"You've got five minutes."

Christian was at my flat. It had been a tough few days – I'd been given my notice by Mrs Patel and I'd searched frantically for a new place to live, even more so for a job to pay for it. I would now be sharing a house with two aloof strangers and working on a commission-only basis. Nothing about my life right now made me want to live it. I hadn't dared go near my house, my parents. I'd seen Christian once by accident – I was lucky in that he didn't see me but it was always a danger living so close to one another.

Tomorrow I moved; all my stuff was packed up in the living room. Christian's jaw had dropped when he saw it, asking me where I was going. I hadn't bothered to answer. I just told him to get talking because I didn't want to be in the same room as him for long – he actually made my blood boil just thinking of him. I was disillusioned, totally disillusioned by it all. He had done that.

"Go on then."

"Sy..." He sighed deeply, his hands scrunching up his hair. He turned away from me. "It's reached a point where I don't even know if words would suffice but... I just have no idea what to do. It wasn't meant to be like this." He paused again for a long time – defeat, disappointment emanating from him like an aura. "I thought... I thought that if people knew the truth, we'd have our chance. It feels like I've been waiting a lifetime for something like this; maybe I have. And then last week, I was beginning to think 'yeah, it's happening' and then... and then it all got taken away again." He turned round to face me but kept his eyes averted. "Sy, I hit out. I can't do anything about it now but apologise to you and hope you know how sincere I'm being. I..." His shame turned to embarrassment for a moment – I could see him struggle with himself over whether to say his next line. "I was terrified. I thought I'd lose you before I even got to call you my own. Now I'm terrified I've definitely lost you."

He looked at me properly for the first time since he'd started talking. He didn't have to tell me how he was feeling, I could see it, etched all over his face. I felt that same sense of dread – that wicked thought that suggested all of this could have been for nothing.

"I told my parents, you know. I told them we were going to try and... but then they told me. They told me you hadn't changed. That you're still picking up men like they're on some conveyor belt."

"What?" he said, surprised.

"They saw you with someone. And you know they did. You just thought you wouldn't mention it."

"Why would I mention that?"

"So it's true?"

"I'm sure your parents delighted in telling you," he said, sourly.

"I can't believe... don't have a go at them! It's not like you were going to tell me!"

"Tell you what, Sy? That I tried to distract myself from the corpse that was our relationship? That I'd just lost you, again, and just wanted something that would stop my heart hurting like a bastard? And do you know how fucking humiliating it is that my embarrassingly misguided attempt to cope is now public fucking knowledge? And all you can do is castigate me. Well of course it's not gonna look good, Sy, but you told me you didn't wanna see me anymore. What was I supposed to do?"

"Why come here? If that is the measure of how sorry you are?"

"What? Do you want me on my hands and knees, Sy, begging forgiveness? I hate what I've done, but not as much as I hate why I did it. I didn't come here to grovel. I came here to apologise and then return to the bigger picture which is that I love you, and you love me. What it says on that wall... still."

I couldn't believe the arrogance of him, that he was able to say with such confidence how I felt about him. Because I certainly wasn't so sure. It was an arrogance I used to love but now I saw it was an ugly trait. Maybe dad was right. Maybe Christian did love himself more than anyone else.

"Well, don't worry, I'm painting over it tomorrow before I leave."

I looked up at him and he was looking at me defiantly, but definitely with pierced pride.

I continued; "I didn't know whether you could hurt me any more than you did at the flat-warming. But you have. And I don't see the remorse. I don't see who it was I fell for. I can't even see why I ever did now."

When he eventually spoke, his voice was weak – like with the first thing you say when you stop crying. "That's sad. Cos I still think you're the best thing to ever happen to me."

"Then why do I feel like your voodoo doll?"

"I don't know. Cos all I want to do is hug you and protect you from all the pain out there. And now I can't say I won't be the one hurting you. I feel bad – to have made you lose faith."

"But you lost faith! You lost it in me. You never thought I'd tell my parents about us and I did."

It was like a light had switched on in Christian's head, clearly just remembering I'd said this earlier. "What did they say?"

I looked at him and it was enough. He knew.

"Sy, I'm sorry." He cautiously rubbed my arm to comfort me – I was surprised him touching me didn't feel wrong. I looked up at his face again – he was sad for me. See, he did care.

My face must have softened because he grew the confidence to pull me in for a hug. It was what I needed. I wasn't going to cry anymore – I didn't know if I had any tears left. But I was sad and his arms around me provided some comfort. He gently played with the hair on the back of my neck as he ran his fingers up and down it. I could feel the warmth of his body through his jumper, the tenderness with which he held me close to him. It warmed my heart a little. No – this wasn't hate.


He was sat forward on the sofa, his hands wringing, stressed. A few minutes had passed since our embrace – he'd asked me if I was OK. I'd flopped onto the sofa, frustrated – not with him, with our situation – tired, exhausted. He'd sat down too but was agitated.

Finally he spoke.

"Sy, we can't just... we've got to make some positive steps. I can't stay in some regressive state forever, lamenting the fact we're not together when we should be." He twisted round to look at me. "We should be."

He got up and offered out his hand. "Come to mine. Just... let's just be together tonight – and if it feels really wrong, then so be it, but I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed but I want you to come with me. I hate sleeping alone these days; it means I'm not sleeping with you."

"What's the point, Christian? Every time we try, something gets in the way."

"Well, don't let it be us. Sy, that you told your parents, I'm really pleased. And I'm really proud. Well, let me play my part. Let me take tomorrow off, help you move."

"I don't want you trekking all the way to Walthamstow. The house: it's not the sort of place I'd like to invite you into."

"Walthamstow? No, Sy, I meant mine."

"Yours?"

"Ours."

I looked at him, not sure if I'd heard him right.

He pulled me up from the sofa, brought my hand up to his face and kissed it. "Ours."