a smart cat,” Emma whispers, reaching over to stroke him.

I half laugh. “Amy used to say the same thing.”

“Smart girl,” Emma says, pulling back a little so we’re facing each other. She gives me a small smile, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips.

“Did you read it?” I ask. She nods and I’m glad. “I can’t believe things were that bad for her,” I whisper, the tears threatening to come back. “That killing herself was the only way out for her.”

Emma’s fingers brush my cheek. “It’s difficult to understand,” she says. “I think that’s one of the hardest parts of losing someone this way. Trying to understand how they reached this point.”

“But how could I not know, Em?” I ask. “She was my twin sister. I should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell she was thinking about it.”

“Nick,” Emma says gently. “Don’t do this,” she adds. “Don’t blame yourself because you couldn’t see what things were like for her.”

“She’d already tried it once,” I say, knowing Emma knows this. “She pretended it was an accident,” I add. “That she never meant to take that many pills and I fucking believed her.”

“Of course you did,” she says, her fingers brushing over my arm. “No one ever wants to think that someone is in that much pain that suicide is the only way out for them. But you can’t blame yourself for that, just like you can’t blame her for doing what she did either.”

My eyes close, remembering back to Adrian’s office earlier. I’ve never really thought about whether I blamed Amy for any of this. How could I after everything that had happened to her? Everything I’d done?

But the more Adrian pushed, the more I started to realise that some of this anger and guilt I carried around with me was directed at her. As shitty as that realisation was, it didn’t change the fact that it was true either.

Yes, I blamed her for leaving me. But I also blamed her for the fact that I blamed myself because I wasn’t able to save her.

“I never thought I did,” I eventually say, glancing down at the tattoo on my arm.

“And now?”

I look up, see Emma watching me, concern in her eyes. “Maybe a part of me does,” I whisper.

Emma nods, relief washing over her. Her fingers slide over my forearm, tracing the ink that’s tattooed into my skin. “You’re allowed to be angry at her, Nick,” she whispers. “But you need to forgive her too.”

“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “I know I do.”

She leans in to kiss me now and I slide a hand into her hair, holding her too me as I kiss her once, twice, three times.

“You’re allowed to forgive yourself too, you know,” she says, brushing her fingers across my cheek. I shrug, knowing that’s a lot easier said than done. “This will get easier,” she whispers, resting her forehead against mine. “I know you don’t believe that, but I promise you, with time, it will get easier.”

It feels strange to want to believe in these words she’s telling me. To ever think there will come a time when I do forgive myself for everything that happened. As it stands, there are just so many ‘what if’ moments that I know I could’ve done differently, that would’ve changed how everything turned out. It feels wrong to just accept that they happened and to let all of them go. I’ve always felt like I needed to be reminded of it, that I deserved to remember how much I fucked things up.

It’s why I got the tattoo in the first place and why I’ve never been able to let any of it go despite the fact that I never talk about what happened.

“Maybe I should get rid of it.”

“What?” she asks, pulling back.

My eyes flick to my arm, then back to her. “The tattoo.”

Now it’s Emma’s eyes that turn to my arm. I watch as she moves her fingers gently over it, almost as though she’s caressing it. Tiny shivers move through my skin, following the path of the ink up and over my shoulder and straight to my heart.

“I don’t know,” she says, her eyes still on my arm.

I tuck her hair behind her ear, watching her as she stares at my arm, her fingers still tracing the lines. “You don’t think I should?”

Emma looks back at me, her bottom lip between her teeth. She shrugs, places a hand against my chest. “It’s a part of you,” she says. “I get why you got it, but I’d get why you’d want to remove it too.”

I stare back at her, wondering how despite my many fuck ups, that we somehow managed to find each other in all of this. How a woman like her could walk into my bar and find a way into my life, just like Amy once told me she would.

As shit as everything has been these past few months, I honestly can’t imagine my life without Emma in it. It’s why I’ve needed her to stay, why I want her to stay forever.

I don’t ever want to lose her.

“You don’t need to decide tonight,” she says. “Think about it for a while.”

“I love you.”

I watch as surprise crosses her face now, a tiny blush creeping up her cheeks as she smiles, almost shyly at me.

