Chapter 23
I had my speech for Mitch down pat, having written it before I left work and emailed it to myself.
But reading through the terse little paragraph, on the short walk from the station to my flat, I didn’t feel incredibly inclined to deliver it to him.
It sounded professional but cold, and I had a feeling Mitch wouldn’t believe a word of it.
He had a knack for seeing right through me.
Even more so now that he’d infiltrated my private fortress. And left his mark on it.
But it was no good. Even if he was proving to be an easy person to live with, as well as easy on the eye—he had to go.
My phone buzzed with a message from Mia before I reached the front door. Thanks for sitting in on the interview today and taking notes. I know it was a bit full-on. Do you have time to Zoom tonight? I want to brainstorm Tyler’s marketing plan while my thoughts are fresh.
I grimaced. Seriously? After what I’d witnessed today—namely Mia being blindfolded, zip-tied then given a good fucking by Tyler—(yes, condoms and lube were needed), there was no way I could cope with more of him.
After she’d recovered from her messy, screeching orgasm, she’d hired him on the spot.
Speedily, I typed back: Sorry, no can do, will be talking to Mitch, remember?
But I’ll share my notes so you can add your thoughts. See you tomorrow!
Once I’d kicked Mitch out, I was planning on wallowing in a scalding hot bath for hours and consuming at least half a block of dark chocolate.
But too late, I remembered that I’d eaten my emergency supply under the duvet last night.
Fuck. I’d have to go out again. There was no way I was going to survive tonight without it.
Sighing inwardly, I dumped my handbag on the hall table. Okay, let’s get this over with.
‘Mitch?’ I called out tentatively. ‘Are you here?’
A resounding silence greeted my ears, and the flat felt devoid of his presence. Still, I walked into the lounge expecting to see him with his bare feet up, watching TV. The couch was empty; the cushions untouched from where I’d placed them in this morning after tidying away the pull-out.
Starting to panic a little, I checked the kitchen. Mitch’s clothes were gone from the drying rack, and that had been folded and placed against the wall. I ran to the bedroom, searching for any trace of him there, but that was empty too, and his gym bag was gone. No, no, no!
I ran back to the kitchen, scanning the counter for a friendly note.
At this stage, even a “Thanks for the plasters, best, Mitch” would soothe me a little.
To have him leave without any form of communication was a stab in the gut.
Lots of stabs in the gut, if I were being honest. I knew I’d been going to kick him out, but I was kind of hoping he’d convince me otherwise.
In my half-baked fantasy, he’d take my phone gently out of my hand after I’d read him my ‘It’s time you left but no hard feelings’ speech, put it gently on the coffee table and say ‘Is that what you really want? I don’t think so,’ then kiss me senseless.
But the reality had turned out somewhat differently.
Clutching the counter, I forced myself to count to ten and take calming breaths, trying to keep my despair at bay and think positively.
This was good, it really was! Now I didn’t have to be the bad guy.
Mitch and I could go back to being colleagues.
Colleagues who avoided each other like the plague.
But my chest ached, and a little forlorn voice whispered: why did he leave? Did I scare him off? Is it that awful to be in a relationship with me?
‘Stop it right now, Primrose!’ I said out loud, ‘You’re being fucking ridiculous. He was trouble. You knew he was trouble. And you had to go and fall for him like an idiot. But he’s gone now, so you’ll have to fucking well get over it.’
I yanked open the fridge and saw the small carton of extra spring rolls we’d been given as a freebie. Mitch hadn’t scoffed them like I thought he would. Had he left them for me? That was nice…
But I hardened my melancholic heart, grabbed the carton and promptly chucked it in the bin. I didn’t want any reminders of last night in my fridge. In fact, I needed to give the entire flat a thorough de-Mitching.
