All The Way Down: 4
Title: All The Way Down: 4
Author: A,
mistake_arrest
Pairing: Belldom (+ Dom/OC, Matt/OC)
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, het sex(!), language, drinking
Summary: It's not so easy being around your best friend when you're hopelessly in love with him.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys and none of this ever happened!
A/N: Loooads of thanks to
shayunknown for beta reading!
Previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The rest of the European tour has gone by quickly, me avoiding Dom the best I can while at the same time trying to look like nothing is wrong. It’s amazing how you can live your life quite normally even when your mind is absolutely boiling with suppressed emotions.
Dom has not changed. After the night he kissed me, he has acted exactly the same as he did before the incident. No awkwardness, no confrontations. It seems that it’s only me who feels awkward even though I’m the one who shouldn’t. I mean, it was Dom who came on to me. He didn’t ask permission, didn’t even think about whether it was okay that he did it.
But hey, that’s Dom for you.
After Europe, we flew to the USA for some promotional gigs - a couple of TV performances and a few festivals. We haven’t toured America very much and that part of the world is still relatively unfamiliar to us and vice versa, so we tried to squeeze as many activities in between gigs as possible. That was nice; a bit of bonding was definitely what we needed. Things have been weird mainly in my own head, for I haven’t been able to sleep properly at nights. That’s when it’s always been the worst - when I’m alone, left with my own thoughts. That’s why I was more than happy to follow Chris and Dom to wherever they wanted to go.
We’ve just done our last gig of the year in New York, and that followed by a night of celebrating the holidays has lead to a very quiet bunch of people waiting to board a flight back to London at the JFK airport. Even Dom, who lives in France, has decided to spend his Christmas in Devon at his mum’s before heading to Nice for New Year.
I’m not going to Devon, though, like everyone else. I’m going to spend my holidays in London. I’m not that close to my family, and I’d much rather be alone than pretend to have a happy family Christmas back home. When we were teenagers I used to always sneak out of the house on Christmas Day to have a second dinner at the Howards’. I’ve always felt more at home there, with Mrs. Howard’s pumpkin pies and Mr. Howard’s never-ending tales that he liked to tell us kids.
I used to spend my Christmas days at the Howards’ until I was about 20. Then it just became awkward - I started to feel like I was intruding somehow, and I stopped going there. I tried to spend the holidays at home for a few years but it didn’t seem quite right either, and since then I’ve tried to get into the Christmas spirit either in London or in Italy with my girlfriend.
We’re all slouched on the chairs in the waiting lounge of our gate, none of us hardly saying a word during our time waiting for our flight to board. It’s the combination of a hangover and nerves, I think. It’s always weird for all of us to go home after being on the road for a long time, and this time is not an exception.
You’d think it would be relaxing to be able to shut your body and mind down for a bit - the truth is that it’s the complete opposite. It’s stressful, to be honest. We’ve just spent months with a tight schedule, other people telling us what we’re doing next. We always have someone to hang out with, without ever having to be alone on the road unless we want to.
Usually when I come home, the apartment is empty and quiet. I spend the first week or so catching up with friends and family, and making myself busy is easy.
Then what? I suddenly feel all alone, have nowhere to go to and no one will want to see me unless I specifically ask. Everyone probably thinks I’m too busy doing whatever rock stars do on their free time. I end up waiting and waiting, counting days and nights to the start of either a new tour or recording a new album, and when it’s finally time to start working I realize I’ve wasted my entire holiday.
That’s what it’s like. Maybe if I had a family like Chris does, it would be different. Chris always seems to count the days to the holiday, unlike the rest of us.
Our gate opens and I poke Chris’ shoulder; he’s been sleeping since we got here. Together we make our way to the airplane and find our seats that are quite near the front. We’ve decided to go for regular economy seats for this flight, because since we’re all travelling together we can snatch a whole row or two just for us. Fans are usually not a problem on intercontinental flights, but when we’re travelling domestic or short haul flights we normally go for first class for privacy and a chance to rest properly.
I take a window seat, Dom following behind and flopping in the seat next to mine. I watch from the corner of my eye how Chris takes the aisle seat, Tom and the rest of our entourage taking over the row behind us. I buckle my seatbelt and close my eyes. It’s probably wise to try and get some sleep now because in London it’s already almost midnight.