“I’ve loved you from the second you walked into my life, Emma,” I tell her. “And I’ll love you for the rest of it.”

Now it’s Emma who’s crying. She’s smiling though, even as silent tears fall down her cheeks. I lean in, kiss them away before brushing my lips against hers.

“I love you.”

About Seven Months After That Night…

~ Emma

I notice the difference as soon as I walk into the apartment. It’s partly due to the music that’s playing and partly due to the amazing smells coming from the kitchen. But as I walk into the room, I can see it’s more than that.

It’s the peace that seems to have settled over this place in the last week or so. A peace, and some sort of easy calmness, that’s been missing from here these past few months.

“Hey,” Nick says, smiling as he leans and gives me a long kiss.

That’s new too.

Not just the genuine smile, but also the kiss that he initiates, the kiss that isn’t an apology or a diversion or a way to stop me from asking questions.

“You hungry?” he asks, handing me a bowl of pasta.

“Starving,” I reply.

“Good,” he says, smiling back at me. “Let’s eat.”

He leads me to the couch, where we sit facing each other. I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet beneath me.

I notice the open bottle of wine, the two glasses and the flickering candles that all sit on the coffee table. This doesn’t just feel new, this feels like turning a corner.

“How was your day?” he asks.

I turn back and find him watching me, a small smile on his face. “How was yours?” I ask.

Nick laughs. “Good, but tell me about yours first.”

So I do. Because even though he used to ask me this as a diversion to all the things he didn’t want to talk about, I soon realised it was actually helping me too. I’d always thought I was protecting myself by not talking about my day and all the shit I’d had to witness, but after these past few months I now realise that talking about it is actually a good thing.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from everything I’ve watched Nick go through, it’s that keeping things bottled up inside is not a good move. But it’s one thing to know it and quite another to do it and so as hard as it is at times, I always tell him.

Still, I know that it works. I’ve not only seen it work for him, I can feel it working for me too. Because when I tell him about my day, the good and the bad, I can feel something amazing start to happen. I leave work behind. I feel myself switching off, closing the door on my day and focusing on being here, with him.

It’s also allowed me to open up to him about other things too. Like the random night Jason and I once shared long before I ever met Nick. The night that we both immediately knew was a mistake and which never went any further. He’d taken it better than I thought he would, even admitting to me the drunken kiss he’d tried to give Amy that week he crashed on her couch.

We talked more about his sister Amy too. Not just about what happened to her, but me looking up her file, Nick disappearing like he did.

I think it helped that both of us had made mistakes, but I knew the trust that came from admitting them is what helped us both get past it all. I knew it strengthened the trust we have for each other now too.

I know it’s not always going to be this easy, that me telling him about my day isn’t somehow going to be a quick way to fix all the stuff I’ve had to witness or that the pain of what happened to Amy isn’t going to haunt him again. But it does help, and for now, it’s enough.

By the time I’ve finished talking, we’ve both finished eating. Nick takes my bowl, but only to put it on the coffee table and hand me some wine. I take the glass, having a small sip before I turn things back on him.

“So, tell me about your day.”

Nick smiles. “It was good.”

I watch him, see the peace that still surrounds him, and for the first time in a long time, I truly believe he means it. “What did you do?” I ask.

Nick shrugs. “Cleaned up around here,” he says. “Went and saw Adrian and then did some stuff downstairs with Tony.”

I study him, searching for more. “You seem…I don’t know…different tonight?”

Nick laughs now. “I do?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Better?” I cautiously suggest.

He laughs again, sliding closer on the couch as he rests his arm along the back, his fingers brushing against my neck. “I feel better.”

“Really?” I ask, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.

It’s not that I didn’t think he’d ever get better. He has been. I’d just always had to remind myself it would take time, that it wouldn’t happen overnight.

“I know it’s going to take a while,” Nick says, seemingly reading my mind. “And I know some days are going to be worse than others. But honestly, Em, I feel like I’m finally getting there, you know. That maybe one day, none of this will be as painful as it used to be.”

“I’m really glad,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his knuckles. I believe him on this too, because I know now, how badly he wants to get to that point.

Nick smiles. “Something I did do today,” he says a little nervously, “is advertise for a new chef.”

