"The irony isn't lost on me but I know where to draw certain lines. However, may I snoop?"
My automatic reaction was to smirk. "You're asking my permission? I thought you had me pegged."
"I do." He pulled his hand free of mine to wave to a waitress hovering around the doorway out onto the mezzanine. She approached us, all luscious curves and auburn haired, and curtseyed politely as she delivered a sandwich to the table. Curtseyed? I waited until she was out of earshot before I laughed at her. Yes, she was definitely one of those women Blaze sought to avoid. "Something funny?"
"Not at all. You were snooping?"
He held out the plate, offering to share his sandwich, but I shook my head firmly to decline. "It's really more seeking supplementary information in regards to an observation."
"Spit it out."
He sighed and ran a finger over the small scar on his upper lip. "Your so called friends— Esme and the egomaniacal pedant— they really seem to talk down to you."
My mouth dropped open an inch. "And?" I got a very pointed look in return for my snapping before he turned and took a large bite from his sandwich. He wanted to know why, of course he did. "It's concern," I sighed, "I suppose it's hard for them to treat me like I'm at my best when they've seen me at my worst."
"Relapses?" He stared blankly at my look of horror. How much had he heard? "You work in a bookshop, Emmeline— a usually empty bookshop, and the guy talks so loudly that you may as well have just had your phone on speaker. I wouldn't want to go to his wedding either if he spoke to me like that." Ignoring my obstinate grunts of objection, he pressed on. "Your other friends don't talk to you like that."
"No, they don't." My mind cycled through the motions of the affinity I shared with the other men in my life. Daniel and Jonathan had struggled to find acceptance over their sexuality and Chris had been dealt a pretty shitty hand in the self-esteem stakes. It didn't take much to knock any of us down to rock bottom, and until you'd been there yourself, you just didn't understand how it felt. "They know what it's like to be damaged goods."
"Damaged goods!" Blaze snorted, but didn't pursue the conversation further. Instead, I watched him snarf down his sandwich with quiet enthusiasm and silently tended to my internal war wounds. I was damaged, inside and out, and it wouldn't be long before that damage spread. I was too far gone to fight it.
Four
EVERY DAY I saw the same face. That washed out, beady eyed, chubby cheeked face caked in chocolate and smudged make-up.
Why are you trying to make yourself look pretty, freak? Everyone thinks you're ugly. You're ugly, fat and everyone hates you. No matter how hard you run on that treadmill, you're always going to have a big doughy backside and five chins. Six years of this and you're still wearing the same sized jeans you wore when you left school. Even the fat chicks are embarrassed to see you in the plus size section. Maybe you can cut it out. Maybe you can remove that fat yourself and stitch it back up. You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you? Just make it go away. Nobody would ever know...
No matter how sharp my tongue was, she stood there sadly and took my insults without ever answering or looking away. She was as bored of hearing it as I was of saying it, but somehow we needed each other. She needed to hear it and I needed to be heard. We were gluttons for punishment. Words were meaningless with no action and neither of us could act alone.
If you looked at us side by side, you'd never guess that we were two sides of the same coin. You'd never understand why we stood so close together. You probably wouldn't even realise that she was there...
"HEY, EMMELINE!" THE loud voice at the door of Double Booked's bathroom made me jump out of my skin like I'd been caught with my hands in the cookie jar. "You have five seconds before I barge in through this unlocked door,
My automatic reaction was to smirk. "You're asking my permission? I thought you had me pegged."
"I do." He pulled his hand free of mine to wave to a waitress hovering around the doorway out onto the mezzanine. She approached us, all luscious curves and auburn haired, and curtseyed politely as she delivered a sandwich to the table. Curtseyed? I waited until she was out of earshot before I laughed at her. Yes, she was definitely one of those women Blaze sought to avoid. "Something funny?"
"Not at all. You were snooping?"
He held out the plate, offering to share his sandwich, but I shook my head firmly to decline. "It's really more seeking supplementary information in regards to an observation."
"Spit it out."
He sighed and ran a finger over the small scar on his upper lip. "Your so called friends— Esme and the egomaniacal pedant— they really seem to talk down to you."
My mouth dropped open an inch. "And?" I got a very pointed look in return for my snapping before he turned and took a large bite from his sandwich. He wanted to know why, of course he did. "It's concern," I sighed, "I suppose it's hard for them to treat me like I'm at my best when they've seen me at my worst."
"Relapses?" He stared blankly at my look of horror. How much had he heard? "You work in a bookshop, Emmeline— a usually empty bookshop, and the guy talks so loudly that you may as well have just had your phone on speaker. I wouldn't want to go to his wedding either if he spoke to me like that." Ignoring my obstinate grunts of objection, he pressed on. "Your other friends don't talk to you like that."
"No, they don't." My mind cycled through the motions of the affinity I shared with the other men in my life. Daniel and Jonathan had struggled to find acceptance over their sexuality and Chris had been dealt a pretty shitty hand in the self-esteem stakes. It didn't take much to knock any of us down to rock bottom, and until you'd been there yourself, you just didn't understand how it felt. "They know what it's like to be damaged goods."
"Damaged goods!" Blaze snorted, but didn't pursue the conversation further. Instead, I watched him snarf down his sandwich with quiet enthusiasm and silently tended to my internal war wounds. I was damaged, inside and out, and it wouldn't be long before that damage spread. I was too far gone to fight it.
Four
EVERY DAY I saw the same face. That washed out, beady eyed, chubby cheeked face caked in chocolate and smudged make-up.
Why are you trying to make yourself look pretty, freak? Everyone thinks you're ugly. You're ugly, fat and everyone hates you. No matter how hard you run on that treadmill, you're always going to have a big doughy backside and five chins. Six years of this and you're still wearing the same sized jeans you wore when you left school. Even the fat chicks are embarrassed to see you in the plus size section. Maybe you can cut it out. Maybe you can remove that fat yourself and stitch it back up. You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you? Just make it go away. Nobody would ever know...
No matter how sharp my tongue was, she stood there sadly and took my insults without ever answering or looking away. She was as bored of hearing it as I was of saying it, but somehow we needed each other. She needed to hear it and I needed to be heard. We were gluttons for punishment. Words were meaningless with no action and neither of us could act alone.
If you looked at us side by side, you'd never guess that we were two sides of the same coin. You'd never understand why we stood so close together. You probably wouldn't even realise that she was there...
"HEY, EMMELINE!" THE loud voice at the door of Double Booked's bathroom made me jump out of my skin like I'd been caught with my hands in the cookie jar. "You have five seconds before I barge in through this unlocked door,
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