When I wake up two hours later we’re somewhere over the Atlantic and I can see tiny, random dots of light through the window. I shake my head and try to decipher what has woken me up. I feel a weight on my shoulder and something else on my thigh and glance down; it’s Dom, asleep. He’s in a position that looks uncomfortable, with his cheek resting on my shoulder and an arm sprawled across my legs. If it wasn’t for the seatbelt, I’m sure he’d be lying on my lap.
I gulp. It’s not really uncommon and Chris doesn’t even seem to care - he’s browsing through the in-flight magazine and grins at me when he notices I’ve woken up. He nods towards Dom and makes a heart-shape with his hands, making me roll my eyes. How original. This is the kind of stuff the other guys always tease us about.
Chris continues to read his magazine, uninterested in us. I turn to look out of the window, noticing how the sky has turned dark blue, almost pitch black, and bite my lip. This is how it used to be. We were so comfortable in each other’s presence half a year ago. Before everything went tits up with my girlfriend, before I started seeing things in a completely different perspective.
I raise my hand and run it through Dom’s blond hair absent-mindedly, scratching his scalp lightly. It makes him stir a bit and I still my hand, waiting for him to either wake up or settle back into sleep. He doesn’t wake up; instead he blows a long breath of air and rubs his cheek against my shirt for a few times before stilling again. I keep my hand in his hair, soothing and massaging his scalp every now and again.
This is how it should always be.
~*~*~
Hours later I exit the taxi that has brought me home - well, the only place on Earth I could call home, anyway. It’s the only place I have besides my house in Italy, but that one I left to her after we broke up. I wanted to start a new life so I bought this apartment in central London. It’s cozy enough, I guess.
I throw my bags into my bedroom - the bedroom I haven’t seen for months - and hurry into the kitchen to fix myself a drink. It’s still morning but I feel like I need something to make me occupied for a while. I pull a bottle of red wine from the rack I’ve installed on the kitchen wall and open it, smelling the red liquid before I pour a generous amount in one of the expensive wine glasses my girlfriend gave me for Christmas last year.
One glass turns into two, and I turn on the TV. It’s useless, though, there’s nothing but home shopping programs on at this time of the morning. I watch it anyway, and to be honest I am bored to death.
After my third glass of wine it’s noon, and I’m at a point where I am going to fall asleep if I don’t get my arse off the couch and do something. I wonder if Dom or Tom are still in town, but then decide that they probably don’t want my company only hours after they’ve gotten rid of me for the first time in ages.
If only Dom was here… I would tell him the truth, I’m sure. Yeah. I’d tell him that I have a silly crush on him, with the aid of the wine that’s started to make me feel light-headed. When he fell asleep practically on top of me today, it was like… well, it was like something that couples do, right?
My ex-girlfriend didn’t really like that, though. She would snuggle, yeah, but she said it was uncomfortable to rest her head on me. She said I was ‘bumpy’. I think she meant I was bony - and I guess that’s kind of true. It didn’t really stop Dom from sleeping on me though, then or at any other time he’s done that exact same thing.
I pour myself a fourth glass and grab my phone from the coffee table. I know someone who’s in town and I haven’t seen them in a while. Maybe some catching up would do me good. At least right now it seems like the best idea I’ve gotten in a long time.
It takes a few rings before I get an answer.
“Hello.”
I haven’t heard her voice in ages but still it feels as familiar as it’s always felt. It makes me smile. “Hey, Rach, it’s me.”
“Uh… Matt? Why are you calling me?” She sounds confused, and I can’t really blame her if I’m perfectly honest.
“Yeah it’s me… I just wanted to know how you’re doing. It’s been a while…”
“It really has,” she admits and I can hear her voice go a little softer. I wonder if she’s missed me. “I guess I’m all right, gonna have a long Christmas holiday this year. You?”
“I’m great,” I assure her. And it’s not exactly a lie, either. The wine is doing quite a good job at making me pleasantly numb. “I was wondering if you would want to see me? You’re in London, right?”
“Yeah, I am. Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Come on, Rach… I have nothing to do,” I lengthen my words in an attempt to make her say yes. I really need her to. “I just came from New York and already I’m bored as fuck.”
She giggles. “Oh, it’s nice to hear that you only think of me when you’re bored to death, Matthew.”
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that… just, could you please come over?”
She laughs at the other end of the line. I know I’m making an idiot out of myself here, but then again the wine I’ve consumed ensures that I couldn’t care less.
“Could you be any blunter, Matt?” she asks teasingly. “I know that tone of your voice.”
