Note: realised I re-named Julie as Jennie. Ignore that :-)

…..

Kian is being "held captive" for a few days under Julie's care, just encase he decides to attack anyone again, which to me seems like a completely exaggerated method as Kian is the most un-threatening male I know.

But I can't say anything myself, not until she consulates me anyway which is where I'm heading now.

"Knock, knock" and a pause. I wait. My hands are clammy with stress. There are too many things that could go wrong in this room; I have to keep my answers basic.

"Come in." Her unyielding voice ushers me through. She perches behind a wide, mahogany desk, raising some thin spectacles from her nose and into her hair to get a better sight of me.

"Hello there again Frankie. Please sit".

The leather chair is cushioned but low and thin so it's relatively hard to get out of without force. I guess that's why she uses it in this room - to imprison her victims.

"It seems you are consistently raising concerns with me Miss Yeild." She glares at me in distress. "Now, tell me about yesterday. I need you to describe to me what happened as soon as you met with George that afternoon".

I breathe in. Not too much information Frankie, remember. "First of all, we didn't meet. I walked into him. And second of all, Kian shouldn't be held away like that. He hit George out of defence for me."

"Defence? What exactly was George doing, for Kian to have to defend you in that way?" Her eyes squint and lips pout. I've said something wrong already. I can tell.

"He wasn't doing anything to me." My hands become even clammier, dampening a patch of my tights where they sit. "He had just been acting out of order recently and whilst I was having a go at him, Kian heard our argument then he hit George before I could stop him." I stare at my knees. "Like I said, Kian was doing it out of protection for me."

She doesn't reply. Papers file between her fingers, she scans them whilst adding notes. The silence edges through my body like an illness.

My breathing becomes inpatient, throat drying, fingers pressing against my palms uncomfortably.

There's a clang of metal as the door behind me opens. We both wince at the sound which disrupted the hush. A skinny, pale woman with bright red hair appears. "Sorry to disturb you, but George is outside. Should I tell him to wait?"

Julie's lips pierce together. "No. Bring him in actually." As her eyes glance down, back to the papers, they skim my face briefly.

He hobbles in. The sight of his face causes a skip in my breathing. His jaw is bandaged up around his head and a large, purple lip pokes out the side. The eye not covered by the bandage is puffy and red as if he hasn't slept in weeks.

It is directed at me. The passion he displays is not hatred this time, but envy - pure, agonising envy. It destroys me.

Whatever Julie wanted to do by bringing him in, has obviously worked. I feel guilty, out of no apparent reason in myself but it's frightening. My head pounds, eyes feel heavy.

Next thing I know, I'm out the door. It slams, echoing through the empty corridor. Hearing is incoherent, walls closing in on me. I feel an agonizing case of "de-ja-vu". I'm going to faint again. Please don't Frankie. Control yourself.

George's oozing, bruised lip flashes in my mind. The punch. My screams. Kian's face.

Cool stone grazes my arms. I slide down, hunching up onto the floor, head in my knees. I cry.

…..

When the tears stop, I hear nothing but faint sobs ringing in my ears. I daren't look up until I'm sure no-one is watching me. All around is silence, until a sudden creak of a door and slow, staggering footsteps.

A shadow casts round the corner of which I came from, caramel skin turning towards me.

I berry my face in my knees again. He sighs.

"Don't do this Frankie." His voice is soft but inpatient. "I just want to talk."

I glare up at him then, hair sticking to dried tears on my face. "You've had the past month to talk to me and didn't. What makes this any different?"

He doesn't reply, only lengthening the obstinate silence between us and he still alights at the end of the corridor too, as if not wanting to get infected by me.

I make odious eye contact. Actions speak louder than words as they say. But in this case, his words spoke louder than any action he could make.

"I know about him Frankie."

I know about him Frankie. Who's him? Kian? George can't possibly think we're an item can he? I sneer my nose at him in disgust. "You're remarkable George, always constructing enquiries that you can't support."

