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Chapter 8

Molly opened her front door. Dread creeping in to her heart. She knew then, what she'd known for weeks, months even, that it was over. She didn't want him. She had been fooling herself.

There had been brief moments when she truly believed that she did want him. Moments where she thought she could see a future with him. Yet when it came down to it she just knew it wasn't right. Not like before, then she'd just known it was right.

Her body no longer wanted his, her mind enjoyed his absence more than his company, her heart no longer fluttered when she saw him.

The love that they maybe once had shared was gone.

It was months since the weekend Georgie came to see her, since Steve went to meet her, since Charles had found her. It was months ago and everything was still the same, yet so much had changed.

She knew as she walked down from her hill that choices had to be make. The circumstance of Georgie turning up had meant her hand was now forced. It had been something she bravely had avoided all these years. Yet now his betrayal, Georgie's reappearance meant that could no longer happen.

She returned back to her empty flat that weekend, taking in all that had happened. Steve had returned to his own home she guessed. The argument with Steve, the peacefulness with Charles, all gave her plenty of time to think about her options, and to feel the regret that was now such a defined part of her life.

He had at first given her space, and for that she was grateful. Allowing her to sort out all the conflicting emotions that she had. He'd been kind, thoughtful, had left the decision down to her.

She knew he wanted to talk, and in the beginning she had too. She desperately had wanted to, but knew she needed to be strong and certain before any conversation happened. She couldn't be weak anymore. And so she put the talk off, focused instead on sorting herself out before she took his explanations on board.

She hadn't contacted him, hadn't seen him, and hadn't called him like she promised she would. Instead she just hid herself away. She owed it to them all to step back and think.

Eventually though she knew she'd thought enough. She knew her own mind. Her own heart.

"I just don't want to Jac." She explained one night down the phone. Her best friend, the one who she yet again turned to. The one she called slightly worse for wear after trying to get some calmness from a bottle of wine.

"Don't you think though... maybe you should listen to what he has to say? Hear him out at least?" Jacqui calmly replied to her fairly drunk friend. "Do you owe him that at least?"

"No. Thought I did. Thought I'd want to hear his excuses. Then I thought... I could forgive him...but I can't... what's more I don't want to either." Molly slurred on.

Tipsy she may be, but she was happy. Feeling as though for the first time in a long while she was finally being honest with herself.

"That must mean something? Yeah? The fact I just don't want to?" Molly asked.

"I suppose." Jacqui replied. "But you're sure Mols? Really sure. You not listening... not giving him a chance to explain...well you're ending what you have. No going back? I doubt his pride would take that."

"I'm sure. It's the most sure I've been for such a long time." Molly firmly replied. Her decision was made.

"And what about Charles? What's he got to say?" Jacqui asked fearful her friend was about to make a decision she may come to regret.

Still she offered no opinions only support and questioning advice.

"A big fat nothing Jac. I guess he thinks that it's all down to me. Where we go from here." She replied.

How Molly wished just this once Charles would be brave enough to force her, to make her choose. But that wasn't the man he was, and she knew it wasn't the man he would ever be. He wanted Molly because Molly wanted him. He'd accept nothing but everything from her. He always did.

And that was the hardest part of all this, not the heart ache, not the ending of something before it really began, but the fact that yet again Charles had not pursued her. He'd just let her go. She had wanted his chase.

She was still convinced of what she was going to do, but weary with the task ahead. Standing on the doorstep knowing the next few moments would end it all.

All she knew is that this time the ending would be about her. About what she wanted.

"Hi." She called out as she entered the hall way. "You here?"

He'd used her spare key from the lock safe . They'd arranged to meet after Molly's shift, but she'd been delayed by work so had texted him just to make his way to her flat, use the emergency spare key and to let himself in. He had obviously done so, and walking out of the kitchen he greeted her.

"Hi Molly. Good to see you. Good day?" He hesitated to kiss her, he held back.

It felt so awkward being here. It was the first time he'd seen her in months, and his heart fluttered a little at how he missed her.

"Nah. These days never are. Too many problems."

She threw her bag down and noticed he'd started cooking for them. She hadn't asked him too, hadn't wanted him to. Yet he had. She felt uncomfortable as though he had invaded her space. As though he had presumed too much.

As she walked into the kitchen he held out a glass of wine.

"Here this will make you feel better."

He grinned at her offering her favourite tipple of all time. She accepted it in the manner in which it was offered, graciously, but did not take a drink. She needed a clear head.

Watching him watching her she saw they were still uncomfortable around each other. Both unable to slip back into their previous uncomplicated ease with one another. Maybe too much time had gone by.

She realised though he was trying, the table was laid for two. A large bunch of flowers in its centre. He still had hope in his heart.

"We need to talk." She breathed out. Unaware that she was going to start, but she knew she must. It was unfair to let him believe.

He stopped his stirring of the sauce and looked at her. He raised his eyebrows in query. She held his gaze, his eyes one of his best features, memorising them. Knowing that soon they'd be filled with rejection.

