Hello, ermm well this is my first fanfic to I'm a little nervous about what you're all going to think, so please be nice :) basically, I had originally planned to write all the chapters of this story before publishing...but it appears that my original plan was far too short, so this chapter is going up as a kind of taster, I have 4 others written so far, and so I will try and update as soon as possible.

Thanks to Eleantris for her fabulous beta skills and MeganBellaRoseBlack for her encourage ment.

Happy reading

Elle xx

Everything had changed now. The lighting not as bright, not as warm, nor inviting. There was no cloud of toxic fog putting a grey sheen in the air. The pictures on the walls were not misogynistic yet oddly amusing, but plain, safe, boring...like life in Fenchurch West. The people there were boring - with their "Morning, Ma'am's" and "see you tomorrow, Ma'am's" - nothing but a dry flat tone in her ears. Her desk was boring. She was never surprised with a coffee in a psychedelic mug; a gnome; a note from him. Him. He was just a memory now. They all were. A memory of what was, of what could have been. Even she was boring now: her face no longer made up; her baggy jumpers that she desperately tried to hide behind; her shoes flat, like her hair.

Flat like her mouth, never blessed with a smile. Her eyes unreadable. Frozen in time. A time which haunted her, night after night. She often wondered...did it haunt him too? Him. The reason for her turmoil. And yet she missed him. She remembered him. Everything, even now. The way his hands caressed her, his fingertips dancing on her waist, her hips, her legs. And his kiss. Oh God, his kiss. Like little stars with each brush of his lips against her own. She missed the subtle way the corners of his mouth would curl when he caught her eye; how he'd nudge her boot with his own...Call her into his office and just hold her, whispering that he was there, that he was always there.

Except now, he wasn't, couldn't even speak to her. Not a call, a letter, a knock on the flat door. How she longed to hear that sharp sound that was so unconditionally him. Her flat was the same. She knew he knew that. Who did he blame? Her? She certainly did. How could she be so stupid? So careless? This didn't happen to people like her; it never did. This happened to naïve women...Girls even, not people like her- sensible people, people in control.

How could one tiny mistake, one catalyst for chaos, change her from being so happy, so carefree, to so, so alone? She'd done this before and swore, swore on whatever God may be out there, that it would be different second time round...she wouldn't have to pity the child that had her as a mother.

She'd be useless, like last time. Too wrapped up in work in a feeble attempt to support them. But would it be work this time? Her new post wasn't a patch on her old one. But she had to move, couldn't handle their looks - some of them pitying, some of them embarrassed. Others refused to look at her at all. Not that she blamed them. Who knew what ghastly rumours were fluttering around the office after their little scene? But were they ashamed to call her boss? Ma'am? ...Friend?

No. This time she'd be wrapped up for sure, wrapped up with him.

Him. He was no longer worthy of a name to her. Coward, bastard and wanker were her current favourites. He'd told her once, when they were alone, how she'd changed him: stopped the bitterness, made him think, made him a better man. Ha. The thought was almost funny now.

She thought she knew all she needed, was pleased even, that she'd been the one to tame him, unravel the layers, destroy the walls and climb the mountains he hid behind. Apparently not. The darker side had yet to be uncovered. No. She didn't know him in the slightest. And hell, she didn't trust him.

One night was all it had taken. 12 hours. 720 minutes. 43200 seconds. The three weeks that followed had been glorious. The best of her life. Of both her lives. It was like she was floating, flying even. Except she didn't know the landing would be so sudden.

When she found out, in the shitty ladies toilets on a twenty minute lunch break on a dismal Friday afternoon, there had been cheap perfume, smoke and piss wafting through the dodgy ventilation system. She'd been shocked, scared, but pleased. Pleased that she could try again; get it right this time. He'd told her so much in those three small weeks. She thought she could read him like a book.

She was wrong. So, so wrong.

She ran slim shaking fingers over the black and white images in front of her. Nails short and painfully bitten, free of colour. Tears stained her cheeks, but she had to be strong, for both their sakes.

There's something alive in there, Alex. Something worth fighting for.

A bit of a short chapter to start with, but it pretty much doubles by chapter three...would love a review to see what you think xxx