31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 22 - Flower Pattern (attempt two)

It was only supposed to be the one time, that was the plan. One visit; one forearm; one pattern of flowers. But the pattern she wanted ended up taking two visits,

This was now session eight.

Tara had been nervous about getting a tattoo, but it turned out that she found the whir of the tattoo gun almost comforting, and it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as expected. She actually barely noticed it. Her mind was always more occupied with fighting the temptation to tell him. Every session, for the entire duration, the truth was right there on the tip of her tongue. But she never said it. Tara never told him why she insisted that he be the one to ink her.

Not that she had lied. Not really. She did really like his work. Aiden Ross' work was stunning. And she really had heard such great things about him and his work. It just wasn't why it had to be him; or why she traveled two hours each way to get to the studio.

Tara had spent every minute of the first session staring at him, not caring what he thought, she wasn't coming back after all. She'd watched as his hazel eyes, with their flecks of amber and gold, narrowed in concentration and the small metal bar piercing his eyebrow wiggled occasionally as his focus caused the muscles in his forehead to contract and relax. She'd watched his smile change from the polite one he used for customers to the more honest one reserved for people who brightened his day, and noticed the slight gap in his two front teeth. That one imperfection made him more attractive than if his teeth had been completely straight. She, mentally, remarked on how white his teeth were, there was no way this guy was a smoker. That was a relief.

The relief continued as she learned more about him: he walked to work; ate salads for lunch and semi-regularly worked out. He was also an avid swimmer, something he had in common with Tara. It was amazing what you could find out if you asked. And Tara asked a lot. She wanted to know if he was worth it; needed to know if he was deserving. Not that it really mattered if he wasn't, it wouldn't change anything. Tara just had to know, for herself. As it stood, her judgement was favourable. He was a good man, it seemed.

Tara looked down at her arms, admiring the intricate vines of flowers and leaves that wound around them. It really looked like they were growing along her skin. Flower Power. Tara beamed as Aiden's nickname for her flowed through her mind. The artwork had turned out so much more beautiful than she had ever imagined. Pink, purple and white petals decorating her ivory skin, all perfectly painted, but it was the orange ones that were her favourate, the ones that really stood out. Dylan's flowers.

Dylan. Tara got lost in her thoughts of him and everything that had led her here, miles from home, to this tattoo studio being inked by this specific artist.



Aiden had come to look forward to Flower Power's visits. He could never explain why she was special, but she was. Rory consistantly, and strongly, believed it was because the girl was hot. And she was, there was no denying how attractive FP was. Kind eyes and a killer smile combined with those curves - she was a total head-turner. But that wasn't it. He supposed it helped that she was so easy to ink: she sat perfectly still, never flinched it or complained, apart from the first session where she had talked non-stop and asked a barrage of questions, she talked enough so it wasn't awkward, but for the most part she stayed quiet and let him work. It was always a comfortable silence. FP's brain always seemed to be whirling though, you could almost hear how hard it was working. That intrigued Aiden. No-one else ever thought that much during a tattoo: worried? Yes. But lost in intense thought? Not so much. FP never seemed nervous about the tattoo, not even the first time. She had always seemed more one edge with him than she did with the actual tattooing. Being inked seemed to calm her more than anything. He'd start to work and they would settle into their comfortable quiet. It was unusual and FP had  become a mystery that Aiden was enjoying trying to solve. For instance, why had she been so insistent that it had to be him that tattooed her. No exceptions. It was flattering, if he was honest, but still, an unanswered question. One of many. Another riddle to be solved, was FP's reaction to his scar. He knew that she had seen it that first day. It wasn't like he tried to hide it and he knew that his vest top had gaped, giving her a view of his chest and the very light, thin vertical line down the middle, while he was working on her arm. Most people looked shocked and asked about it. Not FP. She barely blinked. Just saw it and moved on. It was like she already knew about it, expected it to be there. Even people who knew the story reacted to actually seeing the scar, but not this girl. Although, there was a second when he thought she might be about to reach out to touch it, but he could't be sure.

It seemed like Aiden would have plenty of time to get answers though. Despite the plan initially being that she was only getting one arm inked, FP now had both arms covered and Aiden was now in the process of decorating her back, shoulders and neck in similar flowery patterns. They had also recently been talking about moving onto her feet and legs next. All this had come from Tara, Flower Power, Aiden hadn't suggested anything,

"Think that's us done for the day." Aiden popped the bubble of quiet they'd been in as he wiped down her back. "You'll be back in a few weeks to keep going with the back piece?" Tara hadn't moved. She wanted her time at the studio to last as long as possible.

