I watch him. His routine is the same everyday. Shower, breakfast at the café; two eggs, toast buttered on both sides and a coffee with nothing in it, a walk, then the pub until he's so drunk he can barely walk home. He's been like that for months now. Everyday I stand outside the pub thinking the next drink will be his last that he'll finally have drank himself to death, but it never is. I can't help but wonder what kind of demon's he's trying to run from. I wish I could tell him that eventually they catch up with you…that you can't outrun the past.

Rain begins to fall from a grey sky. The wind blowing drops of it underneath my jumper, causing a shiver to run up and down my spine. The cold here is biting, settling in your bones; holding on to you like the grip of an ex-lover after a bad breakup. The window begins to fog up but I see him, his faded red sweater standing out against the drab interior of the pub. I've thought about going in but something stops me every time. Its like I know that stepping inside would change everything. I couldn't go back from it. I don't quite know if I'm ready for that.

"What're you going with yourself Anna?" I whisper to myself before heading down a side street. The road is still, the water glimmering like diamonds…little ponds of hope, as I like to call them. For just a second nothing is more pure than that little pool of water on the ground.

The ocean is choppy with chunks of ice floating around on the service. I pull out a fag and place it between my lips, a dark red lipstick stain instantly appearing. Nothing stays crisp and new for too long in this world.

"You've been following me," a male voice behind me causes me to jump, my lighter falling into the water below me.

"What?" I question keeping my eyes down, my back to the stranger. It can't be him. I've been so careful.

"I…I didn't mean for you to drop your lighter…here," a lighter is held over my shoulder. The hand holding it has 'cook' tattooed across the skin. "I just wanted to know why you've been watching me."

"I don't actually know why."

"You should stop, ya know. It's weird. I don't like it."

"I didn't ask if you liked it. Isn't that how stalking works? The person being stalked doesn't really get a choice do they?"

I hear a grunt, like a laugh being repressed and then his body slumps down next to me. My gut instinct is to get up and run…to not look back. Yet, I stay seated my limbs heavy, curiosity pumping through my veins. Maybe this is that sign I'd been asking for for so many years.

"You could've just come up and said hey."

"I don't think you would've liked that too much," I answer back, handing over the lighter. The rain has turned to a steady snow. Cook isn't wearing a jacket and I can see that he's shivering. "You should go back to the pub."

"Don't feel like it."

"What do you feel like?"

There is a few moments of silence. I look over at Cook, his eyes look cloudy, his lips pulled down into a frown. This is a usual facial expression.

"Who are you anyway?"

"Annabelle, my friends call me Anna," I answer back voice barely above a whisper. I'm actually surprised he was able to hear me at all.

"Well, Annabelle, I'm Cook but I'm sure you already knew that. How about we get out of this weather?"

I nod as Cook offers me his hand. I am pulled up and drug down the street. He doesn't talk to me anymore. Instead he gets a far off look in his blue eyes. He mutters to himself but I don't catch any of it. This whole thing is surreal. I've watched this man for the past six months. Never in my wildest dreams did I actually think we'd meet, let alone him taking me back to his place.

"Cook," I mumble suddenly extremely aware of the situation I'm putting myself in. I really don't know much about this man. What've I gotten myself in to? This could be dangerous. What if….

Cook stops, causing me to run in to his chest. He steadies me by placing his hands on my shoulders, "What is it Annabelle?"

"We…we aren't like gonna fuck are we?" I avoid his gaze, my eyes glued to the brick underneath my feet. I can feel his eyes burning holes in my skull. I feel kind of dizzy and few a few seconds I think I might puke.

"Come on," Cook answers back before taking my hand and continuing down the street. "We're almost there."

We walk up two more streets in silence. Cook occasionally glances over at me as if he's trying to figure out what he's gotten himself in to. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, trying to memorize the other houses, where the corner stores are…the police station. My free hand is balled in to a tight fist, my knuckles white, fingernails digging into my palm.

"You're so stupid Anna," I mumble to myself as we stop in front of a black front door. Cook fiddles with the key and lock for a minute before it springs open revealing a dark hallway.

"What was that?" he questions as lights spring on and a kettle is set on a rusty looking cooktop.

"Nothing, nice place."

He nods, "Is that how you really feel?"

"No, it's actually kind of a shit hole."