"I guess we do. Can I start by saying I'm sorry?"

He asked.

"You don't need to. I had time to think. I guess I kind of understand why you did it...but I just can't... I don't want to... and I would if I loved you wouldn't I?" She finished off confused.

Unsure she'd conveyed the message to him. She need to be direct, definite, but hoped she'd be gentle too.

"What are you saying Molly?" His voice was filled with steely determination, refusing to let emotions come into this. Her message was becoming clear to him.

His fears were being realised. He moved towards her.

"I'm saying it's over. I don't want this anymore. What happened. What you did... well I guess I can forgive... but I just don't care anymore." She took a huge breath, ready to deliver her statement. "I don't love you. I don't love you enough for that." She rushed out her decision.

It felt surprisingly good, despite the pain she saw flash across his face. She felt lighter, more free than she had done for months, years. She was finally letting it all go.

"Shit Molly. No! Please?"

He moved closer to her, his eyes begging her, but not his voice. He was shocked by her words, but she guessed his heart was not mortally wounded.

She wondered if he really did love her the way he said he did, or was he just holding on to the idea of loving her.

"Is there anything I can say?" He added.

"No. Honestly there's not. I'm sorry..." It was hard but it was necessary. "It's over, and I guess... well..."

"Don't bloody worry Molly I'm going. I'm gone." He shouted, his anger spilling over in each move he made to leave.

"Tell me though before I go did I ever stand a fucking chance?"

He stood there ridged, bracing himself for the truth.

She looked at him squarely. She had gone this far, she had been honest, and knew she would have to continue no matter how painful her words were.

"No Steve I guess you hadn't."

For Molly finally it felt so good to admit that. To say it out in the open.

Steve sneered at her. Eyes full of rage not sadness.

She knew then her choice was the right one. There would be no regret. How could she ever have chosen him over the man she still loved?

"Yeah thought not. That's what Georgie said. Told me you'd always love Charles. Guessed she was right." And with that he slammed the door.

Molly was alone, alone in her flat. The sound of the door slamming shut, the final act on her relationship with Steve.

They were over.

Now it was time for Molly to get on with living the life she wanted. The life she believed was on offer to her again.

The weekend pasted slowly. She sorted out her material issues as well as her mental ones. Plans were made for her to have a change of scene. This time though she wasn't running. She had built a happy life here, enjoyed it. She was staying. She just needed to get off the ride for a bit.

She didn't know how to begin. Where to start. Several times over the weekend she reached for his number. Aware that once she let him in every defence, every degree of self preservation would be taken away. She would be exposed and open to heartache again. Once he was back in her life there could be no going back for her. And so she hesitated, and still never called him.

After a weekend of silence her doorbell rang. She was grateful of the interruption. She'd called no one, seen no one. Instead she spent her time avoiding what needed to be done. Focusing her attention on painting her bathroom, rather than calling Charles.

She'd expected it to be Tom. She knew she was in for a lecture from him about her treatment of Steve. When it came she'd just have to accept it and move on.

However as she reached the glass fronted door she saw the shadow of a man taller than Tom, and outline she instantly recognised.

The night was cold and dark, and the street dimly lit. Her doorstep visitor had the advantage over her. When she opened the door had his shape not been so heart achingly familiar she might have struggled to see clearly who it was, where as he saw her perfectly.

Eventually her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she knew every detail, every unique marker of the silhouette standing before her.

She giggled. He stood there looking so nervous. Clutching onto the flowers tightly, knuckles white, eyes searching across her face for a sign.

When she giggled she saw panic sweep across him. His feet shuffled beneath him, deciding if he should stay or go.

Realising her giggle was not what he'd hoped to hear, she stopped and turned it into a huge smile.

He had finally come. He'd finally taken the step she had wanted and he'd come.

"Hello." She quietly greeted him. Tipping her head so he could see all of her smile.

"Hello Molly." Charles simply replied. Then he too started to laugh. The relief washing over him as he saw her smile. She was happy to see him. Suddenly though he felt very self-conscious standing holding on to a bunch of flowers he'd almost crushed to death with his nerves.

No more was said. She turned to walk down the hallway, looking over her shoulder and beckoning him to follow her with her head. He blindly did so. His emotions were almost too hard to process.

"Sorry about the mess." She said as they reached the sitting room. Her weekend's activities obvious.

"Painting?" Was all he replied. Ridiculously as it was he was proud of her still being so practical.

"Yeah. I know!" She threw her hands dramatically across her work clothes. "Think there's more on me than the bleeding walls."

"I... errrr... I got these for you." He stammered, handing her the flowers that he awkwardly held.

Noting with sadness that she already had a vase full of flowers on the coffee table. They weren't cheap garage flowers either, but we're ones someone had put a lot of thought and time into. She'd obviously not bought them herself. Charles started to have his doubts.

She took the flowers from him. Their hands and fingers gracing each other's as the exchange took place. He purposely kept his eyes down. He regretted coming. He should have called. It was foolish, her boyfriend might have been in, might even come still.