"Yeah. You said it was going to take two more sessions, right?" Tara double checked, already looking forward to it more than she should.

"At least, it'll likely be more." Tara couldn't help the smile the fought its way across her face, which Aiden noticed. Maybe she liked being here as much as her liked having her sat in his chair. If she wasn't half naked and it wasn't so completely inappropriate, he would have kissed her. "It's looking good though. You wanna take a look?" Aiden offered.

"I wanna wait until it's done before I see it. But could you take a picture? I want to see a record of the progress once it's finished." Tara held out her phone for him to take.

"Of course." Aiden took the phone, his fingers brushed against her palm as he did, and their eyes met, just for a second. Aiden quickly stepped back, walked around the the chair and aimed the phone's camera at her back and took a few successive photos. Handing her the phone, he left the cubicle to give her privacy to re-dress.

Once she was all paid up, Tara walked out the door, again, wishing the urge to tell him the truth would go away. And, wishing she could have stayed longer. It was always the same, the not wanting to leave him. Aiden watched her go and was slightly bemused at the sudden and strong urge to grab her hand and walk out with her. He pushed it down. Man, he really liked this girl.


Weeks later, Tara walked back through the tattoo studio doors, this time with a companion, Lina had insisted on tagging along. Instinctively, Tara looked around for Aiden. She couldn't see him.

"Hey Tara, back again?" The receptionist brushed a strand of blue hair out of her eyes and smiled at Tara. "Aiden is running a bit behind, you okay to wait?"

"Yeah, sure, Amber." Tara smiled back, and led Lina over to the waiting area.

"Can't believe I'm getting to meet the famous Aiden." Lina teased. Walking passed, Aiden heard his name and paused, unseen by the women.

"Don't make me regret bringing you." Tara rolled her eyes.

"So, you going to ask him out?" Lina prodded and Aiden's interest peaked.

"Lina, No. Don't start." Tara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This time it was Lina's turn to roll her eyes.

"Tara, you are so obviously into him. Why not go for it?" Aiden smirked at the thought.

"Because I'd have to tell him about Dylan and I don't want to do that." Aiden's smile faltered and his heart dropped.

"Why not? Tara, I mean, tell him, admit you have feelings for him and ask him out." Lina was getting exasperated.

"Oh yeah, I can see it now." Tara's exasperation equaled her friend's, "Hey Aiden, I'm really into you, wanna date? Oh, by the way, you have my dead brother's heart."

The truth hit Aiden like a ton of bricks. That's why FP had insisted he do her tattoo. His mind raced.

"I don't want him to feel weird, you know? It's better that he do my tattoos and that's it." Tara looked deflated.

"About that, weren't you just gonna get the one tat so that you could meet the person who got Dyl's heart and that would be that."

"Yeah, but I really loved the tattoos and wanted more." Despite still struggling with the recent revelation, Aiden couldn't help but feel a little proud that she loved his work.

"And I can't imagine anyone else inking me." Tara smiled a little, thinking of Aiden, and Aiden smiled thinking about Tara.

"Is it possible that you like the guy doing the tattoos as much as the tattoos?" Lina's teasing continued.

"It's possible." A sly smile spread across Tara's face. That's when it clicked, his mind had been so pre-occupied by the intrigue of who Dylan was and then the shock of why she was here, that it taken until now for it to really sink in: she liked him, FP had feelings for him. But what if it was just because they were weirdly connected by a donated organ?

"You are so smitten!" Lina exclaimed, giggling.

"I didn't mean to fall for him, Lina. It just...happened. But I'm not going to do anything about it. It's just so complicated." Tara deflated again.

"Tara, is there any chance you want him because he got the heart? You know, a last-link-to-Dylan kind of thing?" Lina asked, gingerly. Aiden had to hear this answer.

"No," Tara shook her head. "No, it's because of him. It's nothing to do with Dylan. Meeting him was about Dylan and wanting to get to know him was about Dylan. At least at first. But the more I got to know him, the more I...I like Aiden for Aiden. You'll understand when you meet him." Something about Tara's tone made it clear to Lina and Aiden that this was the truth.

