I had hoped you'd see my face,
And that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over

Should I call him?

In the box, I discovered a variety of things that I took in the chaos of leaving – CDs, DVDs, a forgotten key to his house, his t-shirt... The necklace. It doesn't feel right to keep it. And I can't throw it away. But I don't know if I can face talking to him yet.

If I call him and he doesn't pick up, what does that say? And I know already that I won't be able to leave a message. Although, if he did pick up, chances are I would hang up straight away. I can't do it.

I should just take the stuff to his house and leave it outside. But there, I run an even greater risk. And after the other day, I need to keep away from situations that will catch me off guard. Going to his house means that I might see them together again. I can't go through that again. It's taken a week to stop dreaming about it.

I can see it now – placing the box on the front step, walking away, turning and seeing one of them, or both of them watching me from the window. Or worse, placing the box on the step, glancing through the window and seeing them, on the sofa maybe... Christ, I think I'm going to be sick.

Or maybe... Maybe I would just lose it. Like I did at the end. Something in Randy always brought out that side in me. Too alike for our own good – stubborn, controlling... Too much anger... Too much passion.

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,
Don't forget me I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead."

I check my cell for the tenth time in as many minutes. Seriously. He is late. Like so fucking late, it's not even fucking worth it anymore. He said he'd be home at eight. It's now nine. We are supposed to be at Lea's right now. Her welcome home party to be exact. And instead of drinking with her, I'm sitting on the couch, waiting for Randy. I don't even know if he's touched down. I've left about five messages – his cell goes straight to voicemail every time I try.

This is ridiculous. I check my watch. Five past nine. Fuck it.

I write him a note, not bothering to hide my anger:

Gone to Lea's. Waited for you till 9. Maybe you can grace us with your presence if you can be bothered. Back whenever I feel like it. Rhi.

I pause. And then add:

PS Taken your car.

My hand hovers, my mood shifting slightly. I feel a little guilty. I should wait... No, fuck him. If he can't be bothered to even phone, then I can't be bothered to be polite.

I stay at Lea's till midnight. I barely touch my one drink. She kept giving me odd looks. I kept checking my phone, wondering when did I become to dependent on another. A year ago I would be falling on my ass drunk, dancing on fucking tables, downing shots, one half of the heart of the party. And now? I'm the girl who checks her phone every two seconds, who makes excuses for her boyfriend's ignorant behaviour instead of telling the truth. Because the truth stings just a little bit too much to admit.

I drive home slowly. In my head, I start to rehearse what I will say when I see him. As I get closer to home, my hands start to shake with anger. My heart is beating hard. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. One thing I ask him to do. I never ask him for anything. There have been so many nights where he's home late. One hour, two hours sometimes. But those nights I let it slide. He can't help it if planes are delayed, if traffic is bad, if immigration takes an age. But tonight? The one time I asked him to take an earlier flight so he would be there on time, he lets me down. The one night it mattered.

I pull into the driveway and see his other car sitting there. There's lights on in the lounge. I take a moment to collect my thoughts and then slam the car door behind me.

He's lying on the couch, beer in one hand.

"What time did you get back?" I mutter.

"Ten."

"So why didn't you come over?"

"Your note made it sound like you didn't want me there."

I fail to bite my tongue. "I did want you there. But you obviously didn't want to come. Otherwise maybe you'd have made a fucking effort to be home on time so we could have gone together."

"What did you want me to do Rhi? Fly the fucking plane myself?"

"You could have phoned."

"My phone died."

I roll my eyes. "Of course it did. And no-one else had a phone did they?"

"I wasn't on the same flight as everyone else as you well know."

I chuck my bag on the side table and head to the kitchen. My throat feels dry, my hands are trembling.

"Rhi," he calls after me. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"I'm fucking sorry too. Sorry that I had to make fucking excuses for you. Sorry that I only spent 2 hours with my best friend because I was waiting like an idiot for you. Sorry that I'm always fucking waiting around for you to get back from work. Because I really love that Randy – I love waiting around for you. Makes me feel so fucking good."