"Don't give me that." He edges towards me now. "I know about your lover boy. All the time you told me you'd never had a serious relationship." His fists tense. "I thought you really liked me. I trusted you."

Lover boy? Relationship? I hadn't cut in out of pure astonishment. I hold my head in my hand, closing my eyes. "I have no idea where you came up with the idea that I had a boyfriend, but it's utter bull. So if you're just going to stand there and accuse me for it all then just leave because I don't want to hear it."

He shakes his head in revulsion. "I don't believe you." His head still shakes. "I don't…" "Believe you."

I get up, storming towards him, not pinning him to the wall this time, but leaving him. I've had enough.

My arm grazes his, a fierce gust of air brewing as I walk. He smells like hospitals and a distinguishing, fruity, male detergent. He's lingering behind me as I stop abruptly because of a firm, refined hand clutching onto my wrist. He twists me round cautiously to face him. "Please Frankie. Tell me the truth." His eye glistens in the slowly darkening light that dawdles through a window behind us. The chocolaty colour of his pupil I once saw now represents a dull grey.

"I told you the truth already. You chose not to believe me." His clutch loosens, I struggle out the door.

…

The next day, Julie summons me to her office again. She leads me into a melancholy room behind her office with a sealed of door. Inside is just a single, mediocre bed, table, mini fridge, a small, ageing window and a fragile body – Kian. He looks restless, his hair angled up in several places and his warm, masculine glow has faded.

I run into him and wrap his body around mine, breathing in a musky, sweaty scent. When he realises who I am, he speaks.

"I need to tell you something but we don't have long" he whispers through my hair. I sense a daunting urgency in his voice.

I let go, staring straight through him. "What? Tell me."

"George came to see me yesterday after your one on one. He said he thought he could trust me to tell him if you were lying or not. He asked me about your apparent boyfriend and I denied it. He looked terrible." Our eye contact parts. "He says he's sorry and wants to see you later…"

"But I don't want to see him" I interrupt bashfully.

"I know. I understand why. But please Frankie, I recognised that sorrow in his eyes. He needs to talk to you and I want you to." When I don't reply, he takes my hands in his. "Listen to me. He'll be waiting in his room at 6. If you don't turn up, he said he understands and takes it as a vowel to leave you alone. He'll never talk to you again."

I nod, blinking back some tears. "Thank you Kian. You're an amazing friend." We embrace each other's bodies again and I leave him confined to the box room which is now his home.

…..

I stand outside George's room. Number 81. I'm late. It's half 6 and I don't want to talk to him. But I couldn't bare him thinking that I've given up on us completely and beckon him to ignore me. I have to do it.

I'm about to knock when I hear some feeble voices from inside.

"Bad luck mate." It sounds like JJ.

"Shut up JJ…" "She might just be running late, contemplating whether or not to talk to you, that's all." I think it's Jaymie.

George cuts in, "I know she's not coming guys. Why would she? I believed Eliza's lies, I hated her for it and I accused her. She told me the truth and I still ignored it…" "I'm just a pointless hurdle in her life and she deserves someone better than me."

Eliza. Why didn't I see this coming? It's so obvious now. She lured him into her trap and made me the victim. It wasn't George's fault.

The door opens in a swift curve. A disordered George stands there in shock. His bandage has been removed; his lip swelling has reduced but is still obvious. "Frankie, I…" His voice becomes croaky and tangent.

"Eliza. I know." I whisper.

A smile edges his face and then mine. He grabs me close, one hand grasping the small of my back, the other, the back of my neck. We rest our heads in the nooks of each other's shoulders. I feel a tear clamber from my eye, swooping down the curve of my cheek bone. He dusts it off swiftly with a finger and holds my face in his hands. "I'm so sorry." He murmurs with an emotional, soapy voice. I nod in agreement, holding back more cries.

I don't realise how or when but our lips now clasp on. They're stained with tears and I taste salt but passion. We hold onto each other forcefully, the muscles in his back flexing with each kiss under a smooth, layer of tartan shirt.

Being with him now, feels incredible.

It feels right.