“I miss you,” I say, biting my lip. I fucking need this; I’m going to say whatever it takes for her to come over. I’m also not used to getting no for an answer, or having to make this much effort to get what I want.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I have time today…”
“Please?” This is not a word I often use - only in emergencies. Or maybe when talking to my mum, but this situation couldn’t really be further away from that scenario.
“You’re really desperate, aren’t you?”
“Well…” Maybe I should tell her the truth. She knows it anyway so there’s no need to keep it to myself any longer. “Yeah. I’m a bit desperate right now.”
“See you in an hour, yeah?”
“You have no idea of how happy you just made me. Can’t wait.”
We hang up, and I let my body sink lower on the sofa. Bloody hell, I’ve been here for what, five hours and already I’ve managed to drink a bottle of wine and make a booty call to my ex-girlfriend. That must be a new record.
I manage to not fall asleep on the sofa even though the effects of travel and alcohol are starting to catch up on me. Exactly one hour later my doorbell rings and I jump up to open my door to her.
She looks stunning, even more so than I remembered. I tell her that when we exchange a brief hug before I guide her to the living room, an already filled wine glass waiting for her on the table. She raises an eyebrow at my state, clearly not approving that I’ve been drinking so early in the day. She apparently decides to not touch the subject, though, and takes the glass of wine I offer her.
“So, how was touring, then? You guys have been all over Europe lately.”
“It’s been quite hectic, really. But I’ve loved every second of being on the road to be honest.” That’s the truth - it’s not the touring part that bugs me, it’s the emotional crap invading my own head that’s the biggest of my problems.
“I can imagine. I remember how much you loved touring.”
I notice the slightly bitter tone in her voice and smile apologetically.
“You didn’t love it as much, though,” I say and she nods, pursing her lower lip little.
“I never got to go with you because of my job; of course I didn’t love it.”
“Fair enough… so, how’s life been for you lately? Do you still have the house?”
“Yeah, I have it. Been thinking about selling it, though. I don’t really need it anymore because my work is mainly in London now. That’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, actually.”
This surprises me slightly. I didn’t think she’d want to sell her house - well, technically it’s our house but since I don’t want anything to do with it anymore I consider it as hers. I also didn’t expect her to bring the house up in our conversation.
“I’ve told you that you can do anything you want with it,” I tell her, hoping that she won’t catch the slightly annoyed tone that must be present in my voice. “Sell it if you want to, I don’t care.”
“That’s a bit insensible from you, don’t you think? We lived there for many years…” she says and pouts, taking a sip of her wine. Women, they’re all the same. I honestly couldn’t give a flying fuck about the house - I’m more than well off without the money I could get from selling it - but a woman just couldn’t understand. I’m not that emotionally attached to the house.
I really think I’ve probably already lost any chance of getting her to have sex with me today so I offer an explanation, even though I know there’s a risk I’ll upset her.
“Have you thought that maybe that’s the reason why I don’t care?” I say and she looks at me, expecting me to continue. “That maybe I don’t want to remember it? Don’t get me wrong, we had an amazing time together and you meant so much to me - and still mean on a certain level. It’s just that… I really want to start my life over, you know, leave it all behind.”
“Look at you, you’re a real sweet talker! That’ll get you laid for sure…”
Her pitying laugh offends me a little, but I also know that I’m being a prick here - the thing is, that seems to be the only way I can be these days.
“Please don’t tell me you don’t understand what I mean… Rach, just sell the house, do whatever you want with the money. I don’t need it.”
Rachel’s eyes soften. She never was much of a fighter when we were together, and seems like even now she’s willing to settle with the answer I give her.
“I guess you’re right, though,” she says, looking thoughtful. “About starting over. That’s what I want to do as well.” She’s quiet for a while, occasionally sipping her wine. “Aren’t you curious at all, about whether I’m seeing anyone again or not?”
Once again she manages to surprise me with her question. I guess she never was one to beat around the bush. “Hmm? Um, I haven’t thought about it, really. Are you?”
“No.” Her answer is simple and delivered with a smile. “What about you?”
“Uh… no, I’m not seeing anyone right now. But, you know, I’m not really even looking to.”
I can see how she raises one eyebrow. I know what she’s thinking. She knows about my feelings for Dom, at least to some extent. I never told about it to her but she guessed. That was one of the reasons she wanted to break up with me, ‘the final straw’ as she called it.
“Right.”
