A/N So, with renewed vigour (alright, that might be a bit of an overstatement) and inspiration (I'll let you be the judge of its worth) I've begun to rework and continue with what was formerly titled 'What did you expect?' Not sure that the new title is any improvement, but it's the best I can come up with (& even so is taken from Nancy Mitford's 'The Pursuit of Love - not that I am comparing anything I produce to her work!). This is not a continuation of previous stories but is a 'standalone' & likely to be a two hander. I think I know where it is going (which helps) but I want to try something a bit different, so if you can bear it, please bear with me ...

-ooOoo-

Millie struggled to open her eyes, but the banging on the door was insistent, stronger than her own desire for sleep.

"Mmmm, what the …" she mumbled to herself. Couldn't be Aidan, he never forgot his keys. It was a standing joke that he was even more organised than she was. A feat in itself and she wasn't entirely sure she was happy with it. Looking across at the digital clock to her left, she saw it read 4.01am, far too early for Aidan, he wouldn't be back until after his shift finished at seven. So, whoever it was, it wasn't him. That pricked her consciousness to life. Anyone banging on her door at four in the morning had to have a good reason. The usual worries flitted through her mind, accidents, friends, family in trouble, Aidan in trouble… Quickly she shifted herself out of bed and grabbed the robe draped across the chair opposite her. Shrugging it over her shoulders and slipping her feet into sheepskin house boots, she switched on her bedroom light and made to jog unsteadily down the stairs to the front door. Negotiating her way round two large pieces of luggage at the foot of the stairs she reached the front door to flick the switches for both the hallway and the light outside. She peered through the little spyhole and had to steady herself against the doorframe when the man outside turned round and stared through the lens on the other side totally aware that she was watching him.

Max had been driving for nearly an hour. Somewhere in his mind was the logic that told him he shouldn't be driving, that if he was caught it was a case of 'bye-bye career' but the three lines of coke consumed in the preceding hours told him he was invincible, nobody was going to pull him over. He drove round and round, looking for a reason to stop, somewhere to be, somewhere to belong. Pulling off the main road he found himself on a familiar side street although it took him a moment to remember why it was familiar. He'd dropped her here after her leaving party last year. He mentally took himself back to that night and tried to recall where he had stopped the car. She'd been nervous, didn't want to accept his offer of a lift, but Mel had decided the matter on her behalf because she was bunking down on Millie's sofa for the night and didn't fancy either the walk or the hassle of waiting for a cab. Millie sat in the back and when he'd turned round to reverse, he caught sight of her in the street light filtering through the car window. First her legs which she struggled to curl into the back of his car as Mel slid her seat back. For once they were not shrouded in sexless polyester mix, but instead covered in sheer black, ending in studded ankle boots, their toughness at odds with her gentleness. In a split second he'd looked up, her hands neatly folded in her lap, her eyes downcast towards them, but she'd known he was staring and like a magnet, his eyes drew hers upwards. It was dark, so he couldn't be sure what he saw, but he felt something and just knew. Little was said on the way back to her house. Millie gave mechanical directions while Mel sat glued to her phone texting Ben about the night's events, apparently unaware of the tension between the two other occupants.

He dug deep into his memory, clouded by his high and visualised the door they had parked outside. The house was nothing remarkable, just neat and tidy, exactly as he would have expected. Mel got out with a 'thanks Sarge' but barely a backward glance. Millie however leaned forward, her perfume snaking around him, invading him. He felt her movement and turned his head, giving her only his profile. "Thank you for … umm, well … the lift. I suppose … see you around … maybe" and that was it. What did she expect? A declaration of interest, based on that? She'd have to do better if she wanted him to take her seriously. Too meek, too uptight. Not what he wanted from a woman. But still …