"Hey FP, you wanting the tattoo or what?" Aiden interrupted and the two women froze, panicked. Both were wonder if he had heard them. Simultaneously, they turned to look at Aiden, hoping that he hadn't.

"Flower Power." Aiden said like her was trying to slowly wake someone from a trance, "You coming?"

Tara shook herself and stood up.

"Yeah, Lets do this." She followed Aiden to one of the sectioned off tattoo chairs. She was about to sit down when she notice that he was removing his vest t-shirt, revealing a toned abdomen that Tara couldn't take her eyes off of. That is, until he wordlessly took her right hand and placed it, open-palm, slightly left of his scar. From the moment their hands touched, Tara's eyes had followed their journey through the space between them to his body. Then she felt it: the heartbeat. Her baby brother's heart beating in Aiden's chest. Her eyes widened and she looked up, locking eyes with Aiden. Tears began to well in her eyes. Aiden's hands tenderly stroked the back of Tara's hand and up her forearm. They stayed like that for a minute, then Tara, sub-consciously, moved a few centimetres closer. Taking the cue, Aiden stepped forward, carefully pulling her into him until she was pressed against him. Holding her in a hug, he silently let her place her ear to his chest and kept his arms encasing her while she listened to a heart that she thought she'd never hear beat again. He held her while she cried soundless tears,

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Tara began to pull back. Slowly, Aiden took his arms from around her, wishing that he didn't have to.

"Thank you." The words didn't cover it, but they were all that she had. Aiden just smiled at her. He wiped a tear from her cheek. Then he remembered he was at work and was supposed to be finishing up with Joey.

"You get settled and I'll be back in a few minutes. OK?" He said softly. Tara smiled a little and nodded. Aiden stepped back and picked up his top.

Aiden went to leave, pulling his shirt over his head, but turned back, smirking.

"Just so you know, FP, you can ask me out anytime you want." Aiden winked, and Tara blushed, hiding her face in her hands. With that, Aiden went back to work.

A few minutes later, when Aiden returned, both smirked, but neither looked at the other. They settled into their customary silence. Aiden worked on Tara's back piece, trying to figure out if he should just ask her out already, when Tara turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder, out of the corner of her eye.

"Meet me at Magio's on Saturday at seven." Tara turned back around and missed the giant smile that spread across Aiden's face.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 22 - Flower Patterns (attempt one)

Flower patterns. He had gotten caught because of flower patterns. Months of taking the utmost care and doing everything right. All the stress and exhilaration and worry, now for nothing. All that so that the flowers on a bloody piece of lingerie could blow the bloody thing apart.

He thought he was being so clever, buying the set of two silk baby-doll negligees: one plain, the other covered in those stupid flowers. One purchase and both of his women would have a Valentines' Day gift. Sorted.

All he had to do was make sure Jodi got the plain one. She hated clothes with flower patterns. They were 'not her style', after six years of marriage, that much he knew. It was that simple.

He gave Jodi the flower covered one, somehow. She was stood looking at it, disappointed. He could read her mind:

'Does he not know me at all?'

Then he saw something click inside her brain and got a very bad feeling.

"Where's the other one?" she said slowly, looking at the dress like it had personally insulted her.

"What do you mean? What other one, Jodi?" He knew he'd have to tread carefully.

"This..." she thrusted the offending article towards him, "comes in a set of two. And, I am assuming the other one was plain. It being the one you meant to give to me."

"What are you talking about?" He tried to hide his discomfort.

"Look at the tag." Jodi threw the silk insult at him. And there it was in all its glory.

'Part of a set of two.'

"Where. Is. The. Other. One?" Try as she might to not allow it to happen, she was quickly losing her temper.

"Jodi...Honey..." He stammered.

"Don't 'honey' me." Her words were clipped now. "Where is the other negligee? Huh?"

"Jodi...I...."

"Yeah. I thought so." Jodi looked resigned. "You wanna tell me who this was supposed to be given to?" Her question was met with silence.

"OK. Can you just admit you're sleeping with my sister so I can get to kicking you out of the house?"

"I'm not..." The stammering continued.

"Don't even. Do you really think I don't notice that you smell like her perfume; that you're working late on her nights off; all the looks when you're in the same room or the sneaking off at family gatherings. And now I'm presented with this flower-covered monstrosity that I hate, but that my sibling would drop her already loose-fitting panties over."