I grab a glass from the drainer and fill it with water. I can feel his presence in the doorway behind me.

"What do you want me to do Rhi?"

"Make a fucking effort for once."

"An effort? I'm here aren't I? I've flown from the other side of the country to be here. For you. Sorry I'm late and I missed it. I'm sorry I couldn't phone you. But I can't do anything about that now can I?"

"What's the point in you making an effort? You always fall through."

I regret the words the minute they leave my mouth. All I want to do is scramble around on the floor and pick them back up, but they lie there, cold, bitter, raw.

"I make a fucking effort," he says slowly. "I do everything I can to fly back even for one night. It's my job Rhi. I thought you understood that. I mean, it's not like I tricked you into this relationship is it? You knew exactly what you were getting. I was clear with you. I told you that I can't be here every waking hour. I offer to fly you out whenever I can. But you always say no."

"Because I have my own fucking job! Not that you want me to have a job. You'd much prefer it if I sat at home everyday, playing with my thumbs, waiting for you to come home."

"I never said that."

"Not in so many words, but I know you." I tap the side of my head.

He narrows his eyes. "Are you drunk?"

"What the fuck?"

"Did you have a drink?"

"What if I did?" I'm taunting him now, but I couldn't give a shit. He deserves it.

"You drove my fucking car."

"It's a car, Randy. Get over it."

"Don't be stupid," he spits. "You think I'm bothered about that? Drive the fucking car all you want. Just don't get fucking wasted and then drive it."

"Oh my god, you really think I'm that stupid? That I would drink and drive? Seriously, Randy, who do you think I am?"

"I don't know anymore Rhian. I don't know where this has come from."

"Where it's come from? Christ, Randy, it's not the first time you've been home later than you've said. It's fine the first couple of times. But when it happens more often than not, it gets a bit tiring. And when you do it the one time it matters, that's when you push me over the edge."

Randy slams his hand against the door – it bangs against the wall and I jump. "For fuck's sake! I said I'm fucking sorry! What more do you want me to say? Do you want me to go round to Lea and apologise? What exactly do you want me to do? Because I don't know what to do anymore!"

"Don't do anything. Do nothing as usual. Carry on, oblivious to anything around you apart from your stupid job."

"Can you even hear yourself?"

"Whatever," I slam the glass down on the side, splashing water all over the place. "I'm going to bed."

'Rhi,' he says. He comes towards me, but I skirt around the other side of the kitchen table. 'Rhi!'

"Fuck off," I hiss.

"RHI!" he yells, grabbing my arm, his fingers digging into my wrist.

"Let go of me!" I pull away from him hard, but he holds on.

"No!"

And suddenly I'm up against the wall and his mouth is on mine, hot, fierce, powerful. I thump his shoulders hard with my fists and he yelps as he pulls away.

"Get off me," I hiss. But he cuts me off with another kiss. I resist for a second. But resistance is futile sometimes. And it feels good. Too good. Like a fucking drug. I can still feel anger, adrenaline running through my veins. I'm still shaking, but that feeling is subsiding, replaced by that familiar burn in the pit of my stomach.

Randy's mouth leaves mine and starts on my neck – biting, sucking. His hands still grip mine against the wall, his body pressed hard against me. I wriggle against him and he loosens his grip enough for my hands to escapes and grip his shoulders, push him down further, moaning as he nips a little harder, groaning as he licks the red mark. His hands slide up under my shirt, groping at my breast, a finger sliding inside the cup, flicking across the nipple.

"Fuck..."

One hand pushes my skirt up. Fingers pushing my underwear aside, frantic, desperate. My hands slip between us, unzip, tease relentlessly, until he's swearing against my mouth, begging me.

Sorry's float between us, it's okay's uttered breathlessly, please... more... yes...

I push his pants down, taking his boxers with them. His length is hard against my thigh. So fucking close. His finger inside me, his thumb grazing across me, gentle, hard, slow, fast. I bite down his shoulder as he pushes me closer and then stops. He hisses in response, gathering me up in his arms, pushing into me roughly.

