48. Megan
Chapter 48
Megan
Hey universe, you know five seconds ago when I asked you for a sign to turn around and knock on Ollie's door? This was not it.
At the sound of my scream, he comes running, crashing into my back, where I’m frozen in the doorway of my bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” he asks and quickly gets his answer. My ceiling hangs with a heavy bulge, water streaming from the lowest point right into the middle of my bed. “Oh shit. Stand back. We need buckets.”
I can’t move, so Ollie runs to the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with the laundry basket and throwing it where it can catch the fastest flow of water.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, hauling me out of the room. “Don’t go in there.”
He bolts out of the front door, and I just stand there. Nothing has ever sobered me up faster than the sight of muddy water splashing all over my beautiful Egyptian cotton bedding, a birthday present to myself when I decided I deserved sheets as soft as the ones in the serviced apartment Max used to stay in. The damp patch above me spreads from wall to wall, water beading all over the place, covering my room in a shower of droplets.
My beautiful room, my sanctuary. Tears prick at my lashes and I sink to my knees.
How is this happening?
It’s not long until Ollie reappears at my side. “The neighbour upstairs fell asleep with her bath running. She’s shut the water off now, but there’s not much she can do about the water that’s already flooded.”
My mouth gapes open and closed like a fish. “My bed… everything’s ruined.”
Ollie crouches to grip my shoulders, turning my body towards him, his palm on my cheek, forcing me to look away. “I know it looks bad, but this is all fixable, I promise.”
“How?”
“Well, we’ll need to rip the ceiling down, let it air out and fit a new one, but none of that matters right now. I’ve got a couple of tarps in the van. I’ll bring those in and cover your stuff to avoid any more damage.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “Shit, no I won’t. We don’t have the van. Fuck. OK, we need to clear stuff out of here. Fast.”
He scrambles to his feet and all I can do is watch him unplug my bedside lamp and carry the entire nightstand through to the living room.
“Megan, come on, move,” he shouts. “That ceiling’s coming down. Grab anything you want to keep dry.”
Everything. I want to keep everything dry.
We work as fast as we can to haul things out of my room, while the ceiling keeps pouring around us. Ollie shifts furniture and I grab as much as my arms can hold from the wardrobe and dump it all in the living room.
“My books,” I howl, hating every second of this nightmare. There are hundreds. I’ll never move them all in time.
“I’ll protect them.”
Ollie grabs a roll of plastic trash bags from the kitchen and works quickly to tape them over the front of my bookcase. Every time the bucket on my bed fills up, he empties it into the bath. Over and over, until the water becomes a trickle.
Working quickly, I pull photos from my wall; Hattie, Kara, and I in our school uniforms, photos from dinners and day trips we’ve taken. The three of us on Kara and Luke’s wedding day. I sweep all my skincare products into a drawer and have to hope I'd properly put the lids on everything.
Eventually, the room is mostly empty, except for the bed and the mess of soggy bedding on top of it. We stand side by side, staring at the ceiling.
“I think the ceiling will hold for now. I’ll pull it all down in the morning once I’ve got tarps to cover everything.”
“My bed,” I sob, the shock finally hitting me.
“It’s fine. You can sleep in my bed tonight.”
Ollie loops his arm around my shoulders and guides me to his room. I perch on the end of his bed while he scrambles to tidy up, tossing clothes in the hamper and shifting books from his bedside table. His room is not particularly messy, and right now it looks like paradise compared to the mess on the other side of the wall.
“Are you…”
“I’ll sleep in the van,” he says, reading my mind.
“It’s not here.”
“Fuck, why do I keep forgetting that?” He sweeps his hand over his face, tapping his chin and a small part of me enjoys watching him avoid the obvious solution here. “OK. Sofa it is.”
“Covered in my clothes.”
“The floor then.”
When he storms off, I realise I really am going to have to make the suggestion myself.
“Come back,” I call out and try to ignore the low swoop in my belly when his head pokes back around the doorframe. He's still in his shirt and tie, but his hair is a dishevelled mess. I’m not sure whether it’s from our frantic hour dealing with the flood or my fingers working their way through it earlier. “I’ll feel awful if I take your bed and you have to sleep on the floor. We can share.”
“No, Megan, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s a king-sized bed. There’s plenty of room for both of us. It’s no big deal.”
After the day we’ve had, I don’t want him to go anywhere, but it occurs to me maybe what Ollie wants most of all is space. Maybe he can’t wait to get away from the crazy woman who forced him into a fake dating plot straight out of a romance novel without consulting him. The same woman who made him carry her around because her feet hurt, and whose belongings he’s spent his Saturday night rescuing from water damage.
Except, I know there was nothing fake about the way he kissed me at his parent’s house, or the way he gripped onto my thighs while he pressed himself between my legs against the wall. And I haven’t forgotten the way he spoke to me after kicking Pi out of the flat last night either.
‘The things I’d do to you…’
My core tightens at the memory. He might be happy to pretend nothing happened, but I can’t. I’m willing to bet this is him doing his best to be a gentleman, a good employee, and a respectful roommate. My suspicions are confirmed when he casts his eyes downwards and mumbles half-heartedly.
“We probably shouldn’t.”
It’s those three words that finally stoke the flame inside me, burning all rational thoughts to the ground. My body chants his name on some frequency I’m amazed he can’t hear, fully awake now he's reminded me what it feels like to be touched by a man. I don’t want respectful. I want him to sleep in the same bed as me. I want him to touch me again. And I think there’s only one way that’s ever going to happen.
“Please Ollie?” I beg, glancing up at him through my lashes. “This is me asking for what I want.”
When his eyes flick to mine, he bites back a smile, and I know I’ve won.