"I... errr... wondered if you... fancied a coffee. Maybe have a chat sometime?" He asked.

They were now standing in the kitchen, he watched her as she rearranged the flowers he'd given her. At his offer for coffee she stopped.

"Still don't like coffee Charles. Sorry." She answered him back.

"Oh. Yes. Right of course. Tea?" It was his last offer. If this was rejected he planned to escape.

He felt like a teenager standing there unsure what to do, or what to say anymore.

"Tea? Bleeding tea? You've driven all this way for a cup of tea?" She raised her eyes to him. "What you here for Charles?"

"I thought we could talk." Plain simple, the truth. He waited for her excuse, her rejection.

Mentally he was already checking out, through the door, back in his car, so he almost missed her answer.

"I'd like that, but I think we're gonna need more than tea!" And reaching into the fridge she pulled out a beer for them both. Handing his across.

He accepted it, holding it in one hand, dazed as he realised that the other hand she had taken hold of. Gently she was walking him to the sofa, leading the way on so many levels.

"I think I owe you an apology." She started. He shook his head and blinked.

"You? Surely it is I?" He stammered out. He was all set to continue but she stopped him.

"No. Me first. I said I'd call. I didn't... was gonna. Honest. Just needed to sort things out first."

They sat side by side, slightly turned to face one another. She still hadn't let go of his hand, their fingers having their own conversation. Both watched their potential courtship being played out by their digits.

"And have you?" He asked still not looking at her. His voice was soft and she noticed how unsteady it sounded.

"What sorted it out? Yes. Yeah I have." She replied. "All sorted."

He raised his eyes to hers. She felt that ridiculous thrill she always used to get. She knew then as her insides started to awaken to his closeness, his smell, that she'd forgive him. She'd forgive him because she loved him.

Then suddenly she felt utterly self conscious. Her hair was a mess, she hadn't showered yet, no makeup. And the way he just kept staring at her, made her feel inadequate to his gaze.

He reached over to her and brushed flecks of paint from her check. His thumb lightly touching her lips as he did so. She shivered at this simplest of touches. Wanting to be sensible, wanting to take it slow but wanting so much more of his touch than just his fingers on her face.

She opened her eyes suddenly. Aware she had them blissfully closed for seconds after his hand had left her face. She opened them to find him still staring at her. Chucking as he started to appreciate the power he still had over her.

"Molly?"

It was all he could say, he wanted to kiss her but still unsure despite the desire he could see in her face.

She broke away, jumped from the sofa. Throwing him some leaflets.

"Right. I'm going to get cleaned up. You're gonna order us a take away. We're going to have lots of beer and we're going to talk."

He accepted her orders and watched her walk away, this time knowing though she'd come back.

She was gone longer than expected, and when she came back she was tidier, dress in her casual joggers and top, but still had paint mattered in her hair.

She pulled a rueful face as she tried to separate her wet hair from the paint with her hairbrush. Wincing with the pain and effort.

"Can I?" He asked. Pointing to the hairbrush and to his amazement she handed it over to him and sat down between his legs on the floor, Charles higher than her on the sofa, while he gently started to brush her hair.

The steady slow loving actions of his ministrations relaxed her, her beer and new found happiness helped too. She was almost regretful when he stared to talk, to apologise, to explain, to beg her forgiveness, but she let him.

She never once interrupted, apart to get them more beers, never once criticised or correct his words. She just listened.

They stayed like that for a long time. Him brushing her hair over and over again, her sitting between his legs, encased in him. She felt safe, as though she was being rewarded by his attention for being good. It was one of the most sensual things she'd ever experienced.

Eventually when she did speak she still chose not to turn to him, to look at him. It was easier, more anonymous this way. She was braver this way.

She had listened, heard, and accepted what he'd had to say. What he needed to say to apologise for it all going to shit, and she knew he'd do the same for her.

Their entente was broken by the arrival of the take away. Neither hungry anymore, both minds, bodies and hearts too full for food. But they tried, they sat in the kitchen and pretended, pushed food around their plates and eventually after a polite period gave up. Returning to the sofa they sat next to one another again, closer this time, touching.

It would be naive to think the past couple of hours had been simple.

It hadn't for either of them.

They both got to say the things they never thought they would ever get to say. There had been controlled anger. There had been tears, from them both. There had been regret, but now there was just acceptance.

Whatever happened Molly and Charles both wanted each other's friendship. To build on that both were unsure where they went from here.

Forgiveness given on both sides it was now time for them to move forward.

Forgiveness wasn't something she actively had to do, it wasn't a choice to her, it was just what it was.

Without their forgiveness of each other there would be no Molly or Charles. So forgiveness happened.

An easy thing to do when the love still ran so deep.

He'd been ill, the betrayal done by a man he was no longer was. He betrayed a woman Molly no longer was. Time had changed them, their separation has punished them enough.

Forgiveness was all they had left.