There’s a silence, during which she seems to study me. I pretend that I don’t notice the way her eyes dance over my features - I’ve seen that look so many times over the years that I know exactly what is on her mind. I don’t mind, though. That’s why I called her in the first place; to satisfy the need that has been burning inside me for weeks - even months. I know there’s only two people who could ever fill that empty space that is in me; her and Dom. I chose her because she’s the easy option, the safe choice.
I want someone who knows me, someone who knows what I’m like and who likes me anyway. She hopefully won’t ask questions, and even if she does I can answer them without having to fear that she’s going to spread them around. This is one of the benefits of having split up with your girlfriend on good terms, I guess.
I cough and look out of the window before I fix my eyes on her again. Her hair has grown a bit and she’s dyed it a lighter shade of brown. It makes her look older. When she looks back at me, cradling her almost empty glass of wine in her hands, I can see the crinkles in the corners of her eyes that I have never noticed before. It hasn’t really been that long since I last saw her, and I begin to wonder if being in love really meant that you look at the other through rose-tinted glasses. She seemed flawless when we were still happily together, now I recognize all these signs of ageing.
It’s not only her physical appearance that seems to have changed. I don’t feel that warmth inside me anymore when she laughs and her mere presence doesn’t make butterflies flutter in my stomach. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have flinched if she’d told me she’s seeing someone.
I realize that I’m really over her.
I don’t mean that she’s not attractive - she truly is, with that wicked smile of hers that made me fall for her in the first place, all those years ago. I always thought that I didn’t deserve someone as amazing as her - now I’m thankful that she put up with me for such a long time. She still has the sex appeal, though; as I feel her appreciative gaze rove over my body I can feel other parts of my body come alive as well.
She lifts the glass to gulp down the rest of the liquid and stands up from the couch, looking at me pointedly. I’m sure we’re on the same page about what she’s here for and I get up as well, taking a few steps in her direction until we’re face to face.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I start as I cup her face with one hand, “but I’ve missed this in some weird way.” I move the hand to the back of her neck and lean forward. She’s actually taller than me - which was something our friends used to tease me about a lot when we were together - and I have to tilt my face upwards to kiss her.
I find it strange that the lack of actual romantic feelings makes me incredibly horny. I don’t care about funny feelings though, as I slide my hands down her back and cup her arse with both of my hands, kneading the soft, round muscles through the fabric of her expensive jeans. Our lips play together, our tongues slipping around each other and getting a taste of each other’s mouths as I blindly guide us out of the living room and into my bedroom. She knows exactly where my bed is and bends her knees to land on it with a dull thud.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask as I crawl on the bed, straddling her hips, already working my hands on the hem of her shirt. She merely nods with a breathy whimper when I bite down in the newly exposed skin on her chest, a sign that tells me that this is exactly what she wants.
All of it feels familiar - the curves of her body when I undress her and feel her heated skin beneath my roaming hands, her heavy breaths when I dip my fingers into her wetness. After a quick preparation, I strip off my own clothes in a rush and press myself against her, inside her, making her throw her head back in pleasure as I start thrusting, our pace frantic straight from the beginning.
It’s all oddly passionate but lacks something. We go through the motions but avoid looking into each other’s eyes or saying things that could be misinterpreted in the heat of the moment.
We’re out of breath when we finish, completely spent. I feel empty as I roll off of her, not like I would normally feel after having sex with a gorgeous woman.
“It’s still the same, isn’t it?” she asks after a few moments when she opens her eyes to look at me lying on my side next to her. I know exactly what she means, so I give her a nod, my face flushing into an even brighter shade if red than it already was. “And you still haven’t told him.”
I look down, fixing my eyes on the pillows. It’s not so easy, she should know that. If it was a simple thing I would’ve told Dom months ago.
“Matt, sweetie, you’re going to waste your entire life if you don’t do anything about it.”
“What if it ruins everything?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m truly terrified by the thought of me and Dom’s friendship shattering if he doesn’t feel the same way about me. “Do you have any idea of how awkward things will be if he’s disgusted by it?”
“You’re his best friend, why would he be disgusted?”
“You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend, Rach. That’s why.” I realize the word I’ve used immediately after I’ve blurted it out, and I curse myself for it. I don’t even know if it’s love that I’m feeling, but apparently my subconscious has decided that it is. My words make Rachel raise her eyebrows, but she doesn’t say anything.
Half an hour later she’s gone and I’m left alone, prepared to spend the Christmas alone for the first time in my life. Maybe this is the time to really think everything through - Dom has invited me to his house in France for a New Year’s party and I’m not going to make it through that if my emotions are still racing around like a rollercoaster.
