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Authors: Siân O'Gorman
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her and then walk away, leaving Steph feeling furious that she had allowed to be controlled by her.
She drifted into the handbag and scarves department and wound a soft and luxurious black cashmere scarf around her neck. Steph looked at herself in the mirror. It was beautiful. Expensive but beautiful. If she really wanted it, she could pay for it, using Rickyâs money. But suddenly she was gripped with something else, she knew she was going to steal it. It was like she was possessed with this need, this desire, this urge. She had promised herself, over and over again, that she would stop this, not do it again, especially after the close-shave with Fintan and the chocolate bloody bunny. But the urge, whatever it was, was more powerful that she. Her whole body was filled with an energy which simultaneously empowered and frightened her, as though she was someone else, someone she wasnât in control of. She had promised herself she would stop, but each time she realized that it wasnât so easy.
She felt along the scarf for the security tag. None. Right, this shouldnât be too difficult. Leaving the scarf on, she casually checked out other scarves and more bags, fingering and feeling, drifting about dreamily as though she was any other woman on a browse. But, unlike all the other women, she left the shop with the black cashmere still around her neck.
Heart pounding, alarms screaming inside her head, she stepped into the street. Adrenaline pumping, she felt triumphant⦠but the feeling was frustratingly fleeting. In an instant, super-stealing powers dissipated and she was left standing on the street, a common criminal and she hated herself for it.
6
Cormac
It was still a building site but one day â imminently, knuckle-bitingly soon â it was to be his and Walterâs very own bakery. This mess of dust and cement would soon be the culmination of all his dreams. His professional dreams, anyway.
He thought of Melissa, and wished, as he always did, that she was with him. Sheâd say something to make him laugh and he would feel complete, happy, excited, as he always did when she was around. But he had a date that night with Erica, a set-up, a blind date, and he was feeling nervous and conflicted.
It was Melissa he wanted to be set up with, eating out with meeting for a drink, cinema-ing, not this Erica. Who, he suspected, would be high-maintenance and probably very scary.
He loved Melissa. She made him laugh, she fascinated and enthralled him. He loved her brokenness, her vulnerability, her strength. He loved her face and her body and her hands that he had to stop himself from grabbing, holding her and never letting go. Whenever they hugged, hello, goodbye, she felt small and soft and⦠and so incredibly gorgeous. She dominated his life, his thoughts, and he wanted her to be his and him to be hers. Ever undaunted, he had waited impatiently for her, hoping that one day she would change her mind, and there he would be, her knight in shiny shoes. Much as he tried, his ardour would not, damn it, wane, or dissipate or vaporize but instead had taken root. He might attempt a good prune but, within hours, he was back again, all aflame, like those relighting candles on birthday candles.
He was driven demented by her. Had been for years and years and years. Desperate to be the object of her affection, he was frustrated he was only allowed to be the nice best friend. But he was nearly forty and there comes a time when you have to admit defeat.
Cormac had started to wonder. Was this it? His life? Was this all he was destined for? I am, he thought, the empty crisp packet in man form, wafting unwanted along the street. I am a barnacle. A clinger-onner, a cling-on. Melissa would never love him or see him as anything more than the non-gay gay best friend. This second-best life was, he had thought, until now, good enough for him. But no longer. Erica was the answer to all his problems, the key to his
She drifted into the handbag and scarves department and wound a soft and luxurious black cashmere scarf around her neck. Steph looked at herself in the mirror. It was beautiful. Expensive but beautiful. If she really wanted it, she could pay for it, using Rickyâs money. But suddenly she was gripped with something else, she knew she was going to steal it. It was like she was possessed with this need, this desire, this urge. She had promised herself, over and over again, that she would stop this, not do it again, especially after the close-shave with Fintan and the chocolate bloody bunny. But the urge, whatever it was, was more powerful that she. Her whole body was filled with an energy which simultaneously empowered and frightened her, as though she was someone else, someone she wasnât in control of. She had promised herself she would stop, but each time she realized that it wasnât so easy.
She felt along the scarf for the security tag. None. Right, this shouldnât be too difficult. Leaving the scarf on, she casually checked out other scarves and more bags, fingering and feeling, drifting about dreamily as though she was any other woman on a browse. But, unlike all the other women, she left the shop with the black cashmere still around her neck.
Heart pounding, alarms screaming inside her head, she stepped into the street. Adrenaline pumping, she felt triumphant⦠but the feeling was frustratingly fleeting. In an instant, super-stealing powers dissipated and she was left standing on the street, a common criminal and she hated herself for it.
6
Cormac
It was still a building site but one day â imminently, knuckle-bitingly soon â it was to be his and Walterâs very own bakery. This mess of dust and cement would soon be the culmination of all his dreams. His professional dreams, anyway.
He thought of Melissa, and wished, as he always did, that she was with him. Sheâd say something to make him laugh and he would feel complete, happy, excited, as he always did when she was around. But he had a date that night with Erica, a set-up, a blind date, and he was feeling nervous and conflicted.
It was Melissa he wanted to be set up with, eating out with meeting for a drink, cinema-ing, not this Erica. Who, he suspected, would be high-maintenance and probably very scary.
He loved Melissa. She made him laugh, she fascinated and enthralled him. He loved her brokenness, her vulnerability, her strength. He loved her face and her body and her hands that he had to stop himself from grabbing, holding her and never letting go. Whenever they hugged, hello, goodbye, she felt small and soft and⦠and so incredibly gorgeous. She dominated his life, his thoughts, and he wanted her to be his and him to be hers. Ever undaunted, he had waited impatiently for her, hoping that one day she would change her mind, and there he would be, her knight in shiny shoes. Much as he tried, his ardour would not, damn it, wane, or dissipate or vaporize but instead had taken root. He might attempt a good prune but, within hours, he was back again, all aflame, like those relighting candles on birthday candles.
He was driven demented by her. Had been for years and years and years. Desperate to be the object of her affection, he was frustrated he was only allowed to be the nice best friend. But he was nearly forty and there comes a time when you have to admit defeat.
Cormac had started to wonder. Was this it? His life? Was this all he was destined for? I am, he thought, the empty crisp packet in man form, wafting unwanted along the street. I am a barnacle. A clinger-onner, a cling-on. Melissa would never love him or see him as anything more than the non-gay gay best friend. This second-best life was, he had thought, until now, good enough for him. But no longer. Erica was the answer to all his problems, the key to his
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