He Followed Me First

1. Nell

It could be worse.

Maybe if I tell myself that enough, it might be true.

Then again… maybe it won’t.

With a heavy sigh I begin to sweep up the broken crockery scattering the vinyl.

That damn cat.

Boomerang flicks his tail with an audacity that has my teeth clenching. Meowing like I need to lay a red carpet out for his exit.

I swear, sometimes I think owning a cat is more hassle than having kids. Not that I have kids to know, but that’s besides the point.

Like it wasn’t bad enough that I’m currently in a custody battle with my ex over him, who doesn’t even like him! But that’s the thing about Adam, he’s a spiteful dickhead. I should have seen the signs years ago, but there’s no way to go back and tell my seventeen-year-old self that I was making a mistake.

Now look at me—twenty-seven, single, with nothing to show for the last ten years other than my little ginger sidekick.

Pitiful really.

But Boomerang keeps me company—when he’s not destroying my kitchen.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if Adam decides he wants him for good. He has a way of getting everything he wants in life. He was spoilt growing up, got everything he wanted.

Unlike me.

Me and my parents have a very… complicated relationship. They still believe to this day that I lied about Uncle Mick visiting me in the night when I used to have sleepovers. Refuse to see it at all. So it was a relief when I met Adam and freed myself of their oppressiveness.

Who knew that it isn’t normal for your uncle to want you to make him feel good in the middle of the night?

So, my family are pretty much non-existent, occasionally sending a happy birthday card, but never in person.

And now I’ve found myself in this tiny one-bedroom flat, barely enough space to walk between kitchen and bedroom, with no savings, barely any furniture, and a job I absolutely detest.

So yes, it can’t get much worse.

“There’s no good looking at me like that you little shit.”

I scald Boomerang when he tries the other tactic of wrapping himself around my legs.

“That was my last good plate.”

Not that he cares.

But I know he’ll make it up to me later when he wants a cuddle in bed.

My alarm blares through my phone.

Shit. I’m going to be late to work… again.

I really need to get better at time management.

Pulling on my shoes I throw a warning at Boomerang to keep his paws out of my kitchen—not that he’s listening, he’s nonchalantly perched on the kitchen table cleaning himself—and slam the door behind me.

It’s only two flights of stairs to the main doors, and five minutes up the road to work, so thankfully by the time I reach the office I’m not an overly sweaty mess.

Turns out going to gym to try and shift some weight has massively improve my cardio.

Everyone’s already at their desks, the morning meeting finished and the low monotonous clicking keys of keyboards filling the air.

Keeping my head down I hurriedly take my seat at my desk, collecting only a few glares on my way.

Darcy peeks over the divider, a wide beaming smile plastered to her face.

She’s probably the only person who gets me, and we’ve been friends forever.

Though she’s the more outgoing one; she exudes confidence, her dark tanned skin glowing, not a blemish in sight, and her braided hair is neatly piled on top of her head.

A beauty who definitely does not go unnoticed.

“Mark’s going to kill you, you know?”

She jokes, though we both know it really isn’t a joke.

“Yeah, well he’ll just have to get over himself won’t he,”

I joke back, hiding the way my throat constricts at the thought of a final warning.

If I lose this job I’m screwed.

“You’re still coming tonight, right?”

Ugh! I forgot she booked for us to go out for drinks. With everything going on at the minute, socialising is the last thing I want to be doing. But where Darcy is concerned, I will always make the effort.

Suck it up and smile.

“Yep, but I can’t be out too late. Boomerang needs feeding later.”

I love that I can use him as an excuse to get out of drinking. There’s nothing better than a night wrapped up in a duvet with boomerang and a good book.

“Ugh that damn cat, can’t you just give it to Adam?”

I roll my eyes in response, I know she’s trying to wind me up. Darcy knows all too well how much my cat means to me.

“Late again Nell?”

Mark’s leering voice finds it’s way over the dividers, followed shortly after by his raised bushy brow.

Mark, my boss, hates me. Loves Darcy, but hates me with a passion. And if it wasn’t for the fact I need this job, I would have left a long time ago. All because of him.

He’s a pig, joking with the guys about which girl has the nicest ass, even goes as far as offering to pay for his favourite girl’s dinner. This guy clearly hasn’t taken his annual anti bribery course like the rest of us.

“Sorry, I have a bad stomach.”

Better than going with the old ‘my cat knocked my crockery over’ excuse. I don’t think he’d believe that.

“If you’re not well, you really shouldn’t be in work. You can pass it onto all of us.”

His disgust is comical.

“It’s only that time of the month Mark, nothing contagious.”

I love making him feel uncomfortable, and it sets Darcy off too. She hides back behind the divider, trying desperately to cover her snigger.

“Well, umm, just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He’s gone as fast as he arrived. Thankfully. And in fairness it wasn’t a total lie—I am on my period, this time of the month seems to catch up with me faster than expected.

The rest of the day goes exactly the same as yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Taking calls, replying to emails, having general chit chat in the break room about the weather.

Same shit different day. I swear, if I have to do this for the rest of my life, I’ll bore myself into an early grave.

Nevertheless, as soon as the clock hits five I grab my jacket and link arms with Darcy, avoiding eye contact with Mark from with his fishbowl office as we hurry down the stairs towards freedom.

Predictably, it’s raining—that persistent drizzle that clings to everything and turns my hair into chaos. I yank my hood up, determined to dodge the inevitable frizz disaster, and we weave through the bustling streets toward the bar.

The sun sinks low on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the city. Streetlights flicker on with quiet authority, and shop windows spill warm light onto wet pavements, painting the road in gold and silver.

But the second we step inside, the shift is dizzying.

Heat hits me full-force—thick, damp, and immediate. My cheeks flush and a fine sheen of sweat snakes down my spine.

The bar is packed, wall to wall with bodies and noise, the air heavy with laughter, breath, and that cloying blend of spilled drinks and overused cologne.