“What, really?” I ask, surprised. I wasn’t sure he’d ever get to this point.

He nods. “Yes, really.”

I stare back at him, unsure what to say because although this is a huge thing for him, maybe one of the biggest things, I don’t want to make too much of it. I don’t want to scare him off or change his mind about it.

“You know,” he says, sliding closer. “This is all because of you, Em.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yes.”

“You’re the one doing all the work,” I say, knowing his weekly chat with Adrian is what’s getting him this far. Not me.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “You, Emma. You are what saved me.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong. That I did nothing but reopen an old wound that I know he was trying to heal, even if he wasn’t getting very far or doing it the right way.

But I can’t say anything because he’s kissing me again. And he’s kissing me in a way that he hasn’t done in a very long time.

And I don’t want to change his mind about this either.

~ Nick

We fall back onto the couch, my body covering hers.

She’s right, because this is different; we are different. And it’s not even different in a way that takes us back to when we first got together. It’s like something completely new, born from a darker place we both had to go to, but one that’s only strengthened all the things I feel about her and the connection we share.

I slide my arms beneath her, wrapping them around her and pulling her closer. “That night, Em,” I whisper, lifting my head so I can meet her eyes. “Meeting you that night, is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Emma smiles, closes the distance between us and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Best thing that’s happened to me too,” she whispers against my mouth and I know, despite all the heartache and pain that came after that night, I would never in a million years ever want to take back meeting her.

I deepen the kiss as I tighten my arms around her. I feel her hands slide under my t-shirt, smoothing their way up my back. It sends ripples of heat down my spine, my whole body surging with desire. I want to pull her up and take her to the bedroom, but I don’t, unable to break this connection, even for a second.

I kiss a path across her jaw, nibbling at her neck. “I love you,” I whisper against her skin. “Never forget that.”

I can feel her smile as she buries her face against my neck. Her hands tug at my t-shirt, lifting it and I pull back so she can take it off. She throws it over the couch, her hands on my jeans next, undoing them. I grin against her mouth as that desire only grows.

When she finally gets my jeans undone, she pushes them down my hips, using her feet to get them off. I roll to the side, taking her with me as my hands now start peeling off her clothes.

“Nick,” she murmurs and it sounds so incredibly sexy.

My mouth finds hers again and we kiss with a hunger that I’ve never felt before. Everything about this moment, this connection, all the things I feel for her, feels so incredibly intense, so much better than before.

I move her beneath me again as Emma’s hands slide down my back, pushing me against her. I lift my hips and slide inside her, watching her as I do.

She groans, her whole body arching beneath me and it’s such an incredible turn on that I have to stop, just so I don’t lose it.

“God, you feel so good,” I whisper, lowering my mouth to hers again.

I kiss her as I slowly start to move. I feel Emma’s arms now wrap around me and I mirror the move, sliding my arms under her back again.

We are as close as we can possibly get, not an inch of space between our skin, yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“Nick,” she whispers.

My eyes open as I pull back a little, watch her beneath me. She opens her eyes, brushes a hand against my cheek. “More,” she whispers, as though she too can feel this connection we have, can sense the change like I do.

I see the want in her eyes, the desire and the need. It sends a surge of lust through me, and I move a little faster, a little harder above her. She moans now, her eyes closing again as her body moves against mine, pushing against me. Her skin is hot, her fingers digging into my skin.

I don’t know how long we move together like this, but several times I have to fight to hold on, to stay in control so I can make it last longer. Eventually though, I can’t, and as Emma groans again, I finally lose it, practically growling her name as my body completely shatters against hers.

I collapse against her, both of us breathing hard. My head is spinning and my skin feels like it’s on fire. Neither of us says anything, our bodies still tangled together, still connected in every way.

“That was amazing,” she eventually whispers, nuzzling against my skin.

I feel her bite my neck and I hear myself groan as my body responds, not even close to being done despite everything we’ve just shared. “God, I can’t get enough of you, Emma,” I whisper, lifting my head so I can look at her.

She smiles up at me. “Good,” she says as she pulls my mouth back to hers and I show her exactly what I mean.