"Jodi."

"Just go. Pack a bag and go to her. Take this with you. Neither of you are wanted here."

He started to move closer to her.

"Get. Out." He hesitated.

"Now." The look on her face told him there was no arguing, there was no going back. His marriage was over. He always thought that if this day ever came, he'd feel sad or panic or stress. But, what he really felt was .... relief. It was over. It had probably been over for a long time.

As he packed his bag, he realised something else: he didn't want to go to Ashley. Now that he was free to be with her, he didn't want her. He wanted out of all of it.

So he grabbed his bag and left, knowing exactly where he wanted to go.

He picked up his phone, flicked through his contacts to find the number. The other end picked up after two rings,

"Hell, Cheryl."

"Why hello, long time no word. Haven't had this pleasure since I divorced your brother."

"How about I come over and remind you why you divorced him?"

"How long will you be?" Her voice was sultry and full of desire.

"Not long. You know how I expect to find you."

Hanging up, he walked across the road, still looking at his phone. And that's when karma, in the form of a double decker bus, hit him.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 21 - Coaster

The door closed on Rhys and the empty house. He leaned against the wood and, for the first time in weeks, thought about himself and what he needed. These had been the worst weeks of his life, and for their entirety, it had been: What did he need to organise? What would she have wanted? What do the kids need? The dogs needed walked or fed or taken to the sitters; his mum, or her mum, needed an answer or an opinion. How were the kids coping? How were Mavis and Joe doing? Was he being there for everyone enough? Was he doing everything right? Was he doing anything right? 

Suddenly, he felt lost with no idea what to do with himself.

Tea.

That's it. He'd have a cup of tea. Tea was the answer to everything, as far as his family was concerned. Pushing himself off the door, he dragged himself to the kitchen. Making a cup of tea was second nature to Rhys, so as his body went to work on brewing, his mind wondered. It took him a few moments to remember the last time he'd made a cup of tea. It had been weeks. He hadn't needed to, there was always someone around consoling him and handing him cup after cup.

It had been the night before he lost her. He'd sent Katie up to bed to get comfy while he put the kids to bed. With the help of Andrew, of course. Thank goodness for Andrew. His eldest son seemed to have more authority with the younger kids than Rhys did. 

After the kids were settled for the night, he'd went downstairs to make the tea and grab some biscuits, before serving them to the beautiful woman he married. Fifteen years together and she still couldn't believe his luck. Katie and Andrew had made the tea throughout the next day, Rhys hadn't needed to bother.

It had been a fluke accident. A blown tyre had caused the attached car to veer out of control. The driver had tried, but there was nothing he could have done. Rhys knew that, he didn't blame the guy. Katie had been walking through town and the car just plowed into her. Rhys had been told that his wife had died on impact, she hadn't suffered. That was something, Rhys hated the thought of her dying slowly and in pain, scared and alone. At least she had died quick. That's what everyone kept saying. But she was still dead. His incredible spouse, the woman her was supposed to grow old with, the mother of his children, was dead. There was no real comfort to be had; there was no lessening that blow.

As he walked out of the kitchen on his coarse to the couch, Rhys realised something that shattered his heart: he had a cup of tea in each hand. Out of habit, he'd made a cup for himself and a cup for Katie. He had been part of a two-some for so long, Rhys had forgotten that it was now just him.

Rhys couldn't bring himself to pour out the extra tea that was contained in his wife's favourate mug, decorated with sketch-style drawings of characters from 'The Aristocats'. He could almost hear Katie in a mock-snooty voice quoting:

'Ladies don't start fights, but we can finish them.'

Smiling at the thought, Rhys placed the cup on the mini coffee table next to his wife's preferred spot on the couch. Her book and customary coaster, both tattered, worn and stained, lay there where she had left them that day, like she would be back any minute.

Dropping himself into his armchair, he went to put his '#1 Daddy' mug onto his own mini coffee table but stopped. There was something missing: the coaster. His coaster. It was the first thing Katie had ever bought him and had survived fifteen years; thousands of cups of tea; three dogs and four kids. They had only been together a couple of months when Katie had handed him a small gift bag telling him she'd got him something he really needed. Turns out what he 'really needed', was a 'My Little Pony' coaster personalised with his name above a portrait of Pinky Pie. In general, Katie was laid back and very little irritated her, but one of her few peeves was people not using coasters, especially in her flat and, at the beginning of their relationship, Rhys had been very good at forgetting this small detail. So, as punishment, his coaster was selected with the intention of embarrassing him. His gift came with a promise, if he used this coaster, he could pick a new one. He never did. For the entirety of their life together, Rhys has exclusively used Pinky Pie's face as his tea's resting place.

