room with a bag on his shoulder. I think of looking through it, but I can’t be bothered. Whatever he has, he’s welcome to it, as long as I never have to see him again.
“Are you ready, Michael?” he says sharply.
Liam shakes his head and gets up.
“You’re going with him?” I ask.
He grins. “Have you seen his arse? Of course, I’m going with him. Surely he’s got to shut his mouth while he’s being fucked?”
“I’d like to tell you that, but it’d be a lie,” I say dolefully. “He’s still capable of talking crap even when he’s coming.”
His soft laughter follows them out, and then the door slams, leaving me alone on the sofa. The quiet settles in around me again like a soft blanket. Usually, I love the feeling of solitude. After years of being in care homes, where privacy was at an absolute minimum and noise and bustle were prevalent, I’ve always savoured the stillness of my home.
Now, however, I would give anything to have Dylan here. I want to sit with him in the kitchen like last time and have him pull my secrets out of me, the way a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve never been with anyone who has ever made me feel like that, safe and warm yet almost painfully flayed open.
But Dylan showing up here will never happen again. The clock is ticking down on our relationship, and soon he will leave my employment. After rubbing my bleary eyes, I look around at my house. For the first time, the peace and stillness doesn’t revive me. It seems similar to the grave.
I swallow against a choking feeling of worry. Enough with this insular bullshit. Look what he’s turning you into.
I stand up. We’re in Amsterdam tomorrow. I will find someone else to fuck and take my mind off him. Dylan will talk to me again, wielding sarcasm like a cricket bat, and we will go back to normal.
My rules are there for a reason, I remind myself, and if there’s a hint of desperation in my inner voice, I’m the only one who knows it.
Bad Valentine
This short story is set immediately after the events of Valentine’s Day in Rule Breaker.
Gabe
I slam out of the flat and lean against the wall outside, breathing heavily. I can feel the alcohol running through my veins, and my eyes hurt. When I rub my fingers into them, they come away wet, and for a second I just stare at the moisture, unable to believe that this is me now, crying outside my boyfriend’s flat like some sad twat.
Rage sears me, and I lurch away. I’m going to a club, and I’m going to find the first available body and bury myself in him, and that will serve Dylan right. How dare he change the fucking goalposts on me, telling me he lo—
I veer away from that thought like it’s waiting to stab me, and I stagger towards the lift.
I press the button repeatedly and then pace the hall, looking back at his door constantly. Part of me wants him to open it, to tell me that everything will be okay and pull me back into the warmth of his home and him. The major part, however, wants to get away quickly before that could happen. Still, when the lift doors open, I hesitate and look back, but his door remains closed.
The wind slaps me in the face when I get outside, and I start to walk, hunched against the cold and looking out for an available taxi. The chill begins to bring me out of my alcohol haze, and something inside me tells me this isn’t wise. Seeing a taxi with its light on, I hold my hand up and then slide in when it pulls over.
I give him the address of Vibe and then sit, tapping my fingers on my phone. Mind finally made up, I hit my contacts. A few rings later and I hear Henry’s warm voice. “Gabe?”
“Hey,” I say in a rush. “You out tonight?”
There’s a pause. “I wasn’t going to. More importantly, I wouldn’t have thought you would be.”
“Why?” I say defensively.
He laughs. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day, you twat. Weren’t you supposed to be out with Dylan?” There’s a long pause. “Oh, shit, Gabe. Tell me you haven’t done anything stupid.”
“Why would I have done something stupid?”
“Because you’re the idiot still insisting on a hook-up status with Dylan, that’s why.”