Rooftops

Chapter 3

Our conversation following from this consists of several awkward silences, irritating small talk, and his attempt to understand me. I won't let myself become corrupted by his charm and gentlemanly qualities.

He begins to notice the effect he has on me, and teases me, aggravating me further. He shouldn't be able to work me out and get away with it, but it seems my authority has been diminished. He's manipulating my feelings.

When he turns on the television, selecting a specific programme, he rests his arm behind me, draping over the back of the sofa onto my shoulder. I would happily kick his foot right now, if it wasn't for the television show's consumption of my attention at this moment in time. I feel like I'm a rope in a tug of war.

The screen presents a montage of quick and sharp images from Afganistan, with a smooth voice recounting something over the top. I try to make out the relations between sight and sound, but Ben is distracting me.

Anger is building up inside of me, so I take a deep breath, and Ben interprets this as something else.

"Are you alright? Are you disappointed with it so far?" What does my opinion of a simple television programme matter to him?

"I'm just fine, thank you." I say diplomatically, as I haven't actually had time to determine a opinion on it.

About five minutes in, a familiar face pops up on the screen. It takes me a while to distinguish between the show and reality, but as soon as I do, my eyes flick to Ben's face.

It's him. He is on my sisters television, peering through a microscope in a hospital. Ben's an actor, and a famous one at that. Of course I recognise him now! I feel so ashamed, even though I know just because someone I've just met is famous, doesn't mean I should be phased by their presence.

After watching as many films as I have, I notice that Ben is a very talented actor. Which annoys me. Because he is extremely good at what he does, and I am not. I hate comparing myself to others, but it comes unwillingly.

When the episode is over, I'm quite awestruck.

"What did you think?" It takes a while for me to compose myself.

"It was good. I enjoyed it."

"Good." I can sense that he knows what I'm thinking, that really it's one of the best television shows I've ever seen.

I decide to confront him, because my anxiety is reaching high levels and I can't bear to lie anymore.

Then I rethink what I'm about to do. All this effort into resisting against him, and you're about to blow it all because you're concerned you might explode from frustration? No.

I turn toward his face, his arm positioned exactly where it has been for the last hour and a half.

"Do you need somewhere to stay?"

"Yes, but I can always resident myself in a dark, wet alley, if you wouldn't have me."

"Excuse me for a moment." I lift myself off the sofa and retrieve my phone from the counter, dialing my sister. As I wait for her answer, I see Ben patiently sitting on the leather bed, looking up to the high ceiling and twiddling his thumbs.

"Oh, hello H," my sisters voice can just be heard over the hollering and music in the background. "What's going on?" I hear her move into a quiet place, her heeled shoes clacking on the floor, her voice echoing.

"Nathalie, don't shout at me, promise?"

She hesitates. "Promise."

"Benedict Cumberbatch turned up at the house, completely drenched having escaped from his fans, and he has nowhere to go." I hear her sigh. "Why don't we put the spare room to use? For one night?"