Author: A,
mistake_arrest
Pairing: Belldom (+ Dom/OC, Matt/OC)
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, het sex(!), language, drinking
Summary: It's not so easy being around your best friend when you're hopelessly in love with him.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys and none of this ever happened!
A/N: Loooads of thanks to
shayunknown for beta reading!
Previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The rest of the European tour has gone by quickly, me avoiding Dom the best I can while at the same time trying to look like nothing is wrong. It’s amazing how you can live your life quite normally even when your mind is absolutely boiling with suppressed emotions.
Dom has not changed. After the night he kissed me, he has acted exactly the same as he did before the incident. No awkwardness, no confrontations. It seems that it’s only me who feels awkward even though I’m the one who shouldn’t. I mean, it was Dom who came on to me. He didn’t ask permission, didn’t even think about whether it was okay that he did it.
But hey, that’s Dom for you.
After Europe, we flew to the USA for some promotional gigs - a couple of TV performances and a few festivals. We haven’t toured America very much and that part of the world is still relatively unfamiliar to us and vice versa, so we tried to squeeze as many activities in between gigs as possible. That was nice; a bit of bonding was definitely what we needed. Things have been weird mainly in my own head, for I haven’t been able to sleep properly at nights. That’s when it’s always been the worst - when I’m alone, left with my own thoughts. That’s why I was more than happy to follow Chris and Dom to wherever they wanted to go.
We’ve just done our last gig of the year in New York, and that followed by a night of celebrating the holidays has lead to a very quiet bunch of people waiting to board a flight back to London at the JFK airport. Even Dom, who lives in France, has decided to spend his Christmas in Devon at his mum’s before heading to Nice for New Year.
I’m not going to Devon, though, like everyone else. I’m going to spend my holidays in London. I’m not that close to my family, and I’d much rather be alone than pretend to have a happy family Christmas back home. When we were teenagers I used to always sneak out of the house on Christmas Day to have a second dinner at the Howards’. I’ve always felt more at home there, with Mrs. Howard’s pumpkin pies and Mr. Howard’s never-ending tales that he liked to tell us kids.
I used to spend my Christmas days at the Howards’ until I was about 20. Then it just became awkward - I started to feel like I was intruding somehow, and I stopped going there. I tried to spend the holidays at home for a few years but it didn’t seem quite right either, and since then I’ve tried to get into the Christmas spirit either in London or in Italy with my girlfriend.
We’re all slouched on the chairs in the waiting lounge of our gate, none of us hardly saying a word during our time waiting for our flight to board. It’s the combination of a hangover and nerves, I think. It’s always weird for all of us to go home after being on the road for a long time, and this time is not an exception.
You’d think it would be relaxing to be able to shut your body and mind down for a bit - the truth is that it’s the complete opposite. It’s stressful, to be honest. We’ve just spent months with a tight schedule, other people telling us what we’re doing next. We always have someone to hang out with, without ever having to be alone on the road unless we want to.
Usually when I come home, the apartment is empty and quiet. I spend the first week or so catching up with friends and family, and making myself busy is easy.
Then what? I suddenly feel all alone, have nowhere to go to and no one will want to see me unless I specifically ask. Everyone probably thinks I’m too busy doing whatever rock stars do on their free time. I end up waiting and waiting, counting days and nights to the start of either a new tour or recording a new album, and when it’s finally time to start working I realize I’ve wasted my entire holiday.
That’s what it’s like. Maybe if I had a family like Chris does, it would be different. Chris always seems to count the days to the holiday, unlike the rest of us.
Our gate opens and I poke Chris’ shoulder; he’s been sleeping since we got here. Together we make our way to the airplane and find our seats that are quite near the front. We’ve decided to go for regular economy seats for this flight, because since we’re all travelling together we can snatch a whole row or two just for us. Fans are usually not a problem on intercontinental flights, but when we’re travelling domestic or short haul flights we normally go for first class for privacy and a chance to rest properly.
I take a window seat, Dom following behind and flopping in the seat next to mine. I watch from the corner of my eye how Chris takes the aisle seat, Tom and the rest of our entourage taking over the row behind us. I buckle my seatbelt and close my eyes. It’s probably wise to try and get some sleep now because in London it’s already almost midnight.