And now, it was gone. And so was she.

The grief hit Rhys full force. He couldn't breath and his brain felt like it was being put in a vice. He would have sworn, in that instant, that his heart was planning to give up and stop beating. His eyes glazed over and his throat closed up. Alone in the house, he no longer had any need to stay strong or act like he was coping well. There were no young, confused eyes watching him, looking to him for guidance. No one that would show sympathy and consolations, that would not help at all, if he appeared to crack at all. He could let himself truly feel for the first time since he lost his wife. And he did. Rhys fell apart. He cried; he let out guttural moans; he yelled and screamed and blamed the world. By the time it was over, he'd had a panic attack (his first since he was a teenager) and was hoarse and shaking. 

Katie was dead. 

She wasn't even forty yet and she was dead. It was a truth that didn't seem like it could possibly be true. A fact that he didn't want to trust. How could she be dead? How could it no longer be possible for them to grow old together? How could a reality exist where his children grew up without their mother to raise them? It didn't make sense, it shouldn't be real, yet it was a reality that his family were now living. 

Not knowing what else to do, Rhys did the one thing that felt even remotely normal: he drank his tea. It was cold, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was drinking tea, in his home, like always. 

Rhys just sat there. The empty mug in his hands; he didn't feel right putting it down without a coaster and he couldn't bring himself to use any other than his coaster. He felt  so broken that he didn't even have it in him to search for the coaster. He just sat there, in silence, feeling hollow and like the whole world was off somehow. Rhys knew it would never feel just right ever again. An hour went by, and Rhys' bubble of solitary was burst by Elsie dropping the dogs off from their walk. Paws clacked on the kitchen tiles and then the laminate. Out of respect, Elsie had let the dogs in and closed the door behind them, leaving Rhys in the company for his beloved canines. The young woman seemed to always know what people needed: whether it was company or to be given space. And, right now, Rhys needed space.

The two spaniels, one cocker and one springer, greeted their master as enthusiastically as ever, but their hyper-activity quickly dissipated as they became aware of Rhys' mood. Their ears dropped as they huddled around their human. They knew they were needed. The two pedigrees nudged and licked Rhys, as he stroked their fur. The springer, Jasper, as resident lap-dog, did what he did best and plopped himself down across Rhys' legs. While Axel, the pitch black cocker, trotted off towards his bed. Rhys was vaguely aware of the dog hunting through the countless blackets and pillows and toys that his Mummy had filled the dog basket with. After a couple of minutes, the intended item was apparently found as Axel returned and placed his head on the last remaining space on Rhys' lap. Looking down at the mass of black fur, he saw a square of shocking pink encased in his jaw.

His coaster.

Axel gave up the coaster easily, which was out of character as the rascal loved a game of tug-of-war. Rhys admired the coaster: with its bright colours and tea stains; its scratches and bite marks; its beat up edges and all the other effects that his life with Katie and the family they had created together had caused. 

He had never felt so alone, yet he felt her presence more clearly than he had since she had died. She was always with him. In his heart, and in the children they had raised together. They had built a life, he would just have to live it without her.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 20 - Grass

I can love the feel of grass underfoot,
And still wear shoes.

I can love the rain, 
And still carry an umbrella.

I can love the smell of coffee, 
And not enjoy the taste.

I can love my favourate movie,
And not watch it every day.

I can love that song that makes me happy,
Without it being the only one I play.

I can love your arms,
And not wish to be embraced by them again.

I can love your lips, 
And no longer desire to feel their kiss.

I can love the sound of your voice,
And not want to hear it speak.

I can love your smile, 
And no longer look to see it shine.

I can love the history we share, 
And not wish to repeat it.

I can love you, my darling,
And not want to be by your side.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 19 - Coffee

Minnie  held the burgundy to-go cup, felt the heat warm her from her finger tips upward, and went to take a sip. Then it hit her. Coffee. Strong coffee. She rolled her eyes as a char-grinned smile formed on her lips.