Collecting my container of cleaning products from under the sink, I dumped it on the counter. I didn’t really feel like cleaning, but I needed to erase any fingerprints he’d left behind. And any remnants of his sexual aura…
Snapping on my rubber gloves, I jammed in my ear pods and chose an electronica dance playlist—songs that were mind-numbing and didn’t involve any lyrics about love—just what the doctor ordered…
After a solid half-hour of rigorous cleaning, I was exhausted, hungry, and wishing that I hadn’t thrown the spring rolls in the bin.
But I’d be damned if I was going to fish them out.
Yanking open the fridge door again, I scanned the meagre contents, really not wanting to venture out to the supermarket.
But I was going to have to. Cleaning hadn’t erased Mitch’s presence as well as I’d thought it would.
There were reminders of him everywhere. So wine was called for. A lot of wine.
Dragging myself to the bedroom, I changed into black track pants and a grey slouchy hoodie, and stuffed my bare feet into an old pair of trainers.
A quick glance in the mirror showed my bun escaping its clip and bits of hair draping around my face.
Along with smudged mascara from a small bout of uncontrollable crying in the lounge (which I’d hastily stifled), a red nose and chapped lips, I wasn’t looking my best. But I really didn’t give a fuck.
Let the outside match the inside, I thought wearily, taking my credit card from my wallet and keys from my handbag and telling myself like a robotron: Get to the supermarket, get supplies, get home.
When I opened the door, a shape loomed above me in the darkness. I almost let out blood-curdling scream, but then I saw it was Mitch. He’d been about to put in the spare key I’d given him.
‘Oh, hey. Good timing,’ he said casually, lowering his arm and walking past me into the hallway.
I gaped at his back, too shocked to say anything.
Shutting the door smartly, I trailed after him into the kitchen, where he was hefting a Bag for Life onto the counter. His gym bag was on the floor at his feet.
‘Where have you been?’ I said and instantly regretted it because it came out more like a whimper than a strongly worded question.
Mitch turned and looked at me, taking in my bedraggled appearance for the first time.
His forehead wrinkled, but he didn’t comment on it.
‘I popped back to my flat to grab a change of clothes. And I picked up some groceries since I’ve been eating your food.
I got most of the basics, some stuff for dinner and some fruit.
’ He turned back, reached into the bag, took out some bananas and apples, and put them on the counter.
I didn’t say anything at first, as I was being bombarded by a strong sensation of relief, which was quickly followed by an even stronger rush of anger.
‘I thought you’d left!’ I said sharply. ‘There was no note, no nothing!’
Mitch inched away a little as I came over, scooped up the fruit and flung it into the empty bowl. An apple rolled out, but Mitch grabbed it before it hit the floor.
‘Sorry, I should’ve messaged, but I thought I’d be back before you came home,’ he said in a low, wary voice like he wasn’t sure what the heck was going on with me but wasn’t taking any chances. ‘I wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.’
I gave a huff. ‘Apology accepted.’ Mitch didn’t reply, and my face reddened as I rummaged in the bag and handed him items to put away.
This was the perfect time to say something easy-breezy to break the tension and downplay my behaviour.
But my mind was blank. I was hideously embarrassed as I knew he knew I’d totally acted irrationally.
He’d just scared me so much. My eyes started watering again, and I blearily finished taking out the rest of the groceries.
At the bottom of the bag rested a large block of Green & Black’s dark chocolate.
I let out a sob. Mitch’s firm, warm hand instantly touched my arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘You… You bought some chocolate.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I saw the empty wrapper in the bin this morning and figured you might need some more.’
I nodded. ‘I-I had a bit of a midnight feast.’
‘I gathered,’ he said dryly. ‘I drove you to that, didn’t I?’
‘N-not at all,’ I replied. ‘I was just hungry.’
Mitch sighed and rubbed my arm. ‘About last night…’
‘It’s totally fine,’ I said, disentangling myself from him and putting the chocolate in my treat cupboard.
Yes, it was kind of him to buy groceries, and he hadn’t left, so I wasn’t a pariah.
But the original problem of him being here remained—I was going to have to recite my carefully worded speech to him after all.