When I wake up two hours later we’re somewhere over the Atlantic and I can see tiny, random dots of light through the window. I shake my head and try to decipher what has woken me up. I feel a weight on my shoulder and something else on my thigh and glance down; it’s Dom, asleep. He’s in a position that looks uncomfortable, with his cheek resting on my shoulder and an arm sprawled across my legs. If it wasn’t for the seatbelt, I’m sure he’d be lying on my lap.
I gulp. It’s not really uncommon and Chris doesn’t even seem to care - he’s browsing through the in-flight magazine and grins at me when he notices I’ve woken up. He nods towards Dom and makes a heart-shape with his hands, making me roll my eyes. How original. This is the kind of stuff the other guys always tease us about.
Chris continues to read his magazine, uninterested in us. I turn to look out of the window, noticing how the sky has turned dark blue, almost pitch black, and bite my lip. This is how it used to be. We were so comfortable in each other’s presence half a year ago. Before everything went tits up with my girlfriend, before I started seeing things in a completely different perspective.
I raise my hand and run it through Dom’s blond hair absent-mindedly, scratching his scalp lightly. It makes him stir a bit and I still my hand, waiting for him to either wake up or settle back into sleep. He doesn’t wake up; instead he blows a long breath of air and rubs his cheek against my shirt for a few times before stilling again. I keep my hand in his hair, soothing and massaging his scalp every now and again.
This is how it should always be.
~*~*~
Hours later I exit the taxi that has brought me home - well, the only place on Earth I could call home, anyway. It’s the only place I have besides my house in Italy, but that one I left to her after we broke up. I wanted to start a new life so I bought this apartment in central London. It’s cozy enough, I guess.
I throw my bags into my bedroom - the bedroom I haven’t seen for months - and hurry into the kitchen to fix myself a drink. It’s still morning but I feel like I need something to make me occupied for a while. I pull a bottle of red wine from the rack I’ve installed on the kitchen wall and open it, smelling the red liquid before I pour a generous amount in one of the expensive wine glasses my girlfriend gave me for Christmas last year.
One glass turns into two, and I turn on the TV. It’s useless, though, there’s nothing but home shopping programs on at this time of the morning. I watch it anyway, and to be honest I am bored to death.
After my third glass of wine it’s noon, and I’m at a point where I am going to fall asleep if I don’t get my arse off the couch and do something. I wonder if Dom or Tom are still in town, but then decide that they probably don’t want my company only hours after they’ve gotten rid of me for the first time in ages.
If only Dom was here… I would tell him the truth, I’m sure. Yeah. I’d tell him that I have a silly crush on him, with the aid of the wine that’s started to make me feel light-headed. When he fell asleep practically on top of me today, it was like… well, it was like something that couples do, right?
My ex-girlfriend didn’t really like that, though. She would snuggle, yeah, but she said it was uncomfortable to rest her head on me. She said I was ‘bumpy’. I think she meant I was bony - and I guess that’s kind of true. It didn’t really stop Dom from sleeping on me though, then or at any other time he’s done that exact same thing.
I pour myself a fourth glass and grab my phone from the coffee table. I know someone who’s in town and I haven’t seen them in a while. Maybe some catching up would do me good. At least right now it seems like the best idea I’ve gotten in a long time.
It takes a few rings before I get an answer.
“Hello.”
I haven’t heard her voice in ages but still it feels as familiar as it’s always felt. It makes me smile. “Hey, Rach, it’s me.”
“Uh… Matt? Why are you calling me?” She sounds confused, and I can’t really blame her if I’m perfectly honest.
“Yeah it’s me… I just wanted to know how you’re doing. It’s been a while…”
“It really has,” she admits and I can hear her voice go a little softer. I wonder if she’s missed me. “I guess I’m all right, gonna have a long Christmas holiday this year. You?”
“I’m great,” I assure her. And it’s not exactly a lie, either. The wine is doing quite a good job at making me pleasantly numb. “I was wondering if you would want to see me? You’re in London, right?”
“Yeah, I am. Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Come on, Rach… I have nothing to do,” I lengthen my words in an attempt to make her say yes. I really need her to. “I just came from New York and already I’m bored as fuck.”
She giggles. “Oh, it’s nice to hear that you only think of me when you’re bored to death, Matthew.”
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that… just, could you please come over?”
She laughs at the other end of the line. I know I’m making an idiot out of myself here, but then again the wine I’ve consumed ensures that I couldn’t care less.
“Could you be any blunter, Matt?” she asks teasingly. “I know that tone of your voice.”