He pauses. Holds my gaze. And then he pulls me away from the wall. I can feel him throbbing inside me as he sets me on the kitchen counter instead. My skirt is high up around my waist, my shirt half-undone, my lips bruised from his kisses, my neck raw from his bites, my cheeks red from his stubble. And then slowly, he starts to move. Slow, so fucking slow it's killing me. He presses his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my mouth, his lips so close, but not touching. All I can hear is the slow slap of skin against skin, the hitch in my breath as he starts to build pace, the scrape of nail on skin as I rake my fingers down his back under his shirt.

"Rhi..." he growls. He's close, I'm close. So fucking close. I bite my lip, my head rolling back. He shudders against me, then tenses. Exhales. His thumbs graze my cheeks as he slides from me.

All is forgiven.

Nothing compares,
No worries or cares,

I flick through my phone and pause, staring at the message. I hit delete. And start again.

Everything I write sounds impersonal, cold, distant. Not that I want to come over too friendly, too cool, too desperate.

But I know now that I can't just leave the stuff at his house. I need to see him. I need to confront this straight on. I need to talk to him.

I drum my fingers on the screen. And then type.

Hi. I have some of your stuff – can we meet?

I add a please. And then re-read about ten times. Eleven words. Uneven. I debate adding my name. Just in case... Would he have deleted my number? Lea said I should have deleted his the minute we broke up. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even if I did, I knew it off by heart anyway, so it wouldn't make a difference. But I was good. I resisted the drunk dial, the drunk text.

I hit send.

I chew my lip nervously. Too late to take it back.

Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made,
Who would have thought how bittersweet this would taste?

The woman in the cubicle next to me flushes and leaves. I stay where I am, silent, waiting for the door to the bathroom to close – waiting to be alone again. I need time to think.

I am late. Four days late in fact. I have never been late. I am one of those girls who is on time, like fucking clockwork. Same day, every month. Regular.

Never late. Never.

And I'm careful. So careful. Pill at 7am every morning. Even at the weekends.

Sure, we don't use anything else. But why shouldn't we? We've been together long enough for that not to be an issue. It was a calculated decision. Not taken lightly. But surely there wasn't a chance that this would happen?

I scan the back of my pill box: "over 99% effective if taken correctly." What the hell does that mean? That there's a 0.001% chance that it won't work? That's... that's like less than one in a hundred chances that it won't work?

I throw the box back into my bag. Shit. I chew my lip and wonder what to do. The thought of taking an actual test scares the crap out of me. What if it is positive? What the hell will I do? I can't have a kid. The thought terrifies me. Yes, it would be great if it was planned. But like this? Definitely fucked up. Randy wouldn't grasp the fact that there's still a chance I can get pregnant on the pill. Our trust would be blown to shreds. He'd think I had lied to him. That I was tricking him.

No... he wouldn't... Would he? No. He would wrap his arms around me, tell me it's all going to be okay, that he loves me, that he wants a baby too. We'd be close. So much more closer. He'd be over the moon. We broached the subject of children a while back, just one of those things that came up. He said he'd love a whole bunch. He'd made me grin like an idiot. He'd rubbed my stomach fondly as he said it. Told me it would make me more beautiful to know that something that was half his was growing inside me. I'd rolled my eyes, batted his hand away. Told him he'd have to wait for a few more years. That's fine, he said. Plenty of time to practice.

Yeah, Randy, it might be happening sooner than you think.

On my way home, I pull up outside the drug store. Only for a second. I bottle it and head home instead. Randy is back for a few nights, already in the kitchen, laying the table. I manage to hold it together, desperate not to blurt it out. I watch him, the way he moves around me, his hand brushing across my shoulders as he passes me. The way he leans over the table after dinner, kisses me softly. How his arm slides around me as I sit down on the couch next to him. We fit perfectly together.

