Okay this is the first thing I've ever published on here so I have no idea what is going on or what I am doing. I just hope this is okay and yeah, if yous wanna comment that'd be awesome. Enjoy3

I can taste the silence in the room. Heavy tension on my tongue.

Michael flicks a few more pages, his frown deepening. His eyes move too fast, blurring as they skate over the increasingly messy handwriting. I can feel Lorraine's eyes flitting from Michael to me, and then back to Michael again. He turns past another page.

"Well...It look to me like she might've done it-" He glances up at us both, and suddenly we can breathe again, and we're laughing in relief. She's giggling, her hand almost brushing against my leg. Maybe she's looking at me. She sighs, happily.

"How's she managed that with everything that's happened?" I laugh. Relief washing through my voice. I'm asking Michael, but somehow I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at Lorraine. Magnetic.

"Well, maybe it made her more determined-" he's still hurriedly reading, nodding slightly now.

"She's done the PRU proud-" She's smiling, glancing up at me. I'm smiling back.

"Yeah-" I'm nodding. Somehow my voice is shaking.

"Put it with the others, I'm going to go and find her." He's nodding at me, passing me the exam paper, and striding out of his office. I wipe the palms of my hands against my trousers, fumbling with the exam paper that could change a girl's future.

"Great-" I grin at Lorraine, and turn to follow him. I'm almost at the door, but she begins to speak. I turn around, too quickly maybe. Too eager.

"So've you Nikki-" She says, still smiling. I frown, shaking my head a fraction. Her smile widens. She takes a step towards me. Two steps. She's pulling her bag onto her shoulder. Three steps now. God. "Done the PRU proud. Michael was right when he said; you were the woman for the job-"

"Thanks-" I laugh. She's giggling too. She's close now. Maybe too close. I think about taking a step away from her, but I don't. I think about a lot of things, but I don't do any of them. I try to breathe, glancing down at the floor. "It means a lot-" Maybe my voice has suddenly got a lot quieter. Maybe I can't hear myself speak over my stammering heartbeat.

I look up. And she's looking at me. If it was tense in here a few moments ago, now it's stifling. I can feel the sticky tension between us, filling up my mouth with cotton wool so I can't speak. I can barely breathe. And I suddenly realise that she's got impossibly blue eyes. How have I never noticed that before? And her smile is sliding from her face. And now there's something behind her eyes I've never seen before. Or maybe I haven't been looking properly. No. No. No. I tear my eyes away from her. She's out of bounds. She's straight-

"Errm, about the PRU, I should get back, I've gotta...clear up for the break-" I watch her as I speak. She opens her mouth a fraction. And blinks. She blinks twice. Looks down at the floor.

"Yeah, course-" She murmurs. I nod, and turn away. The silence betweens us seems to expand, filling the space, filling my ears with a fuzzy buzzing noise. I take another step, reaching for the door handle. And the silence stretches even further. I can't help it, I need to say something. Anything.

"Look, do you fancy going for a drink later?" I turn around. The words escape my lips before I can think about them, before I can over-analyse every syllable. Even before my lips have uttered the upwards lift to create the question, I'm already almost hoping that she'll say no. That she'll laugh it off, shrugging, briskly murmuring about asking her secretary to check her diary. But she doesn't.

"I...um..." She's staring at me. Her lips slightly parted. Trembling. Her eyes flash over my face before glancing to the floor.

"No, no worries...I'm sorry, it's just a thought-" I breathe. Glancing at her one last time. Quickly, eyes skating over her. And I'm already reaching for the door handle. And I leave. Before she can say anything.

Here it switches to Lorraine's POV

The corridors. Silent. I pull on my black blazer, crossing my arms tight across my chest. Too tight, so tight they restrict my breathing a fraction. So, in my messed up head, I could blame my faint breathlessness on that. I shake my head a fraction, because I know that I'm being stupid. I know that I need to snap out of this haze, and face up to that gaping hole in my orderly, highly functional life. The kind of hole that a PA filling up a diary with neatly colour-coded meetings, and another fat pay check injected into my account could never fill. I shake my head again. My blonde curls falling down, framing my face. And I bite my lips as I walk. Chewing off my faintly vanilla flavoured lipstick. And I'm glad that Michael isn't here to see me. Because I feel like a little child again, kept late after school in a dusty detention room. The same tired weight inside my chest, gnawing away at me. I keep my head down, my eyes fixed on the floor. My phone is on silent, because I don't want to know if anyone is calling me right now. I don't care.

I reach the top of the stairs and fight to resist the almost overwhelming urge to sink down to the baby blue linoleum floor, still streaky with the cleaner's bleach, and rest my spinning head against the cold metal railings. But I don't. I walk down the stairs, taking my time. One hand on the banister and the other by my side, then running though my blonde hair, and finally dropping back down to my side again. My palms still feel sticky. Too hot. Michael's office always was too hot. Or maybe it was the tension in that room, after he left that made sweat cling to my palms. Oh god-

And for what seems like the millionth time in the past half hour, I run over the conversation in my mind. Every minute detail, from the way her eyes moved to the precise tone of her laugh. Because it had not yet blurred into confusing, embarrassing and red-hot memory. It was still new, still raw. I chew my lips. And sigh.