About Eight Months After That Night…

~ Emma

The alarm sounds, pulling me from sleep. Groaning, I reach over to switch it off just as his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him because he knows I’m about to leave.

“Stay,” he whispers, his lips at my shoulder.

“I have to get up,” I murmur, even as my head falls back against the pillow.

“Thirty minutes,” he says, kissing his way across my collarbone.

My eyes close. “I don’t have time.”

“Twenty?”

I smile. “I really have to go.”

“Fifteen then,” he suggests, his lips on my throat now.

It’s getting close and I know the second he reaches my mouth, I’m going to lose.

“You should go back to sleep,” I murmur, half-heartedly trying to push him away. “You got in really late.”

“Shhh,” he says, brushing my mouth with his. “Busy.”

I sigh; my arms sliding around his waist as his body rolls onto mine, knowing he’s won.

Again.

The smile against my lips just before he kisses me tells me that he knows he has too.

~ Nick

It’s after noon by the time I finally wake up. The apartment is quiet; the only noise that of the street as it filters its way up to the open window of the bedroom. I can feel the sun slanting through, warming the room, but keep my eyes closed, my thoughts lingering on the first time I woke up today.

I smile, remembering the bullshit fight she tried to put up after the alarm had gone off. Then the warmth of her skin against mine, the way her body gave into me, almost as though we were both fighting her brain and convincing her to stay.

I knew she would though, just like I knew she often set her alarm earlier now to allow for things like this morning. To make time in our crazy schedules for us.

I roll over, feel the coolness of the sheets beside me, even as the smell of her still lingers. I wish she were still here, my body already betraying me even though I know she’s long gone.

Groaning, I force my eyes open, smile at the now long cold coffee she’s left on the side table for me. She’d probably still drink it, caring more about the caffeine hit than any taste or enjoyment she gets when she has to get up early.

I drag myself from bed, smiling at Oscar, who has made himself at home in a box of Emma’s clothes that she still hasn’t managed to unpack. Probably won’t now that he’s occupying it.

I walk into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee before taking it with me and jumping in the shower. Today I shave off the last few days worth of stubble before picking up the clothes that litter the floor of our bathroom. It makes me smile, knowing how much she fights the messy side she has. She’d been worried it would drive me crazy when she moved in here when all I’d been worried about was that she’d say no when I suggested it.

For weeks she’d been trying to give me back the spare key she’d had ever since I’d lost my shit and walked out on her. I’d gotten sick of her offering it back to me and me telling her to keep it. In the end I’d said, “Emma, I don’t ever want the key back. I want you to keep it and I want it to be your only key.”

It had taken her a second to get what I was telling her and even though she’d been worried it was too soon or that I needed time alone to get over everything or that her work hours or messiness would drive me crazy, I’d managed to convince her that none of that mattered to me.

That the only thing that mattered was her.

By the time I finally arrive, I can already see the vintage cars pulling into the drive. I hustle it across the lawn to where everything is set up, sliding into a chair at the back. I know a couple of people here, but I’ll catch up with them later. For now, I just want to wait and see her.

The music starts just as the doors of the bridal party car open. They’re too far away to see clearly, but I spot her as soon as her long pale leg is out of the car.

Memories of this morning flash through my mind. Those legs wrapped around my waist, her body moulding itself beneath mine as though all of her muscles and bones were moving to accommodate me.

“More,” she’d whispered, the word sounding more like a moan as I’d moved above her.

I’d smiled; almost tempted to stop, tease her a little about the fact she supposedly needed to go. But I didn’t. Couldn’t, more like it, groaning as I’d given her everything she’d asked me for.

I watch as they approach, my eyes never leaving her. She slides an arm through the elbow Owen offers, laughing as he kisses her cheek and whispers something only for her. Everybody stands as they walk towards us and I can see her eyes scanning the crowd now, searching.

When she finally spots me, I grin. I’m not sure what she was expecting, but I’m guessing from the look on her face, it wasn’t this. I wink, just as Owen elbows her in the ribs, both of us laughing because she’s now frozen to the spot and holding up the whole bridal party.

Emma blushes a little, turning away as she and Owen walk down the aisle, leading the way for the other bridesmaids and then Sarah.