Cook laughs, flashing me a smile. I've only seen a few of those in the past months. My cheeks burn at the thought of being the reason for one. He keeps his distance and I begin to defrost, my nerves calming and allowing my heart to return to a semi-normal pace. I chew my thumbnail, hoping I don't look too much like a dear in the headlights. I nearly fall out of my chair when he places a cup of a muddy looking liquid down in front of me.

"You're kinda jumpy, huh?"

"What?"

"You look like you're terrified. Whatever it is you're worried I'm gonna do I won't," Cook answers sitting down in the seat across from me. "I just wanna talk. You know I've known you've been watching me for like weeks now."

"Why didn't you stop me before now?"

Cook shrugs, "Guess I thought you'd say something."

"I don't really talk to the people I observe."

"You follow around more than just me?"

"Well, not anymore…."

I don't really know what else to say. I guess I've always watched people. It's easier than trying to get close to them…that only gets you hurt. If I stay away I can be apart of their lives without anyone having to face any consequences. If I never talk to them they can be whatever I want them to be. People make relationships complicated.

A sinking feeling settles in my chest. Cook and I can't be friends. I was stalking him for Christ sake. He's going to tell me to stop and then kick me out into the cold. I chew my lip, wishing I had just staid home tonight…just let him go to the pub and ignore him like I had planned to. If this was my sign it's fucked. What am I gonna do without Cook? He's become the focus of my life. In my reality he's kind and gentle and wants to help me as much as I want to help him. We talk and lie in bed and watch the rain and eat gumdrops and drink tea. I don't actually know what real life Cook is like.

"Annabelle?" Cook says snapping his fingers in front of my face. I jump backwards hitting my head on the chair railing. "Shit sorry."

"Doesn't hurt. What were you asking?"

"You just tuned out. It was kinda scary. I told you to tell me about yourself."

"Sorry, it happens a lot. I can't really control it. Err…I grew up here; about three miles east of here actually. Dad's got a graphic thing going on and mum is a schizo. I graduated last May but didn't really go anywhere. I had a thing in London for a while I guess but it didn't really work out. So now I'm here. What's your story?"

"That wasn't much of a life story Annabelle. And ya know…I just wanted a change in scenery."

"That's a shitty excuse for an answer," I reply taking a small sip of the tea Cook made. It isn't half bad. It's sweet, like he added honey or something.

"You're kinda cheeky aren't you?"

"Problem Cook?"

"Naw. You have somewhere to go tonight?"

"Do you always let strange girls stay the night at your place?"

Cook cracks another smile, "No…only the one's who've been stalking me."

I laugh; hold my cup between my hands letting the warmth seep between my fingers. Maybe in my head Cook and real life Cook are the same. Maybe he will be my friend and maybe we can help each other. Maybe the sign wasn't as fucked as I thought it was.

"I don't have anywhere to go."

"Then it's settled. You'll stay and watch telly and we'll talk more," Cook answers before moving in to another room.

I follow slowly behind, dragging my hand down the yellow stained wall of the hallway. It looks like no one has done anything with the place in ages. Cook is perched on the back of a lumpy looking sofa. The cushions are covered with a flowery pattern, a bit of the stuffing creeping out of holes that no one bothered to patch. The only thing that looks even remotely new is the television. It is set on top of a stack of books.

"Cook, how long have lived here?"

"I dunno," he shrugs flipping through channels until he finds the cartoons.

"Are planning on staying?"

"For now."

I let out a sigh, "Cook you should get some real furniture."

"Eventually. I don't really know what to get. Maybe you can pick it out?"

"For real? You don't even know me."

"Look Annabelle," Cook turns to face me, "something I've learned is that you need to take opportunities. I was presented with an opportunity to meet a pretty girl. Is she a little fucked in the head…maybe, but for the time being she seems safe enough."

I scrunch up my nose not entirely sure I get what he's saying.

"It means you can be my friend Annabelle."

"Oh."

Cook sighs sliding off the back of the sofa and onto the cushion next to me, a little more stuffing flies out, landing on the dusty floor. Arms surround me and I'm pulled onto Cook's lap. I try and make myself less ridged but I can't help it. My body begins to shut down and the edges of the room become fuzzy.

"Hey, relax," fingers begin to pull through my hair, getting caught on a few tangles. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just kinda miss…this."