At the foot of the stairs I pause, uncertainty licking at the corners of my mind. The door to the PRU is ajar, barely 50 yards from me. It would take me seconds to stride down that corridor, confidently. Chin up, smiling. And tell her that yeah, you know what, I would like to go for that drink. That I could meet her at eight, in a bar where I would know no one. And I could go home with a happy, warm glow inside my chest, a smile playing on my lips. It would be so easy. Too easy.

But I don't. Of course I don't.

I tilt my chin up to look blankly at the ceiling, as if I were trying to keep tears at bay. But I know I'm not going to cry. I just try to concentrate on my breathing, slowing it. Attempting, in vain, to slow my racing heartbeat too.

And I turn away.

The wide double doors are looming up ahead of me. I push through them.

And suddenly I'm in the schoolyard. Fumbling in my handbag, until I'm clutching my Ferrari keys in my shaking hands, my bag slung back over my shoulder. My heels unnaturally noisy. Everyone else must have gone home, but I barely noticed the school emptying around me. The car park is almost deserted too. But her car is still here. So she must still be in the PRU, tidying her desk, starting to methodically work her way through a mountain of marking. Surely she's not thinking about me. I could turn right back around, it's not too late yet. "She won't be thinking about you-" That thought, still lingering in my mind. And that last glimmer of hope dies inside my chest. I swear under my breath, and I click the keys, pulling open the glossy red door of my Ferrari. Getting in, throwing my handbag roughly onto the passenger seat. Slamming the door shut again. And now I really am alone, in a toy that cost me over a hundred thousand pounds. And I'm pulling on my seatbelt, shaking my hair over my shoulders. Igniting the softly purring engine.

And I pull out of the schoolyard. Down the hill, towards the coast. Easing into third gear, speeding up. And I barely notice the crashing waves of the sea or the baby blue sky as I drive home, back to my one bedroom apartment overlooking the bay.

I notice the sea later though. The crashing waves and spiralling spray on the turbulent surface. When I'm all alone on the cold wooden balcony, with a bottle of red wine and a packet of cigarettes for company. My phone still on silent in my jacket pocket. I tell myself that the office can live without me for one night. And I'm sure they can. I can't lie to myself anymore, they don't need me so much that I can't have a single night to myself. I'm not too busy. I light my second, no, third cigarette of the evening and pour myself another glass of wine. Balancing my cigarette between my second and third fingers. Taking a sip of wine. And a drag of my cigarette, holding the smoke in my chest until it burns me. And as I exhale, I'm telling myself to stop being so stupid. Wondering why I'm so unhappy. Because I don't have anything to be unhappy about. I have a brilliant career, and I doubtless have an equally glittering future ahead of me. A nationwide company, head offices at one of London's most prestigious addresses, a million-pound townhouse in Belgravia. A new business contract in the US. And to top it all, I own a successful school... And that's enough. That's more than enough. That's everything I've ever dreamed of and so, so much more. And so what does it matter if I haven't had time to find "the one"?

And I flick the ash from my cigarette, and it still burns as it falls. And I'm taking another drag, tapping my fingers nervously on the railings. A quick, heavy rhythm, keeping rough time with my unsteady heartbeat. And I don't smoke, as a rule. I only smoke when I'm stressed and when I'm tired and when I'm lonely. That's it. Maybe I feel all three of those things right now, blurring together, making me feel ill. And rest my head in my hands. My eyes closed, and I rub them with my hands until little tiny lights pop in front of my vision. Breathing through my nose. Biting my lips until they feel as though they're going to bleed. Because I want to call her. I can't help myself. I want to call her. I reach for my pocket, pulling out my phone. Ignoring all the missed calls from the office, one call from Michael and another four from my PA. I flick onto my phonebook, my hand shaking a fraction as I scroll through names. I tell myself it's the nicotine hit, because I haven't smoked all day. Maybe I haven't smoked in days. I don't know, I can't remember. I take another sip of wine, swallowing it before I can even properly taste it. Then I go back to scrolling. I get to M...N...Her name isn't there. Why don't I even have her number? Haven't I called her before? No, maybe I haven't. I don't know, I can't remember. I don't know. I don't know anymore. Another sip of wine. Another drag of my cigarette.

I could call Michael, or Sian, surely they'd have her number. But that would seem so desperate. I could pretend that I needed to talk about the PRU or the exam or some bloody tiny, insignificant thing. No. That would sound desperate. And I'm not desperate, not yet. I try to breathe normally.

"For god's sake Lorraine, you're bloody straight. Straight."

And I tell myself that old, cutting lie that has sliced though my chest so many times. But this time, something inside me seems to crumple and fall. I wish I was braver.

"Oh god-" I breathe, almost silently. I prop my chin on my fists. And look blankly at the sea.

I just want to talk to her. I just want to sit here, on my cold balcony overlooking the iron grey sea, with my slick black iPhone in my hand, and talk to her. Comfortable distance and a slightly crackly phone line between us. Because the mobile reception up here is awful. So maybe, even better, she could be here with me. In the chair opposite me on the wooden balcony. Smoking up and looking out over the sea. I could make her laugh, I've made her laugh before. She would throw her head back and laugh with me. She'd smoke a cigarette and drink with me. And her eyes are so beautiful. Oh god, her eyes are so beautiful. And she'd be laughing right beside me, and then I could lean across and kiss her. Our lips could just collide and it would be so easy, accidental even-

No, no, no. My head back in my hands. Eyes closed. Blocking it all out.