"Hot chocolate, aye?" she looked at Oscar, he was smirking and clearly proud of himself. "Why do you always get me coffee? You know I don't like it."

"The face you make. You get a little excited when you think I've gotten you a Costa hot chocolate, which is so cute. But then, when you realise that it is coffee, you roll your eyes and do that amazing smile, the one you just did, and sometimes you chuckle and call me an 'idiot'. It is so worth the three-fifty." He reached up and brushed an errant strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, he seemed to be about to say something, but instead, he cleared his throat, dropped his hand and took the slightest step back.

"I'll take this." Oscar said, lifting the offending caffeinated drink from her hand, "and, you take this." replacing it with 'his' to-go cup. Minnie eyed the drink and Oscar with suspicious amusement.

"Two shots of hazelnut syrup." Oscar nudged.

Humouring him, Minnie took a sip. Hot, still too hot to drink, but, oh so, chocolatey.

"Figured it would be a good idea to butter you up a little." Minnie looked around and there she saw it: the man who got everything right, except her Costa order, down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 18 - Noodles

Luca followed the woman along the hall, rubbing his throat where her fore-arm had been moments before. By the time Luca reached the sitting room, the woman had returned to her residence on the comfiest sofa. It had become apparent, very quickly, that she had claimed it as her own. It was now her spot. Luca didn't mind, he'd always preferred father's armchair anyway, and his mother had her rocking chair. As Luca walked silently through to the kitchen, the woman's eyes followed him. When he returned to the sitting room, carrying two bowls of freshly prepared noodles, her eyes were still trained on the doorway to the kitchen and she hadn't moved a muscle. He was getting used to living under her intense, focused gaze. He still noticed it, but it no longer unnerved him.

Placing one bowl on the coffee table, directly in front of the woman, Luca sat down in the old armchair with his bowl in his lap, her gaze following his every move. The woman made no move to pick up her lunch, she just sat there, watching Luca.

"Is this because of the comment about the soup?" Luca watched the woman right back, while making his way through his own bowl.

"You need to eat. I am not going to poison you, or hurt you." Luca sighed, stood up and placing his bowl on the table as he did. "OK. Proof time." Taking his fork, he took some noodles out of her bowl and ate them. After pausing for a few moments, he sat back down and continued to eat his noodles.

"See, I am totally fine. So, eat." When she still didn't move he tried a different tact. "You'll need all your strength if you want to protect Rafe."

Slowly, without taking her eyes off Luca, the woman leant forward and picked up the bowl and fork. They sat in silence and ate,

"You value his life above your own." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Rafe's, I mean," The woman stiffened. Their silent truce was over. Their temporary bouts of peace always ended when he mentioned Rafe, which he invariably did. Luca persevered.

"Is he as loyal to you as you are to him?"

If the woman was a cat, her heckles would be up, her teeth bared and she'd have hissing. Luca quickly realised he was pushing a bit too far, but he couldn't seem to stop there.

"Look, that wasn't a threat. We, my mum and I, are not a threat to Rafe. Or to you. I just wanna know about him. I'd like to know that the person with my exact DNA is loyal and protective. That he would put someone else's life before his own." Luca sighed. "I just want to know something, anything, about my brother." With a defeated look, Luca stood, collected the bowls and forks and walked towards the kitchen.

"We protect each other." Luca turned. The woman, as always, was staring at him, but this time, with less suspicion and her expression was softly. "Rafe and I. We protect each other, Whatever it takes." It was a reassurance, but it was also a warning. Her last sentence confirmed what Luca had suspected: Rafe and his protector would kill for one another. And they had killed before.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 17 - May I?

Luca back-tracked a few steps, re-positioning himself outside the open bathroom door. Her moves were slow and deliberate, no wasted energy. There was no sign of pain on her face - it remained permanently expressionless - but he knew that it was there. Her injuries were too severe for it not to be. He wondered for a moment as to why someone as closed off and private as his unnamed guest wouldn't lock, or even close, the door while she used the bathroom. It didn't occur to him that the woman wouldn't consider using door. Doors weren't something she'd ever got used to using. Privacy was a foreign concept. He watched her for a few seconds, raising the baby pink razor to her foam-clad head and, with measure precision, dragged it across her scalp. Each stroke was full of purpose. Cautiously, he began to enter the bathroom, being sure to tap the door frame to alert of his presence.