As we watch TV together, my mind wanders elsewhere. I can see it all: my stomach expanding, swelling. Randy's hands caressing it softly, whispering, kisses pressed against the taut skin. Sending him photos of the bump as it grows and grows whilst he's away. The ups and downs, the separation growing harder and harder, the reunions more sweet and tender. And then at end, Randy holding a tiny bundle in his arms.

It all seems to right, yet so wrong at the same time. All too quick, all too soon.

"You okay?" Randy murmurs. "You're normally full of conversation when I've been away for a while."

"Bad day at work," I reply. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Do you want me..." he trails off.

I shake my head. "Time of the month,'"I lie. I couldn't be further from the truth.

"Oh okay...'" he kisses me softly, once on the mouth, then the tip of the nose and then my forehead.

I don't sleep though. I lie there, images, thoughts running through my mind so fast I feel sick. The room feels like it's spinning, the whole world turning way too fast, life moving at double-speed.

I pretend and fail to be asleep when Randy finally comes to bed an hour later. His arms wrap around me as he spoons against me. His little finger slides under the waistband of my sweatpants, the rest of the hand spread over my abdomen. I want to cry. I want to roll over and tell him that I think I'm pregnant. I just want to know what he'll say. What he'll do.

But he snores softly into my hair.

I wake around four, nature calling. Randy's hand is still on my stomach. I ease myself free and go to the bathroom.

Pulling down my underwear, I see a spot of red.

Relief floods through me. Along with a feeling of what if...

Nevermind, I'll find some like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you,

I never told him. What was the point? Would it have changed anything? If it had been true, would none of this happened? Would we be that perfect, happy family? Or would I still be here, only with a baby for company? Awaiting the difficult conversation later in life about why dad lives with that other man.

My phone vibrates and I jump. Deep breath. Steady.

I flip it over and stare at the screen.

Ok. 10am tomorrow Starbucks, main st. C u then.

Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead"

"Do you want another drink Cody?"

He shakes his head. "I'm fine thanks."

I leave him on the couch and head for the kitchen.

"Is he okay?" I ask Randy.

"What do you mean?" he glances up from gazing in the refrigerator, the choice between Bud and Bud Light obviously quite a difficult one.

"He just seems... I dunno, a bit quiet."

"He's always quiet."

"He seems nervous."

"Maybe that's because you keep asking him questions. Just leave the poor guy alone."

"I was making conversation," I pout.

Randy closes the refrigerator, beer chosen. "I know baby..." he curls an arm around me and pulls me against him, kissing the top of my head. "He just keeps himself to himself." He pauses. "I think he's a bit stressed out at the moment anyway."

"What about?"

"Oh he's just bought this new house, but it needs loads of work doing to it."

"What's the problem?"

"They reckon they might have to knock half of it down and rebuild it. Something to do with the structure or something, I dunno. Anyway, he's trying to find somewhere to rent in the mean time but I mean, what's the point in him renting? Not like he'll be around much to get his money's worth is it?"

"How long will the rebuild take?"

"About six months or so."

I chew my lip. Randy kisses my head again and then goes back into the lounge.

"Dude, what's the score?"

Cody murmurs something in reply.

I flick the switch on the kettle. I drum my fingers on the kitchen counter, waiting for it to boil.

Coffee in hand, I go back into the lounge. Randy shifts closer to Cody, sliding an arm over the back of the sofa behind me as I sit down.

"Randy says you're looking for a place to stay," I say.

Two pair of eyes flick to me.

"Erm, yeah," Cody mutters.

"You found anywhere?"

"No, not yet. But they say I can stay in part of the house if I want. They'll work around me. Not like I'll be there that often."

"Living through a rebuild is hell, you don't want to do that."

Randy is watching me closely – I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him.

"Doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

"Why don't you come live here?"

Randy chokes on his beer. "Rhi!"

"Oh c'mon Randy, like it's really going to put us out. There's two spare rooms with nothing in them except beds! Might as well put them to use."

Randy scowls. "And when did you think of this amazing plan?"

"Just now." I shrug. "Like you would have thought of it." I lean over Randy and smile at Cody. "Did he even remotely suggest anything like this?"

Cody shakes his head slowly.

