The bits in italics are either memories or thoughts and I'd just like to thank everyone for reading and replying, I really appreciate your comments
Ronnie sat on Arthur's Bench, her eyes staring into the darkness around her. She felt the biting March air crash over her, but it didn't bother her. She'd been sitting there for an hour and a distant voice in her mind told her that she should be cold, that the temperature should be hurting her by now. But she was already too hurt for anything else to get through.
Why did Stacey's friend have to tell me? If she hadn't, I wouldn't have to think about . . . I wouldn't have told Roxy and I wouldn't need to convince her it was true . . .
Why did that stupid girl have to come upstairs?
Ronnie closed her eyes, hoping the darkness would envelope her mind in its cold embrace. She felt an icy wind swirling around her, whipping at her pale cheeks, but she made no move to get up, to retreat to the warmth.
I need to feel the cold. It makes it better.
She opened her eyes and turned, feeling someone's gaze upon her, expecting to see Roxy standing by the iron railings, ready to try and coax her back to the Vic. But it wasn't Roxy that was stood there. It was someone else. Someone she hadn't seen or spoken to in weeks.
"Jack," Ronnie stated softly, her breaths coming out as faint wisps as it hit the air around her.
Jack's eyes flickered to her for a moment, brown locked on blue. And then he spoke. "It's cold out – you don't even have a jacket."
"Is the weather what we're really going to talk about?"
He sat down beside her. "Yes."
"I didn't come and see you," Ronnie said. "I'm sorry." Jack sighed and shrugged. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I just . . . "
Jack shook his head. "I'm here for you, Ron. I'm always here for you . . . but you've never been there for me. I'm here and you . . . never are." He looked at her, a wealth of sorrow written across his face, so much that Ronnie felt another crack emerge in her heart.
"Broken, remember? Damaged goods," she said softly. There was no accusation to her voice, no anger; it was just a statement. A true statement.
"I never meant that, Ron. I was hurt and angry and Bradley had just-" Jack sucked in a sharp breath. Even now, three weeks on, he still couldn't say that word.
Ronnie's hair swished around her shoulders as she shook her head. "Doesn't matter how it was said if it's true." She paused momentarily. "You should get back inside, it's cold out."
"So should you."
Jack's heart constricted in agony as he thought of everything Ronnie had been through, everything he had done to her. He wanted to reach out and lay a hand on hers, to gently curl his fingers around hers and lead her inside. He desperately wanted to take her home. But too much had happened between them, too much had been said and done. And now, now it seemed too late.
"I'll be fine - I'm used to the cold."
"You shouldn't have to be."