"Just because you can handle the pain, doesn't mean you should have to."

The woman had paused, hand mid-air, more excruciating pain, not that she showed it, she didn't look at him, but Luca knew that she was tracking his movements, assessing the threat.

Luca stopped in front of her, on her right, placing his empty right hand on the sink and offered his equally empty left hand out in front of her face.

"May I?" The woman didn't move, still eyeing Luca, waiting. "The more you push yourself, the longer you will take to heal." Again, nothing. "Look, I get that you don't believe the word 'safe', but that's what you you are. We aren't going to hurt you." Nothing. "If I was going to try to kill you, I'd have poisoned your damn soup. So will you just let me help you?" Luca was about to give up, when he felt plastic being pressed into is palm.

"OK. Let's do this." Carefully, and knowing any sudden movement could be a fatal mistake, Luca continued from where she'd left off. Both remained silent for the entire process.

As the woman used a towel to wipe her newly hairless head, Luca ended the uneasy truce,

"We're looking for Rafe, you know."

In seconds, Luca had been rammed out of the bathroom and against the hallway wall opposite, an arm was pressed against his throat. Luca raised his hands so they were in her eye-line and dropped the razor that he hadn't put down yet.

"I knew it. You're protecting him. You're protecting my brother," An extra bout of pressure was added against his trachea in warning. "Thank you." Luca struggled out the words.

The pressure on his throat eased off. Luca's ability to speak returned.

"Whatever you've done to help my brother, you have our gratitude. Judging by your reaction, he's alive as far as you know." Another warning was pushed against throat and then eased back off.

"You can do that as much as you want, I wont fight back. I will not hurt you."

A pause and then the arm was removed. The woman looked Luca up and down in disgust. And with that, she walked away.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 16 - Surprise!

"So you told her how you feel, huh?" Kev opened two beers and handed one to Evan. "And she's still went on a date with some guy she met online?"

"Yeah. They've been talking for months and she said she had to see it through. She needed to know, I guess." Evan shrugged dejectedly and took a swig from her beer.

"But it's you and Sarah. I always thought that if one of you finally made the move, that'd be it, you know. Yous always seemed so right for each other." Kev was in mild disbelief.

"Yeah man, me too." Evan sank down onto the couch. They sipped their beers in silence for a few minutes.

"You know what the worst thing is though?" Evan looked up at his closest friend. "I think she has feelings for me. Or had, or whatever."

"Yeah?" Kev sat down on the well-worn armchair across from Evan.

"She went on about why had I not said all this six months ago. I swear, she almost said she wished I had. I really blew it, man." Evan's shoulders slumped and he drained his beer bottle.

"Another one?" Kev offered, not knowing what else to say.

"Nah. Think I'll just head. Patch'll need fed and taken out." Heaving himself off the couch, Evan grabbed his coat,said bye to Kev and headed out into the lonely night.

The walk home was somehow simultaneously too long and too short. He couldn't get the thought that the woman he was meant to be with was on a date with another man.

Unlocking his front door, Evan was slightly confused when he wasn't knocked off his feet by a full-grown Dalmation upon entering. He started his wandering search for his canine in the living room.

"Surprise!" Sarah said awkwardly, trying not to wake the sleeping dog resting on her lap.

"Sarah." Evan said softly, then the bitterness kicked in. "Should you not be on your date?"

"Maybe. But I don't think so. I feel like I'm where I need to be. I know that I am where I want to be."

"What?" Evan moved closer, trying to figure out what was going on in Sarah's mind.

"I told you I needed to meet him in person so I'd know. Right? So I went, I met him and then I knew. I really like this guy, Ev. And there was something there. Sorry, but I wont lie. But, no matter how I feel about him, it doesn't change the fact that he isn't you. The minute I said 'hi' to him, I knew that it was you that I wanted. Only you. It's always going to be you, Evan."

Evan looked at her: his best friend and the love of his life waiting to happen, curled up with his beloved pet, and he realised it was a view he wanted for the rest of his life.

"I love you, Evan. I should have said it then, but I'm saying it now." Sarah entreated.

Evan walked across the living room without a word, sat on the couch at an angle so that he was facing her and stroked her cheek, stared into her eyes and smiled. Then, after five years of waiting and falling in love, Evan finally kissed Sarah.