Hey Guys! Thanks for reading- this is my first fanfic EVER, so I don't know what it's gonna be like! Anyway, let me know- I'd like to know what people think.
Also, I promise I will write some reviews for everyone else's fantastic stories soon- I've only just got my pc back, I've had to read all the other stories on my phone so far, and it was too difficult to try and set up an account and stuff on there! I've enjoyed all the ones I've read so far- I think that fanfic is going to ruin my degree... haha.
So, here goes... fingers crossed...
"Oh."
"What do you mean, 'oh'?"
"I didn't know you were seeing anyone, that's all. You never tell me anything anymore…"
"Is someone a bit jealous..? Has it been a while, Niks?" He laughs, "No, actually, I can't believe that for a second".
She goes to get up, he notices the change in her expression, and immediately jumps from his own seat to try and stop her, blocking the space between the desk and work bench so she is effectively trapped.
"Niks, wait. I was only joking. I'm sorry. Stay, yeah?"
"Look, it doesn't matter Harry- looks like I'm going out on my own tonight, that's all. What's her name? You never even told me her name. What's she like? Is she pretty? Where did you meet her?" She shoots questions at him, and he notes that she has slyly managed to change the subject, but, not wanting to inflame the situation further, he sets about giving her an answer.
"Lucy, she's a PA to someone or other, I think. I met her when I was out with a couple of mates, a few weeks ago. And yes, I think she's pretty. You'll have to meet her sometime- I think you'll like her. A bit feisty- like you".
"Only younger, I imagine…" she mutters to herself. He hears, and winces slightly, and she knows he's heard, but he moves on, not wanting to start another of their infamous blazing arguments.
"You're not seriously thinking of going out on your own, are you? And what for? Just another one-night stand?"
"What do you mean, another? So you think I'm a slut, do you Harry? You think I just sleep around?"
"No, I…" he starts, but is cut dead.
"Poor little Nikki can't manage a meaningful relationship and find someone to love her, so she ends up going through man after man just using them to comfort her and make her feel good for a couple of hours, and at the end of it, she's still going to end up old and alone and miserable. Well thanks" she replies bitterly.
"I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't. You said half of that, not me. I just meant…well, you know, there have been a few recently. To be honest" She gasps at his nerve. "Please, just wait and go out another night with one of your girlfriends or something, even with Leo and Janet and I. Just don't go and end up having meaningless sex with some random bloke off the street" Even if he has to be there, to vet her potential hook-ups, he will. Because as painful as it might be for him to watch, it's better than seeing her be used and disappointed all over again.
"Why do you even care, Harry? This is nothing to do with you. It's none of your business what I do and who I do it with!" she pushes past him, and storms out of the lab, grabbing her coat and bag in the flurry.
'Because I'm selfish', he reflects, staring at the door swinging closed behind her, 'if I can't have you, I don't want anyone else to have you'.
She slammed the car door shut aggressively behind her, and reversed out of the space so quickly, she only narrowly avoided hitting Leo's car parked in the row behind. For the entire drive home, every gear change was carried out ferociously, and other motorists were sworn at loudly for getting in her way. "None of his bloody business…" she muttered under her breath, repeating her mantra over and over, in a crescendo that ended in her practically shouting by the time she had parked the car. "Stupid, stupid, stupid man", she thumped the steering wheel with a vengeance. By the time she had got back to her flat, she had just realised how ridiculously hot and flustered she was, and that there were dribbles of salty tears down her face.
Banging the front door behind her, she threw her coat and handbag on the floor, not caring enough to make an effort to hang them up, and kicked off her heels- a suspicious cracking noise came from the direction that the second one had flown. Taking a deep breath, and wiping her eyes with her now free hands, she decided that a shower would be the best course of action. Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, which was already starting to steam up with the heat from the shower, she saw her slowly disappearing reflection, with mascara trails down her cheeks, smudged from where she had wiped the tears away. She did her best to clean up her face, then tugged at the hairband she was wearing, shaking her head from side to side, gently freeing her ash blonde waves. Standing beneath the stream of warm water, she felt the anger inside of her dissipate, leaving her with just the underlying feeling of overwhelming sadness and loneliness. She shrugged it off, turned the water off, and stepped out of the shower.
She fastened the hook of the black lace bra behind her back, and grabbed the matching lace knickers from the chest of drawers, and slipped into them. She vaguely recalled someone once telling her, you should remember to wear decent underwear every day, just in case you end up in an accident and they have to cut your clothes off you- after all, you wouldn't want any handsome and charming doctors seeing you in old and manky mismatched underwear! She laughed drily to herself at this, and supposed that wearing nice underwear would help more if you were trying to get lucky, than if you were lying in a hospital bed, and that the two never really did co-exist… And anyway, thinking of handsome and charming doctors only reminded her of him (and she was sure he would manage to make what he would consider an excellent joke out of that little anecdote, no doubt loaded with innuendo and suggestiveness), which wasn't helpful at the moment, when she desperately wanted to forget him.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she sat painting her nails slowly and with precision, whilst listening to the first CD she came across. She rarely got to wear nail varnish- after all, it wasn't like there was anyone in the mortuary who would appreciate or admire it, and besides, cutting up corpses and French manicures didn't really go together, did they? She bet that Harry's Lucy-no, not his Lucy, she couldn't bear to think of her as that at the moment-just Lucy, had immaculate nails. Too immaculate to consider doing washing up with, in fear of damaging them, let alone having your hands plunged into a chest cavity, as Nikki did on almost a daily basis.