"Exactly," I grin at Randy. "You are more than welcome to stay here Cody."

"Erm, thanks," he murmurs. "I mean, I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," I say pointedly at Randy, who shakes his head, rolls his eyes and then goes back to the game.

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,

The question that's always bugged me is what if Cody had never come to live with us. If there had been some distance would it have turned out differently? Or could it have happened away, on the road? I'm not sure which is better – to have to happen under your nose or behind your back. In the end, I guess it was both.

The light turns green and I pull away, the question still on my mind. Was it so obvious? Was I just oblivious to everything except myself and Randy? Did I just let our relationship slip away – was there something I could have done differently? I was so careful when we split not to ask those questions. I didn't want to hear that it was my fault. Because it was right? What girl lets her guy get hooked in by another guy? What does that say about her? I didn't want to know what I could have done to rescue the situation. Was it something I said, did?

It's funny, because if he'd left me for another woman, I don't think I would be thinking these things. Not now anyway. I would had a rebound, fucked a stranger, got absolutely slaughtered. Had my hair cut. Chucked out half my wardrobe. A complete life overhaul.

Instead, I'm stuck in the past.

I glance over to the box next to me. Five years packed into a box. I've been regretting asking to meet ever since I sent the message. Why couldn't I just leave it be? Walk away, throw away the stuff. He's obviously not bothered about it otherwise he'd have asked. Jesus...

I pull over and park. I don't know what to expect. All I can think is keep your cool – don't cry, don't scream, no emotion. Don't appear too sad. Don't appear too happy. I adjust the rearview mirror and check my reflection. Why on earth did I doll myself up? Pretending to be okay. He knows me too well. He will see straight through me.

Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead"

I lay back in the bubbles, close my eyes and let the scent of the candles all around me overwhelm my senses. Downstairs, Randy is doing the dishes, having practically pushed me up the stairs to have a bath, giving me at least 10 minutes peace and quiet before he'll come bounding up the stairs to join me. Or to "wash my back" as he politely put it. But I can read between the lines. I can just feel those hands taking on a life of their own – apparently you can easily mistake front from back. Back massages always seem to turn into a grope session. Not that I'm complaining...

My ears prick up as the TV is suddenly shut off downstairs. The familiar creak of the fourth step. The thump of feet across the bedroom. The bathroom door opens and Randy sticks his head around.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

"Fine!"

He grins, pushes the door open further and comes in, already stripped down to his boxers.

"I bought you wine," he says, placing the glass on the side of the bath.

"A bribe I will happily accept."

He strips off his boxers and steps into the bath, grimacing at how hot it is. His legs slide along mine, his toes tickling my hips. His hands dip beneath the water, seeking out my legs, pulling me forward slightly so my feet rest on the tops of his thighs. I press my toes against his abs and he smirks.

We lie in comfortable silence. Moments like this don't need to be spoiled by conversation. A comfortable silence says so much more.

"I love you."

I stare at him. He is dead serious. Shit, Rhian, say something. The three words hang in the air. I swallow.

He said it first.

A smile plays on his lips, a soapy hand rubbing over the back of his head. "Jesus..." His eyes are shining a bit too much, or is that the candles?

Say something. Three words. You know you want to. Christ, you've wanted to say them for the past two months. But you chickened out about twenty times. Say it back. Say them.

"I love you too," I breathe.

He exhales slowly. "Thank fuck."

I giggle. "That shit you up."

"Just a bit," he grins.

He moves forward, my legs sliding around his waist as he pulls me against him.

"Love you," he whispers again, his mouth soft, his kiss tender.

I don't say anything in reply, just sigh happily into his kiss. Wrap my arms around him and hold on forever.

Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead.

I push open the door and walk inside. It's quiet, the morning rush over and the mid-morning coffee run just around the corner. Shifting the box under my arm, I order and hand over the money. As I'm waiting for what seems like an eternity for my coffee, the door clangs open.

I catch his eye as he walks over. My mouth is dry and my mind empty.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hi," I almost choke.

