Chapter 3

Three days later I find myself staring down at my phone, a number I don't recognise flashing up on the screen. It's the fourth time they've rung, but I've yet to answer it, I'm reluctant to. I know that Tony's back home now after Sid mentioned it yesterday and there's a chance that it's going to be him. I don't think I'm entirely ready to talk to him yet.

Staring out of the window and picking the phone up, I let it ring once more and then send the call to answer phone. No, I definitely can't do it. With a sigh, I toss the handset aside and lie down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling and raking my hands into my hair. I figure he'll give up eventually, if I ignore him enough. I'd rather that not be the case because my heart gives a tiny flutter every time the phone springs to life, but it's probably for the best.

I roll onto my side and begin to feel sleep casting its spell over me. It's not worth fighting. So I don't. Pulling one of my pillows close against my chest, I bury my head into the soft fabric and let my exhaustion take hold.

In dreams I can escape him. It may only be for a little while, but it's complete and utter bliss.

By the time I wake up again two hours later, I find myself greeted by six missed calls and an answer phone message. Why can't you just leave me alone? Sighing, I stare at the screen in defiance and that's when it begins to ring again, that oh so familiar number wanting to get through to me. I'm hoping for a miracle. He's not going to give up. Not now, not ever. No point in fighting it anymore I guess.

When I eventually answer, Tony's voice is fragile in comparison to how it used to be, he's lost his arrogant edge. But it's getting late and no doubt he's tired. I, unfortunately, sound tediously bored as I reply and immediately he accuses me of trying to piss him off intentionally. I assure him that wasn't my incentive and the subject's laid to rest. Our conversation is like a tug a war, a constant battle to put the other in their place. He spends ten minutes attempting to talk me into going to visit him. I spend fifteen minutes telling him why it's a bad idea; a deliciously tempting idea, but a bad one all the same.

That said, thirty minutes later I'm stood in front of his house waiting for someone to come to the door. He always wins somehow. It makes me sick. Effy's the one to answer the door, dressed in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt. She offers a tiny smile and then gestures to the staircase before retreating back to the living room, her hands tucked into her back pockets. I let a breath go, leaning back against the door to close it and let my gaze drift to the stairs, lightly running my tongue over my dry lips.

It's probably easier to get it over with quick, like ripping a plaster off; the sooner I get up there, the sooner I don't have to worry about it anymore. I let my shoulders drop, straighten out my jacket and then jog upstairs, lightly knocking against his bedroom door. There's no reply, he better not be asleep again, not after I bothered coming all the way over. I try again, this time pushing the door open as I do so and peering into the room.

Tony's sat at his computer desk, clicking away on his mouse, his head tilted to the left a little as he reads the information on the screen. Beside him there's a collection of jars containing an array of multicoloured tablets and a large bottle of water. Blimey, Chris would be having a field day.

'Painkillers,' he mutters, moving to shut his computer down and then glancing in my direction. He picks up one of the jars, giving it a small shake, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. 'Pretty, aren't they?'

I'm still stood by the door, hesitantly debating whether to step into the room or not. My gaze meets his a moment later and I give in, closing the door behind me, and leaning back against it. Tony's face looks gaunt and there are black circles under his eyes. A month confined to a hospital bed has taken its toll. He's still healing, his left arm covered in an elaborate display of yellowish bruises and tiny gashes. Several seconds later, he realises that I'm staring and murmurs, 'You think that's bad, you should see this…' At the comment he lifts his shirt to expose his badly bruised ribs and then laughs lightly.

I look away from him, feeling my stomach lurch involuntarily. He may be quite happy to show his wounds off like some kind of trophy, but it's still all too fresh in my mind for me to simply except the fact that I – we nearly lost him.

'I'm glad you're OK, Tony,' I offer eventually, though my teeth are gritted as I say it.

He stares at me for a moment, his curiosity peaked, and then a grin breaks through and he moves to lie across his bed instead. I notice him flinch as he stretches out, but he acts like nothing's wrong and then pats the spot beside him. 'Sit down then,' he says before finally bringing his hands up to rest behind his head.

There's no point in arguing with him, so I do as he says and lean forwards, my hands clasped in front of me and bow my head. I can feel his eyes burning into my back, but I ignore it, staying silent and closing my eyes.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, I force myself to look over and mumble, 'I shouldn't be here.'

Tony smiles in response and then shrugs his shoulders. 'Fine, toddle off home then,' he says and then reaches over to his bedside table, taking a magazine from the drawer and beginning to flick through it. I don't move, I don't speak either and a minute or so later, he peers over the top of his magazine, an eyebrow arched in amusement and observes, 'You're still here.'

Stupid thing to say, we both know I wouldn't have actually gone anywhere. With a sigh, I turn my body towards his, bringing one of my legs up onto the bed and absently begin to play with the ring on my finger. 'Were you ignoring Michelle at the hospital?' I ask him, wanting a few answers. 'I think you've hurt her enough already, don't you? Don't do it anymore, it's not fair.' He laughs and I narrow my eyes toward him. It's hardly funny. Michelle spent every day at his side and he's shown her no appreciation for it.

'Nips is better off without me,' he answers casually, setting his magazine aside and lightly rubbing his arm. 'She's a better person. I'm waiting for her to realise that herself.' His gaze is downcast as he speaks; he doesn't want to make eye contact.

'So what, you told her you loved her that day for a joke?' I shoot, shaking my head in disbelief more than anything. 'That's fucking sick, Tone.' Although, it wouldn't surprise me if that were the case, there's nothing I'd put past Tony nowadays. He hasn't changed. I was a fool to think that he would have.

He's gazing at me, his mouth curled up in the beginnings of a smirk. 'No, but I've had a lot of time to think about things and I've realised I want to give someone else my full attention instead,' he answers, speaking slowly to allow each word to sink in. His words are sinking in alright and all I'm hearing are straight-out lies. 'Like you maybe.'

I gape at him at first and then get to my feet, starting for the door, growling, 'Fuck off Tony, that's bull and you know it is.'

Tugging the door open, I fix my gaze on him again and then sigh very softly, leaning my forehead against the wood. I'm tired of the constant games, especially now. It's neither funny nor entertaining anymore, only tedious. Perhaps when he's done being ashamed of me I can believe what he says, but he's yet to give me a reason to trust him.

'Goodnight, Tony,' I say softly, indicating that it's time to go.

I leave his room as quickly as I entered it and it's only when I reach the street outside I stop running, leaning my body forwards and shutting my eyes as I catch my breath.

What happened to saying goodbye?