The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 48 - Lost

He holds the door open for me while I step into his lair and drop my bags on the floor, then he rushes past me, flicking his keys onto the side table as he does so. The sound of metal on glass makes me jump but he doesn't notice. He goes straight to a glossy white kitchen in the far corner of the room.

I take in the massive open plan and the first thing that strikes me is how clean and organised it is. I don't know why I'm surprised. He probably has a team of fairies to keep it spotless. Or maybe it's just him and his obsessive-compulsive habits.

The apartment is airy and well-lit. It feels cool but not cold. The furniture is sleek and modern and the grey, black and green hues provide a striking balance between cosy and formal, which somehow seems very fitting for him.

There is a large dining table surrounded by eight leather chairs in an area to my left. Upon it sits a magnificent, green crystal vase that looks like it's been placed there strategically so that it reflects the backlight coming in from the glass door behind it and casts it onto the walls. The effect is stunning.

I don't see any corridors or stairs but there are three doors that open directly into the living quarters. Two of them are at opposite ends of the dining area. The other is on the far end of the open plan, exactly opposite the front door. Everything about the place is very exact and very symmetrical. Perfect and lean, just like him.

The kitchen is separated from the rest of the living space by a great, marble island that is completely bare. In front of it is a huge U-shaped, charcoal-grey couch that faces a wall-to-wall panoramic window that's dressed in fine white sheer. There is no TV unit. Only a square coffee table made of the same marble as the island. I walk towards the window and, even in my nonchalant state, I find myself gaping at the magnificent view. His unit is on the fifth floor overlooking the open sea. The sky is all shades of orange and pink as the sun rises over the Mediterranean waves. I cross my arms over my chest and hug my torso protectively, trying to keep it together.

Jeremy hasn't said a word to me since he found me crouched on the hard, wooden bench, in the small public garden near the makeup store. I hear him rummaging around behind me but I don't have the energy to turn around. I need to think. I need to process what happened. 

How the fuck did I up here? With him? Again!

"How did you find me?" I ask hoarsely. My throat is sore and dry, like I've just swallowed a clump of hay.

"With difficulty."

He's angry. But I don't particularly care. I crossed the point of caring the minute I found out my boyfriend and my best friend were sleeping together.

"I'll make sure to leave a trail of breadcrumbs the next time I run away," I reply sourly, but he sighs heavily, not appreciating my sarcasm.

I can vividly picture his hard, waxy face, his cold, blazing eyes, pursed lips and clenched jaw, nostrils flaring with impatience. I hear a click and the clinking of metal against ceramic.

"Or maybe you can try not switching off your phone," he says finally through his teeth.

I hear the pouring of water. The smell of coffee is infused into the scent of his dwelling and when it reaches my nostrils, it feels strange and familiar at the same time. 

"Stephanie was mad with worry when she came home and found your stuff gone. Did you think about her at all?"

I turn to face him as he smashes the kettle back in its dock and chucks the teaspoon carelessly into the sink. He grabs two white mugs and walks over to me. One says Good Cop. The other says Bad Cop. He sets the Bad Cop mug on the coffee table with a loud thud, spilling a little in the process, then goes back to the island and leans casually against it. His stubborn gaze stretches far over the blue horizon, fixed and guarded over his Good Cop mug.