About Last Night - Chapter 5
"I try to revisit every scene of last night, but there are blurry patches and entire scenes I can’t recall. I am desperately scouring for clues, but there is nothing past a certain point."
Catch-up on Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 and Chapter 4.
January, 2018
Pain shots through my temples, waking me. I find myself, once again, in a room I don’t recognise, but this is a comfortable bed. I have no desire to return to the world, but the pain in my temples needs sorting out. I fumble with my hand on the bedside table to discover a glass of water and a tablet of Alka-Seltzer.
Amy, I think. Shit.
I can’t remember much from last night, but I can only pray I didn’t do anything stupid like, heavens forbid, make a move on her fiancée. I take my hangover cure and brace myself to face the truth.
As I remove the softness embrace of the duvet, I notice that, unlike the last time I woke up in a strange bed, I am fully clothed. Whoever put me to bed last night did not engage in the same nocturnal activities as Sigfrid von Dickenshmuck. Good riddance to him. And to my career. After losing the Swedish Style account, I have been walking on thin ice. Jim didn’t say it with actual words, but I know him too well. He picked Gary for all the sexy accounts and he’s offloaded the small complicated ones that had been losing the agency money for months on me. Unless I turn them profitable, I’m out. I should probably quit, but I can’t bear the thought of going to interviews and pretend that I care. At least with Jim I don’t have to pretend. I’ll limp my way through somehow. I always do.
I step into the living room. There is no trace of a party. Amy must have woken before daybreak to hoover and scrub every surface in this room, and I didn’t hear a single thing. I must have been seriously passed out.
I turn into the kitchen. There is no sign of Amy, but I see Christopher at the table, deep in thought, next to a cup of coffee and an iPad, looking out of the window to what appears to be the remains of a bin bag that has been ravaged by foxes.
‘So that’s where the real party was,’ I say, startling him. ‘If I’d only known.’
‘Hey,’ says Christopher, with a gentle smile and no immediate hint of awkwardness. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’ve felt perkier. But nothing a strong cup of coffee won’t sort.’
‘I can help with the coffee,’ says Christopher and gets up to fix me a ristretto. He has a serious barista machine, and I love watching him clinking the various pieces of metal and grinding the coffee beans – an industrious operation resulting in the world’s tiniest cup of coffee.
‘Thank you,’ I say, trying to grab the handle of the miniature cup without touching his hand – a failed task. ‘Where’s Amy?’ I rush out the words.
Christopher fumbles with his pockets as if searching for the answer in the seams of his trousers. He turns to me with a guilty look on his face.
‘She had to go into work.’
‘On New Year’s Day?’ I say, taking a sip. The coffee is so strong, it nearly makes my heart implode.
‘An emergency,’ says Christopher, and I can tell he is hating himself for lying.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Did the lab rats escape?’
‘Something like that.’ He gives out a nervous laugh and starts picking imaginary breadcrumbs off the table.
‘Okay,’ I say, taking another, more reserved sip of coffee. I check my phone to see if she has at least texted to say something, but my phone stares blankly back at me.
I try to revisit every scene of last night, but there are blurry patches and entire scenes I can’t recall. I am desperately scouring for clues, but there is nothing past a certain point.
‘Is Amy upset with me? Is there something I should know?’
Christopher sighs. ‘You don’t remember what happened, do you?’
My fingers tremble, and I hide my hands in my lap. Christopher does a great job of narrating the events of the evening without making me feel awful. But I do feel awful. I’ve let Amy down. Again.
‘I think you might need help,’ he says, shaking me out of my thoughts.
‘Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?’ I say, prickling up. ‘You don’t know what I need. You don’t even know me.’ I look straight into his green eyes, wanting to punch him and kiss him at the same time, which is a very bad sign.
‘Look,’ says Christopher, leaning in and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. ‘I don’t pretend to know the source of your suffering, but I know pain when I see it.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ I say, desperately searching for something better to say. ‘And what makes you such an expert? I don’t imagine you’ve had a tough life.’
‘Helena,’ says Christopher, ignoring my attack. ‘I see trauma at work every single day. I know that a wounded child is hiding underneath this strong and smug appearance of yours.’ He takes my hand into his and it sets my belly on fire. ‘I want you to know that it’s okay. You can let go. It’s okay to ask for help.’
I look at him with hateful eyes. Who does he think he is? Deepak Chopra? I don’t need this bullshit. And I definitely don’t need to find him so damn attractive.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, on the offense. ‘I don’t think Amy would approve of this.’
‘Of what?’ says Christopher and stares into my eyes, not letting go of my hand, his fingers burning desire on my skin. If I don’t move away fast enough, I know what I’ll do next and there is no coming back from that.
‘This,’ I say, pulling my hand away. ‘This… Whatever it is that you’re doing.’
‘What am I doing?’ he says, in his soft and even tone. Is he messing with me or does he genuinely care?
I am trapped and suddenly at a loss for words. He is looking straight through the hole in my heart, and there is only one way I deal with situations like this. Damn him and damn Amy too. How am I supposed to do right by her when all I can think about is how fast I could get Christopher naked and breathing heavily on top of me?
‘Psychoanalysing me,’ I say, spitting out the words.
Christopher takes a deep breath. ‘Helena,’ he says, looking at me while I hold his gaze, defiant. ‘That’s not what I’m doing. I…,’ he stops and changes direction. ‘I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever need my help.’
‘You can keep your help,’ I say and jump up, spilling my cup of coffee. He looks at me with benevolence and, as my anger rises, I become desperate to kiss him with fury until his lips bleed. Instead, I hurl myself outside and onto the street before he sees me crying.
Stay tuned for Chapter 6 next week. Don’t forget to join the chat or leave a comment and let me know what you think!
