Chapter 22 The more Toby knows who Fuko is and what she wants, the less he lets things upset him
The more Toby knows who Fuko is and what she wants, the less he lets things upset him
When Toby’s alarm goes off, I am surprised to see the bed empty. Actually, no, let me rephrase that. I am surprised to see myself in the bed. What the fuck was I thinking last night to end up in Toby Lewis’s apartment at seven in the morning with no clothes on.
With the duvet covers over my shoulders, I shuffle out to the initial scene of the crime, trying to locate my pants, trousers, bra, and shirt. The small light is on in the living room; Toby, fully dressed with a cup of coffee in front of him, is typing something on his laptop.
‘Morning. Do you want a cup as well?’ he asks with a smile, peeping at the legs that are sticking out as I walk.
‘Yes, please,’ I grumble, grabbing my pile from the sofa that Toby has folded.
The thought of him folding my pants sends creeps down my back. As if I am a child that was too keen to undress at nursery.
I locate the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror: hair competently dishevelled, black circles brewing under my eyes.
This might be the worst thing I have done.
I just slept with Toby Lewis—my (ex) supervisor and my (ex) best friend’s (ex) almost-boyfriend.
What made me commit such a crime against reason?
Loneliness? Boredom? Because there is no other explanation for this impulsiveness.
Why did you not join a book club or go to the cinema, then, Fuko?
‘Milk or black?’ Toby knocks on the door.
I haphazardly rush to put everything on, missing the correct trouser hole. ‘Black, please.’
When I walk out, my coffee cup is steaming on the wooden kitchen counter.
‘Why were you up before your alarm?’ I ask, throwing the duvet back on the bed.
‘I had an earlier one to go on a run.’
‘Are you training for something?’ I take an awkward small sip. Damn, that’s strong coffee. I guess I need it.
‘No.’
‘So, you went on a run on a workday after a drinking sesh just for the fun of it? You must be joking.’
Toby chuckles, placing his empty cup in the sink. He comes behind and gives me a kiss on the temple. It’s gentle and soft; he is so warm against my back that I forget where I am for a moment. But then I recoil.
‘Woah, why did you do that?’ I feel like a turtle hiding in its shell.
‘What?’ He laughs.
‘You just kissed my forehead. That’s... a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?’ I look away.
‘Fuko. We had sex,’ he says with amusement that melts away at the sight of my genuine discomfort.
‘Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything.’ I say it more for my sake.
Toby looks around, as if to see whether there are hidden cameras anywhere. ‘Did you not hear me yesterday? We were sitting on this couch, and I spilled out this great speech about my feelings for you.’
Hearing it again makes the heat rise in my cheeks.
‘But sex is just slightly different to being, I don’t know, couply.’
‘So, what, we fuck and that’s it?’
‘No, it’s just...’
His eyes are round, waiting to react to my excuse.
‘Casual, one-time-only sex is fine. I just think it’s a bad time for anything else.’
As the words leave my mouth, as I see Toby grimace at my comment, I feel like a man, like a horrible man that used a woman for her body only.
‘Casual, one-time-sex? If I knew that was the case, Fuko, I wouldn’t have fucked you.
I would gladly have waited until we have been on three dates, as dating in civilised society advises.
I don’t want a one-time thing. But I assumed, wrongly I now realise, that you kissing me meant that we might be on the same page. ’
Shame like never before is rising at my sides. He is accusing me of using him, and I have no rebuttal; he is right. I used his feelings as a way to satisfy my own selfish need for comfort.
‘I am sorry,’ is all I can say.
I grab my bag and phone. Twenty-two missed calls from my dad and Hannah. Great.
‘No, don’t say sorry, Fuko.’ He grabs my hand. ‘Say what you actually feel so that I can understand how to process the fact that I’ve spent the last two months fawning over someone so completely unavailable.’
‘But you weren’t, Toby.’ I pull my hand away.
‘You were dating someone else. Someone that won’t even return my messages because I hurt her so much.
I am one whistle away from being fired, and unlike some, I don’t have every door open to me.
So I am sorry if I can’t return your feelings, destiny or not, because for some reason every time you are involved, I keep making bad choices.
So bad, in fact, that I can’t even blame them on my bad luck anymore.
There are other things that are simply more important to me right now. ’
We stand in suffocating silence. My words made it seem as if he is responsible for my problems. His pained eyes are darting around my face, looking for a sign of regret or apology, but I stubbornly do not move a muscle.
I hope that if I hurt him enough, he will stop trying.
That he will leave the dirty slut alone.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he whispers.
‘There’s nothing.’ I walk back to the lift. The doors open by themselves. How the hell...
Toby is behind me; I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something, anything, to call me cruel, a bitch, chuck something at my head. He doesn’t enter, as if waiting for me to say something, or maybe he wants me to see how badly I’ve hurt him.
‘Better luck next time, then.’ Toby reaches in and presses the green G. It’s not clear whether he directed that to me or himself.
His blank expression makes my chest ache. Metal doors shut between us.
There might not be a lower point in a person’s life than this.