Page 81 of A Dark Fall
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” I snap, trying to lower myself into the water.
“You never called,” he says. As if it answers my question at all. “You still keep a key in the plant pot.”
I should have listened to Jake. Of course Ben is the other person who knows I do that.
“That doesn’t mean you take it out and use it!”
He gives me an odd expression for a moment and then casts a look around the bathroom.“This used to be our house, Alex. We bought it together, remember?”
I can only blink in disbelief. “Used to be. You don’t live here anymore, Ben. I want you to leave. Now.” My voice is low and firm.
He sighs. It sounds almost sad. “Not until we talk. We need to sit down and have a proper conversation about this. Surely I deserve that much at least?” He must see the look in my eye because he rearranges his face into something softer and adds, “I mean, surelywe deservethat much at least?”
Oh, his apologetic demeanor yesterday must have killed him. This is the Ben I know.
“I told you yesterday, there’s nothing to talk about.” It comes out gritted and sharp.
The side of his mouth twitches before he sighs. “I’ll wait downstairs, Lex,” he says and exits the bathroom.
I sit in the cooling water utterly defiant. I glance at my phone sitting on the ledge and contemplate calling Jake. But what good would that do? I’d have to explain the guy he saw me with yesterday wasn’t an old friend, but my ex. I’d have to explain I lied to him. Why on earth did I lie?
Furious with Ben and annoyed at myself, I climb out of the bath and dry myself with hasty rubs of the towel over my body. Then, still half-damp, I wrap my bathrobe around myself and stomp downstairs.
He’s sitting on the floral chair, his long—too long—legs crossed casually, finger scraping across his mouth as though deep in thought. The sight of him there looking like he used to look there leaves me cold. I wonder vaguely what he thinks of the color of the living room, which I painted the second weekend after he moved out. A deep green where his canary yellow used to be. Fred sits on the window ledge staring at him suspiciously.
“You have no right to be here. I don’t want you here,” I tell him, folding my arms as I come into the room.
He turns to look at me.
“Letting yourself in. How dare you?”
“I rang the doorbell, but you never heard it, so I checked the pot. You know it’s not safe for you to do that now. Not when you live alone.” He has the nerve to sound concerned.
I narrow my eyes. “Did it occur to you that I might not have been alone?”
His lip curls slightly for a second then relaxes again. “Oh, yes, your new boyfriend.” He nods. “Is he here? Wouldn’t mind introducing myself.”
“You should be glad he isn’t.”
He only stares. “Sounds like you’ve not told your parents about him yet. Why’s that then, Lex? He some kind of dirty little secret?”
“Fuck you,” I retort.
His eyes flare angrily. “Don’t talk like a common tart, Alex. It doesn’t suit you. Unless, wait—is that his type?”
I want to scream some profanity or punch him, but I’m pretty sure those would also make him deem me a “common tart.” I need to calm my breathing down, stop my hands from shaking.
“So,thisis the conversation you wanted to have. No, thank you. I want you to leave.”
His expression changes instantly. Becomes softer, apologetic. “No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “It’s not the conversation I wanted to have. I wanted to talk about us.”
“And I told you yesterday, thereisno us.”
He sits forward in the chair, turning his body fully toward me.“I don’t see how that can be true though, sweetheart. How can everything we had be gone?” His voice is gentle, and he shakes his head as though he’s truly struggling to comprehend it.
I almost laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
His face is a picture of seriousness.