“I miss you,” I say, biting my lip. I fucking need this; I’m going to say whatever it takes for her to come over. I’m also not used to getting no for an answer, or having to make this much effort to get what I want.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I have time today…”
“Please?” This is not a word I often use - only in emergencies. Or maybe when talking to my mum, but this situation couldn’t really be further away from that scenario.
“You’re really desperate, aren’t you?”
“Well…” Maybe I should tell her the truth. She knows it anyway so there’s no need to keep it to myself any longer. “Yeah. I’m a bit desperate right now.”
“See you in an hour, yeah?”
“You have no idea of how happy you just made me. Can’t wait.”
We hang up, and I let my body sink lower on the sofa. Bloody hell, I’ve been here for what, five hours and already I’ve managed to drink a bottle of wine and make a booty call to my ex-girlfriend. That must be a new record.
I manage to not fall asleep on the sofa even though the effects of travel and alcohol are starting to catch up on me. Exactly one hour later my doorbell rings and I jump up to open my door to her.
She looks stunning, even more so than I remembered. I tell her that when we exchange a brief hug before I guide her to the living room, an already filled wine glass waiting for her on the table. She raises an eyebrow at my state, clearly not approving that I’ve been drinking so early in the day. She apparently decides to not touch the subject, though, and takes the glass of wine I offer her.
“So, how was touring, then? You guys have been all over Europe lately.”
“It’s been quite hectic, really. But I’ve loved every second of being on the road to be honest.” That’s the truth - it’s not the touring part that bugs me, it’s the emotional crap invading my own head that’s the biggest of my problems.
“I can imagine. I remember how much you loved touring.”
I notice the slightly bitter tone in her voice and smile apologetically.
“You didn’t love it as much, though,” I say and she nods, pursing her lower lip little.
“I never got to go with you because of my job; of course I didn’t love it.”
“Fair enough… so, how’s life been for you lately? Do you still have the house?”
“Yeah, I have it. Been thinking about selling it, though. I don’t really need it anymore because my work is mainly in London now. That’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, actually.”
This surprises me slightly. I didn’t think she’d want to sell her house - well, technically it’s our house but since I don’t want anything to do with it anymore I consider it as hers. I also didn’t expect her to bring the house up in our conversation.
“I’ve told you that you can do anything you want with it,” I tell her, hoping that she won’t catch the slightly annoyed tone that must be present in my voice. “Sell it if you want to, I don’t care.”
“That’s a bit insensible from you, don’t you think? We lived there for many years…” she says and pouts, taking a sip of her wine. Women, they’re all the same. I honestly couldn’t give a flying fuck about the house - I’m more than well off without the money I could get from selling it - but a woman just couldn’t understand. I’m not that emotionally attached to the house.
I really think I’ve probably already lost any chance of getting her to have sex with me today so I offer an explanation, even though I know there’s a risk I’ll upset her.
“Have you thought that maybe that’s the reason why I don’t care?” I say and she looks at me, expecting me to continue. “That maybe I don’t want to remember it? Don’t get me wrong, we had an amazing time together and you meant so much to me - and still mean on a certain level. It’s just that… I really want to start my life over, you know, leave it all behind.”
“Look at you, you’re a real sweet talker! That’ll get you laid for sure…”
Her pitying laugh offends me a little, but I also know that I’m being a prick here - the thing is, that seems to be the only way I can be these days.
“Please don’t tell me you don’t understand what I mean… Rach, just sell the house, do whatever you want with the money. I don’t need it.”
Rachel’s eyes soften. She never was much of a fighter when we were together, and seems like even now she’s willing to settle with the answer I give her.
“I guess you’re right, though,” she says, looking thoughtful. “About starting over. That’s what I want to do as well.” She’s quiet for a while, occasionally sipping her wine. “Aren’t you curious at all, about whether I’m seeing anyone again or not?”
Once again she manages to surprise me with her question. I guess she never was one to beat around the bush. “Hmm? Um, I haven’t thought about it, really. Are you?”
“No.” Her answer is simple and delivered with a smile. “What about you?”
“Uh… no, I’m not seeing anyone right now. But, you know, I’m not really even looking to.”
I can see how she raises one eyebrow. I know what she’s thinking. She knows about my feelings for Dom, at least to some extent. I never told about it to her but she guessed. That was one of the reasons she wanted to break up with me, ‘the final straw’ as she called it.
“Right.”
