Ash paused for a minute after walking through the door of the nightclub, wondering whether she should go back. The image of him. She swallowed hard, uncharacteristically. The twisted, tortured face. The desperation, dulled only by a sickening resignation.
His nakedness. That was the bit that had floored her. She could never allow herself to be naked like that, not if she lived forever.
"Eh, what time do you call this?!" snapped an irritated Rhys as he glanced up from his phone and spotted her standing, unmoving, at the entrance. "Shift starts at eight y'know!"
She jumped, guiltily.
"Aw you poor darling," she drawled, hurriedly plastering a look of sarcastic concern over the frown that had creased her brow as she contemplated Ste. Quickly, she made her way over to the bar. "I can see you're about to drop on your feet there, you're so overworked."
"Yeah whatever," Rhys grumbled in reply, continuing to hunch over his phone moodily.
"What's the matter, nobody texting you?" she needled, peering nosily over his shoulder.
"No!" Rhys snapped, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Look, go check the ladies lav' for toilet paper, will ya? One of that lot's already been moaning about it being empty."
He jabbed an accusing finger towards a group of middle-aged women in the corner. On their annual night out, Ash presumed. She hoped someone would shoot her before she turned into that.
"Aye, aye captain," she retorted, giving him a mock salute before making her way over to the bathrooms.
She crinkled up her nose as she walked in. They already smelled disgusting, and it was only eight thirty. How was that possible? With a sigh, she began unscrewing the plastic paper-holder from the wall of the first cubicle. Oh well, it wasn't like this was forever.
She worked away quickly, but on her own again the image of Ste floated back into her head. She shouldn't have left him there, all alone. She shook her head, as if trying to shake the thought out of it. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like they were the best of friends. In fact, she was pretty sure Ste was not a fan of hers – he had been firmly in the Amy camp when Ally had cheated on her with Ash. Besides, she didn't think he was going to do anything stupid.
Her fingers stopped moving at the screws for a minute. That was it. He wasn't going to do anything. The resignation on his face. Resignation to misery.
That, and the nakedness.
In a split second, she had dropped the giant roll of toilet paper to the ground, oblivious as it unwound across the soggy bathroom floor. Roughly, she reefed open the bathroom door and strode defiantly to the metal staircase. She didn't know what had happened exactly, but she did know who was to blame for this. For that image.
As she stood, breathing hard, in front of the heavy steel door, her confidence waned somewhat. Like the door to a bomb-shelter, she thought. Impervious. But she straightened her shoulders, determined to make some futile gesture for the naked boy she had left in the street.
She knocked softly, waiting for the impatient "Come in!" before she entered his cave.
He was sitting, pen in hand, bent over a pile of paperwork. That reignited her anger. Oblivious to what he had caused. Or uncaring.
"Ashley," he said, his voice laced with mock surprise. He never seemed to be truly surprised. She supposed that was what happened when someone lived a life of constant vigilance. Nothing could sneak up on Brendan Brady, enemy or friend.
He leaned back in his chair, examining her appraisingly. She fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. She wasn't afraid of him, she reminded herself.
"Well spit it out, I don't have all day."
"I ran into Ste earlier."
She deliberately held his gaze as she spoke, determined not to be cowed by those black, maniacal eyes. She waited, wondering if she was going too far. She had pushed him before, she knew, and gotten away with it. But she had an indefinable sense that Ste was different to the other lines she had crossed. Her pop psychology wouldn't be a game to him anymore, not if Ste was involved.
"And…?" Brendan said, picking up his pen and dropping his intense gaze from her. Dismissing her.
"And he was really upset," she said, momentarily forgetting the silent power struggle that she was trying to stay afloat in as she remembered that image. That nakedness.
"Is that so?" he asked disinterestedly, staring absent-mindedly at the nib of his pen. "About what?"
She didn't even have to force herself to maintain the gaze now, she was just staring openly at him. Was this it, was this all that broken boy could inspire in the man? Reclining, round-eyed and emotionless, staring at a pen? She had meant what she said to Ste – this man wasn't in control. He was completely trapped by his own fear. Fear of the world and everyone in it. Fear of nakedness. Had he really trained himself not to care at all?
"About you," she said slowly, a hint of distain creeping into her voice. "But you already know that, don't you?"
And just as gradually the distain faded and all she felt was an overwhelming sadness.
"What have you done to him?"
She was so caught by the emotion of what she was saying that her eyes fell to the floor, momentarily oblivious to the impervious man before her. That wasted nakedness. When she lifted her eyes again, his black eyes were fixed on her again.
"Are we done here?" he asked, impatiently.
Without speaking, she left, letting the door of the bomb-shelter clang shut behind her.