The 'but still …' had lingered his mind. But still, she had looked hot in that dress and those boots. Those legs. And when their eyes locked onto each others in the car, she didn't look meek. Maybe it was the light, but there was rawness about her that he'd never seen before, except by the time they reached her house, it was gone again, replaced by the same old uncertainty that left him feeling so indifferent towards her. That's why he let her go without another word. He could have said 'I'll call you' but it would have been a lie. He never made the first move, he never needed to and if she wasn't up to it then why should he bother? He knew he would lose interest before long. And yet …

Without thinking, a recurrent theme of his night so far, Max pulled up a couple of car lengths along from her house and got out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and head bowed, slunk to her door. He couldn't tell if the bell was working, so after ringing it twice he started banging his fist against the white uPVC façade. As the lights momentarily blinded him, he stared into the spyhole, knowing she was there.

Millie took a moment to register who was on her doorstep, someone she hadn't set eyes on in well over six months. A lot had changed in that time and he hadn't figured in any of it, in fact she'd just about forgotten him, until now. She wanted to ignore him and go back to bed, pretend he hadn't appeared stirring up feelings that she'd worked so hard to bury. But that wasn't an option. Here he was and not likely to go away without the sort of hassle that would have her neighbours talking. Nevertheless, she attached the security chain that would allow the door to open only a few inches, he could stand on the doorstep and tell her whatever he needed to say. She took a deep breath, followed by another to stall for more time and opened the door as far as it would go.

"What are you doing here?"

"Had nowhere else to be."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Let me in and I'll tell you. I need coffee."

"There's a twenty-four hour café up the road, I'm sure you can get whatever you need there."

"I doubt it" he replied with a chuckle that made her stomach flip. Yes, he could still do that. She hated it. No she didn't, shit. Even as her hands pushed the door to allow her fingers to undo the chain to allow her in, her head was screaming at her for being so weak.

He walked past her, his insouciance grating at her every nerve. She watched him as he looked around her living room. His insolent appraisal of her tidiness, her taste in décor, art, personality. Irrational anger rose in her. For years she wanted him to notice her, to appreciate her and finally here he was. She'd become used to his professional judgement of her, such as it was, but now she felt her character under his scathing scrutiny, even though he hadn't uttered a word.

He looked at the luggage at the foot of the stairs. "Going somewhere?"

"Holiday. Tomorrow. What do you want Max?"

"Coffee please." So cocksure.

"I haven't got any milk."

"Black is fine, sugar if you have it." Millie was just about to head for the kitchen when her self-respect finally kicked in.

"No. You tell me why you are here." That provoked him, showing backbone was clearly a surprise as his eyes flashed with anger.

"Okay, this is how it is." He edged towards her with all the confidence that the chemical in his system could give him, his arms outstretched in mock invitation. "You want me, I know you do and you know you do. So here I am."

It took Millie a couple of seconds to realise that the atmosphere in the room had changed for the worse. Gone was the charming impudence and in its stead replaced with menace. He continued towards her and instinctively she backed away, his step quickened and as she turned to rush towards the door he grabbed her arm and pushed her back against the wall, pinning her tightly with one hand while the other held her by the throat, forcing her chin upwards. Millie struggled against him, but dizziness marred her efforts. She could vaguely hear a voice shouting 'let go, what are you doing? What are you doing? Stop now!' The voice was gasping for air, but it didn't stop, it was determined to fight. She could also hear another rasping voice close to her ear.

"Come on Millie, tell me that you want me … tell me." She could smell stale cigarette on his breath and nearly gagged from the taste when he tried to force his mouth on to hers. Unable to move her head, all she could do was try to keep her lips clamped shut. Summoning all her strength, she lifted her free hand to his hair, grabbed a handful and jerked it down sharply with everything she had left. Max cried out with the sudden pain in his scalp, penetrating his invincibility enough to bring him to his senses. He let go of Millie's throat and stumbled backwards, turning away to hide the barrage of self-loathing that threatened to overwhelm him. He leaned into the sofa for support, creeping sobriety infiltrating the high, reducing him to what he feared most. Little more than a fucked-up junkie who believed he was in control of his habit.