She suddenly realised that she had been comparing herself to this Lucy, whom she didn't even know (and more to the point, didn't want to have to get to know), and snapped out of the daydream, patting her nails with her fingertips to check that they were dry. Pushing herself up from the bed, she slid the wardrobe door across, to reveal a rail of dresses in various colours and styles. They essentially represented Nikki's sex life- each dress for each different man that had come and gone, that had used her, and that she had used. 'Maybe he was right', she thought to herself. After several minutes of staring deep into the back of the wardrobe (maybe hoping that it would open up and take her to another world out of a children's story book) , eyes focused on nothing in particular, she grabbed up a little black dress without even thinking about it. It would do- it had seen its fair share of use (and fair share of being abandoned on bedroom floors), but it would do. Much like herself, she considered. Although, judging by what Harry had said earlier, maybe she had had more than her fair share.
She slipped into the dress, struggling with the zip at the back, as she always did- it would be so much easier with someone there to help her. But then with someone there to help her, she wouldn't need to be going out and doing this at all. On realising this, she felt a pang of loneliness. She didn't want to live like this forever, but it looked like the options were running out for her. Maybe sex with strangers was all she was ever going to get. Was that really going to be her lot in life? Moving to the mirror, she reached for her mascara from the top of the chest of drawers, and whilst feeling around for it, knocked over the picture frame containing a photograph of Leo, Harry and herself from their trip to South Africa. She picked the frame up and looked deep into the photo, studying their faces, their eyes, their smiles. Replacing it with a sigh, she picked up the mascara, and continued her routine, preparing to go and find herself some company for a few hours.
After climbing into a pair of shoes with heels that were far too high, she decided that she would need a good drink before she could face going out. Making her way slowly and unsteadily to the kitchen, she grabbed a half-empty bottle out of the fridge. Reaching up to get a glass from the cupboard, she caught sight of her reflection in the metallic surface of the kettle. She leaned on the counter for a moment, breathing deeply. Before she realised, tears were streaming down her face. 'Why am I doing this?' she asked herself. She couldn't face going out, getting drunk and waking up with yet another stranger in her bed. Pouring a large glass of the chilled wine, she moved to the sofa, and held the glass to her forehead for a minute, and then her cheeks, in an attempt to cool down. Placing the glass on the coffee table, after taking a large gulp of wine, she tucked her legs up beneath her, and grabbed a cushion, hugging it tightly. So much for a night of passion, she'd ended up on her own, again, drunk, crying and with a cushion as a poor substitute for human company.
He has been sat there listening to her inane chatter for near on three hours now, and if he is honest, he hasn't concentrated on her for more than a couple of minutes at a time- he seemed to have been making all the right noises though, fortunately, in that she hadn't questioned him on anything so far. Although, she could have, and likely has been, talking about herself the whole time. He vaguely remembers that particular (and somewhat irritating) trait from when they had first met, but he had been preoccupied with other things then- namely trying to persuade her back to his flat. But she has been the only thing on his mind since earlier. The wrong she. Not the one he should be thinking about. Here he is, with someone who is no doubt a lovely, if slightly self-absorbed, woman, and while he should be captivated by her, he is lost in thought over someone else, who at this moment probably hates his guts.
"Harry, are you ok? You look like you've spaced out completely…"
'Oh god, I spoke too soon' he realises. "Huh? What? Oh, I'm sorry, bit of a headache coming on- think I'd probably better head off in a minute. I won't be very good company if I'm ill"
"I've got paracetamol, you could have a couple of them…", she offers.
"No, you're alright, I think I'll just head home and get a good night's sleep"
"Well… you could stay here…", she tries again.
"I don't want to inconvenience you… ". He sighs. In a case like this it'll be easier just to tell the truth, he can see that she is going to be persistent, and he isn't going to get out of this one, and will end up being talked into something. He inhales deeply, before beginning the conversation that he hates having, "Look, Lucy, you're a really lovely girl- I've had a nice time with you, and I really want to this to be something, but my heart just isn't in it at the moment. It's difficult… I…I'm sorry. I'd better go. Thanks though. I'm sorry, again".
He really is a bastard, he realises, leading her on like he has. He certainly isn't going to be welcomed back by her any time soon. He sits in his car for a few moments, elbows on the steering wheel, head in his hands. Expelling a deep breath of air, he asks himself what he is doing, and where he is going. He has to sort this out. Reaching the keys from where he has thrown them on the passenger seat, he notices that he still has the spare key to Nikki's flat, which ultimately makes up his mind for him. He'll let himself into the flat, and wait for her to get home. After all, she'd given him the key- why give it to him if she didn't want him to use it?
Just as he puts the key into the lock, he can hear faint music- she must be at home after all, something that he finds some comfort in, he just hopes and prays that she's alone, as he doesn't think he could get over it if she wasn't- he takes the key out of the lock and knocks on the door instead. Turning the music down with the remote, she gets up to answer it- she heard the key in the lock, she knows who it'll be- he is the only one she trusts with a key (she wouldn't be giving a copy to her father, to put it nicely- she likes to think she has more sense than to do that). Pausing by the door, she prepares to open it. On the other side, he hears footsteps, which stop next to the door. He inhales deeply, holding his breath.
"Nik, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that… Please Niks, are you okay? I'm sorry"
She turns on her heel, and walks back into the living room, leaving the door open behind her as an invitation to him. He crosses the threshold, and follows her through.
"Don't say anything" she says quietly, but moves over to him, and wraps her arms around him. He responds, a feeling of instant relief inside. They both know now, that everything is going to be okay again, back to normal- though neither of them is looking for 'back to normal'. They stand for several minutes, just holding each other. He squeezes her gently, encouraging her to look at him. She moves back slightly, and lifts her head, so that her eyes can meet his.