I don’t really pay attention to the service, only her. She fidgets a lot, eyes the crowd nervously, and I can tell she hates the fact that everyone is looking at her. It’s strange, given she spends her days saving people’s lives; just how much she hates the attention in hers.

Emma and Sarah hug as she hands over the rings and I smile at the genuine emotion between them. I like Sarah, I have from the start and I really like the fact that her and Emma’s friendship has survived all of this.

I’m glad they sorted things out after everything that happened the night they both walked into my bar. Glad it wasn’t ruined with everything that came after either.

The bridal party goes for photos after the service and the rest of us make our way to the marquee that’s been set up on the edge of the lawn. It looks spectacular, a small wooden jetty nearby that leads out onto the river, strung with fairy lights and lanterns. The dusk sky is all shades of red and yellow now, as the sun slowly sets.

I grab a beer from one of the waiters and head down to the jetty, not quite ready to join the rest of the party just yet.

“Hey, there you are,” she says, arms sliding around my waist. “You okay?”

I turn, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “I am.”

She smiles, gives me a once over. “Nice suit,” she says, her fingers smoothing down my tie.

“You like?”

She nods. “I do. But just so you know, I like your bar clothes too.”

I grin as I stare down at her, waiting for her to look up at me. “You look beautiful,” I say, when she finally does.

Later, we’re on the dance floor, our bodies pressed together as we sway to the melody of an old song. My jacket is off and Emma’s arms are wrapped around my waist, her fingers digging into my back as though she’s trying to pull me closer. I press a kiss to the skin of her shoulder, inhale a deep breath against her neck before pulling back to meet her eyes.

“You ever think about getting married?” I ask.

She freezes in my arms and I can’t help but chuckle, urging her to keep dancing as I say, “Stay with me, Em.”

But she doesn’t, instead staring up at me with a look of confusion and maybe a little fear on her face as she tries to work out exactly what I’m asking. It’s not a proposal. Not yet anyway. I think she knows that.

“Well?” I prompt, squeezing her hip.

She swallows hard. “Do you?”

I stare down at her, wondering just how much I should admit out loud. It’s funny, but back when this whole thing started between the two of us, it was me who told her to stop worrying about the future. To just be an us in the now and not worry about what was to come.

Then everything went to shit and for a while there, I wasn’t even sure there could be an us. But somehow, despite everything, she never stopped being there for me and while neither of us is fully healed just yet, we are both getting there.

I know Emma is happier now. She’s far less hung up on work and all the shitty things she has to see on a daily basis. I know it still lingers, that it probably always will, but these days at least, she comes home on time and she talks to me. And together, we both find a way for her to leave work behind where it belongs.

And even though I always thought that night nearly two years ago wasn’t something I needed to process, I am finally starting to accept that I do need to face things in order to deal with it all. Adrian’s working on getting me to accept and talk about what happened so the pain of it lessens, while Emma’s working on getting me to forgive myself for it all. I’m still not entirely convinced about that part, but there’s a part of me that’s starting to believe her. To believe it can happen.

Either way, together, we are finding a way to move forward. Together.

As I watch her watching me now though, her face slowly relaxing even as her eyes continue to search mine, I realise that despite my earlier advice, it’s now me who’s thinking about the future.

Especially the future us.

“Nick?” she whispers.

I grin now, say nothing as I remember the words of my sister and how well she knew me after all. Then I lean down and press my mouth against hers.

Yep.

I like my body when it is with your body.

It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

e.e. cummings

Acknowledgements

As always, my thanks go out to all of you. To everyone who bought this book, read this book and left a review for this book. Thank you! Thank you for sticking with me, for believing in me and for supporting me.

Thanks also to Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations for once again creating the most perfect cover. She never gets it wrong and I am so grateful for what she created for Nick and Emma’s story.

Writing is hard, I’ve gone on and on about it and I’ve disappeared for long enough to prove it. I never could’ve written this book without the help of several people. Nikki, thank you for helping me find my mojo again and for always being honest about my writing. Jacks, thank you for always believing in me and for being my bestie. Thanks also to my betas for all of their invaluable feedback, it couldn’t happen without any of you.

And you A, thank you for everything.