The barista slides a mug towards me and then turns to take Randy's order. I stand awkwardly, the box feeling heavy, my heart pounding.

"I'll be over there," I finally say, making to take the mug.

"I'll bring it over," he offers. "You've obviously got your hands full." He nods at the box.

"Erm... Thanks."

I pick a secluded spot. If this is going to end badly, I don't want the whole world to witness it.

The chair creaks as he takes his seat opposite me a few minutes later.

"So," he starts.

"I bought your stuff," I blurt out.

"I can see."

"It's just a few things. A shirt, some CDs, a few other bits and pieces..."

"Thanks."

"Sorry I didn't do it sooner."

"No rush."

"I..." I look up from the table and meet his eye. "I only found it the other day."

"Like I said, there was no rush."

Silence. I grab my mug and take a huge gulp. The coffee burns down my throat. "Shit," I mutter.

"Are you okay?" I can feel his eyes on me. Piercing through me.

Truth or lie?

"I'm fine." My voice shakes slightly, but I do my best to match my smile with my words.

"You don't have to lie to me, Rhi."

"Don't I?"

He reaches out, his fingers brushing my hand. I want to pull away, but I can't.

"You still mean something to me."

"Really?" I mutter.

"What, you think I'm that cold-hearted to just forget what we had?"

"No. But it makes it easier."

"I still think about you. I wonder if things might have been different if..."

I glance up at him, not quite believing what I'm hearing.

"I think the same thing..." I whisper. "But, it's not like we can go back is it?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Were you happy with me?" I ask tentatively.

"Of course. We had some good times right?"

I give him a small smile. "Sure. Mixed in with the bad..."

"More good than bad though?"

"I think the good outweighed the bad." I pause. "Are... are you happy now?"

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, judging the question and weighing up his answer carefully. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"I have to know, Randy."

"Yes. I'm happy," he says slowly.

"Do you... do you think you would have been happy with me if none of this had happened?"

"Rhi... Don't do this to yourself. Please don't torture yourself over what if you had done this or hadn't done that. It was nothing that you did or didn't do. I got too greedy."

"I would have taken you back you know. If Cody... We could have moved on. Forgotten about everything."

He shakes his head. "No, you wouldn't have taken me back. Why would you?"

"I loved you."

"Exactly Rhi. Loved. What I did to you – it's unforgivable."

"I can forgive."

He chuckles. "Rhi, you hold a grudge like no-one else I know. Even if you had taken me back, it would have bubbled under the surface. We wouldn't have lasted. You wouldn't trust me ever again."

I smile. "Worth a try though right?"

"In another life, yes."

Another silence ensues. He still knows me. Even after all this time, he can still read me like a book. What is the point of hiding behind a façade when it comes to him?

His phone beeps.

"Sorry." He pulls it out of his jeans' pocket and looks at it without expression. "It's... erm, Cody. He's waiting for me. We've got to go to the airport..."

"Where are you off to?"

"L.A."

I nod slowly. "Well... Thanks for meeting me."

"No problem." He empties his cup. I watch his Adam apple bob as he swallows.

I nudge the box towards him with my foot. "Don't forget this."

He glances down. "Thanks..."

"I should go too."

"Right."

We stand, Randy with the box under one arm, holding it with much more ease than I did.

"See you around," he whispers. He comes towards me, his free arm sliding around me. His lips find my forehead. "You take care of yourself yeah?"

I nod against his chest. He releases me slowly and walks away for the final time.

I take a moment, watch him go, disappear out of sight. And then I follow.

Outside, I look around, wondering what to do now. I turn and head off down the road back to my car. As I wait to cross the street, I glance back and see Randy placing the box into the trunk of his car. The driver's door opens and Cody steps out. He walks around, past Randy, his hands grazing his hips.

I swallow, prepare myself for the shudder. A shudder that never comes. I watch them interact for a moment and then cross the road. Once in the car, I hold my hands out in front of me – they barely twitch. I adjust the mirror and chance a look back. They're already gone.

I pull away and for the first time in a while, I don't wonder what if.

Fin x