There’s a silence, during which she seems to study me. I pretend that I don’t notice the way her eyes dance over my features - I’ve seen that look so many times over the years that I know exactly what is on her mind. I don’t mind, though. That’s why I called her in the first place; to satisfy the need that has been burning inside me for weeks - even months. I know there’s only two people who could ever fill that empty space that is in me; her and Dom. I chose her because she’s the easy option, the safe choice.
I want someone who knows me, someone who knows what I’m like and who likes me anyway. She hopefully won’t ask questions, and even if she does I can answer them without having to fear that she’s going to spread them around. This is one of the benefits of having split up with your girlfriend on good terms, I guess.
I cough and look out of the window before I fix my eyes on her again. Her hair has grown a bit and she’s dyed it a lighter shade of brown. It makes her look older. When she looks back at me, cradling her almost empty glass of wine in her hands, I can see the crinkles in the corners of her eyes that I have never noticed before. It hasn’t really been that long since I last saw her, and I begin to wonder if being in love really meant that you look at the other through rose-tinted glasses. She seemed flawless when we were still happily together, now I recognize all these signs of ageing.
It’s not only her physical appearance that seems to have changed. I don’t feel that warmth inside me anymore when she laughs and her mere presence doesn’t make butterflies flutter in my stomach. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have flinched if she’d told me she’s seeing someone.
I realize that I’m really over her.
I don’t mean that she’s not attractive - she truly is, with that wicked smile of hers that made me fall for her in the first place, all those years ago. I always thought that I didn’t deserve someone as amazing as her - now I’m thankful that she put up with me for such a long time. She still has the sex appeal, though; as I feel her appreciative gaze rove over my body I can feel other parts of my body come alive as well.
She lifts the glass to gulp down the rest of the liquid and stands up from the couch, looking at me pointedly. I’m sure we’re on the same page about what she’s here for and I get up as well, taking a few steps in her direction until we’re face to face.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I start as I cup her face with one hand, “but I’ve missed this in some weird way.” I move the hand to the back of her neck and lean forward. She’s actually taller than me - which was something our friends used to tease me about a lot when we were together - and I have to tilt my face upwards to kiss her.
I find it strange that the lack of actual romantic feelings makes me incredibly horny. I don’t care about funny feelings though, as I slide my hands down her back and cup her arse with both of my hands, kneading the soft, round muscles through the fabric of her expensive jeans. Our lips play together, our tongues slipping around each other and getting a taste of each other’s mouths as I blindly guide us out of the living room and into my bedroom. She knows exactly where my bed is and bends her knees to land on it with a dull thud.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask as I crawl on the bed, straddling her hips, already working my hands on the hem of her shirt. She merely nods with a breathy whimper when I bite down in the newly exposed skin on her chest, a sign that tells me that this is exactly what she wants.
All of it feels familiar - the curves of her body when I undress her and feel her heated skin beneath my roaming hands, her heavy breaths when I dip my fingers into her wetness. After a quick preparation, I strip off my own clothes in a rush and press myself against her, inside her, making her throw her head back in pleasure as I start thrusting, our pace frantic straight from the beginning.
It’s all oddly passionate but lacks something. We go through the motions but avoid looking into each other’s eyes or saying things that could be misinterpreted in the heat of the moment.
We’re out of breath when we finish, completely spent. I feel empty as I roll off of her, not like I would normally feel after having sex with a gorgeous woman.
“It’s still the same, isn’t it?” she asks after a few moments when she opens her eyes to look at me lying on my side next to her. I know exactly what she means, so I give her a nod, my face flushing into an even brighter shade if red than it already was. “And you still haven’t told him.”
I look down, fixing my eyes on the pillows. It’s not so easy, she should know that. If it was a simple thing I would’ve told Dom months ago.
“Matt, sweetie, you’re going to waste your entire life if you don’t do anything about it.”
“What if it ruins everything?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m truly terrified by the thought of me and Dom’s friendship shattering if he doesn’t feel the same way about me. “Do you have any idea of how awkward things will be if he’s disgusted by it?”
“You’re his best friend, why would he be disgusted?”
“You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend, Rach. That’s why.” I realize the word I’ve used immediately after I’ve blurted it out, and I curse myself for it. I don’t even know if it’s love that I’m feeling, but apparently my subconscious has decided that it is. My words make Rachel raise her eyebrows, but she doesn’t say anything.
Half an hour later she’s gone and I’m left alone, prepared to spend the Christmas alone for the first time in my life. Maybe this is the time to really think everything through - Dom has invited me to his house in France for a New Year’s party and I’m not going to make it through that if my emotions are still racing around like a rollercoaster.