by Duggan, K A
His business is all about making money. Therefore, he judges one’s worth on their bank balance. His construction business has done well over the years and he’s yearning for me to join. So he’s cut me off, starting with the apartment. Originally it was ‘bought for me’ but since I told him I’d be starting a career as a writer that changed to it’s for me to ‘rent’ from him, hence the need for my roommate otherwise I’d never afford this place off my savings alone. Dad’s ultimatum has caused a rift between my parents as mum hates seeing me struggle when they’re loaded. I happen to disagree, I’m an adult, I shouldn’t be relying on my parents for everything and having to step up and take responsibility for the first time in my life for everything is somewhat freeing. I like not being beholden to my father, it seems he’s the one struggling to cope now he’s loosened the reins because he has nothing to hold over me.
That’s the funny thing about parents, mine anyway – they spend so many years raising you, providing for everything you need, nourishing and protecting you that when the time comes and they’re left with an empty nest they don’t know how to process it. They’re not equipped to deal with the feeling of being unneeded, however untrue that is, they still feel it. They manifest ways to keep you under their wings, for us it’s stifling but for them, I guess it’s a coping mechanism for their new life with only one another. It’s a task I don’t envy my mother. My dad’s real name isn’t Grey, it’s a nickname his mates bestowed on him before I was even born. Grey as in the colour or in his case his mood. They always said he was old before his time, he was always driven to make something better of his life and with that steadfast determination his demeanor was often unapproachable and ‘grey’.
Mum pulls away from my hug and gives dad a warning glare. “How is the new book going, Ashton?”
“Slowly.” I tell her “I’d hit a wall but I think I’m finally getting there.”
“What’s it about?” she continues and I’m grateful for her interest.
“You don’t want to know, Mum.” I chuckle
“Great.” Dad says “He’s writing smut. I’m so proud.”
“Well, I aim to displease, dad. You know that.”
We engage in a stare-off, neither of us willing to back down.
“Just stop, both of you.” Mum demands “Can you start acting like father and son again instead of strangers. I’m sick and tired of it. I didn’t come here to watch you engage in another pissing contest.” I smirk, my mother rarely swears and like a child, whenever she slips up it amuses me. She muffles a theatrical sob with her hand before leaving the kitchen, pecking me on the cheek and then turning back to us briefly she announces “I’m leaving, I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Dad makes a hasty retreat not long after mum, for some reason it’s hard for us to be alone together, awkward. I don’t recall when that started but I do know it hasn’t always been this way between us. After he left I immediately felt the tension in my shoulders ease. I tried writing again but couldn’t get into it. I released my first book 6 months ago and it was pretty well received going off my expectations which was for it to be a flop. I haven’t raked in the money from sales but at least I’m making sales. I even gained a few fans or followers and managed to snag myself a beta reader for the book I’m currently struggling with.
I check in with my mate Trina to make sure she’s doing better today and then mess around on social media but the one person who’d make me feel better isn’t online, my mystery friend has been uncharacteristically AWOL and I’m feeling her absence more than I do my real life in the flesh friends. I decide now is the right time to check on Fliss. Or as I now know – Felicity. Maybe she can cheer me up. And more importantly, my decisive action of just moving her in from our first meet wasn’t a smart move. I was desperate and would have accepted anyone as long as they had the first-month’s rent upfront. I know nothing about my new roommate apart from the fact that she sleepwalks and I know I need to find out if this is going to be a long term arrangement or if I’ll be back to square one pretty quickly money wise. Time to grill Fliss and get to know her.
“Felicity!” I sing-song outside her door, followed by an unnecessary Bang, bang, bang.
She opens it with red-rimmed eyes but tries to hide her sadness with a hint of a smile. “Ashton?”
I notice that she’s upset because she uses my full name. Her sad smile and soft tone of voice make me think she’s trying to hide her unhappiness.I won’t broach the subject. Instead, I grin “I just wanted to try it out. I’ll revert back to Fliss if you go back to calling me Ash. Deal?”
“Hmmm, I think I prefer Ashton.” she teases.
“Our bonding sesh was cut short. Fancy revisiting it?”
“Sure, Ashton.” She smiles and walks past me. I’m about to check her out when I realise she’s still wearing that ridiculous cow onesie and I can’t make out fuck all of her body. She may have been naked last night but it was stupidly dark and I was in a state of shock. Then I remember, I can’t fuck this up. Lusting over my flatmate is plain stupid. I can’t mess around with her, there’ll be no dabbling because I can’t afford to cause any kind of resentment between us. I need her to stay. And if I screw with her there’s a chance she’ll leave, and I’ll be back to square one. I can’t think with my dick.
I follow after her and find she’s made herself comfortable on the corner settee. I think about throwing myself down right next to her, when we’re in close proximity she always blushes and I enjoy knowing I cause it. I enjoy watching it spread from her cheeks down her neck. She’s affected by me and knowing a woman finds you attractive is good for the ego. I wisely opt to sit as far away as possible, reminding myself of my no games rule. And giving her a moment to compose herself. I might be a wind up but even I can see something has rattled her and being myself right now would be unfair on her fragile emotions.
She looks up at me, expectantly, hesitantly and there it is… the blush. I guess I don’t need to be all over her personal space to make it happen. I watch it spread, following its path with my eyes. Making her wait. She starts to fidget under my scrutiny and for some reason watching her squirm thrills me.
Flatmate.
She’s just your flatmate I remind myself.
“So, Fliss. Where shall we start?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one that wanted to bond. I thought you’d have it all planned out.”
She maintains eye contact for a split second before shrugging in feigned disinterest but she’s fooling no one.
“I’m sorry about my parents, if they made you uncomfortable…”
“That’s not why I left, Ash.” She interrupts “I… I just thought you could do with some privacy. That’s all.” Her head drops again and I know that was a blatant lie but instead of calling her on it I let it slide.
“Privacy? No. Next time stick around, you can be my armour. With you to focus on I’ll be left well alone.” I smile at her as she looks at me from under her lashes. “Anyway, enough about the parentals, this is our bonding time. I want to know all about you Fliss…?”
“Montgomery.” She fills for me
“Felicity Montgomery.” I frown as I test the name on my lips and my head tries to wrap around why it sounds so familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. “It’s pretty. Suits you.”
She smiles and I take note of how it lights up her whole face. A real, genuine, unguarded smile from Fliss is a sight to behold.
“Before we start, how about some food? Fuel for our bonding time?”
“Sounds good, I’m starving.” She replies
“So, do you cook?” I raise a hopeful brow
She shakes her head on a small smile “If you were hoping for a flat mate that would cook for you, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m capable of many things, cooking isn’t one of them.”
Capable of many things… “I need many things, Fliss, a cook isn’t one of them.”
“Touche.”
“Before I start on the fo
od, give me a hint, tell me just one of your hidden talents.”
She scrunches her nose as she wonders what information to part with and then her eyes light up as she faces me fully. She holds up one finger as she says “Sono in grado di parlare in 5 lingue diverse.”
I don’t know what she said, but she has my attention. Listening to a woman speak in another language is sexy as hell. Before I can ask what she said, she holds up a second finger “Kann ich 5 verschiedene Sprachen sprechen.”
Again, I have no idea what the language is or what she said, but I’m hooked. This one was different to the first and doesn’t sound as sexy. That’s when I twig why she’s holding up fingers, 2 for 2 languages she’s fluent in.
She holds up the other 3 fingers and in quick succession recites “Yo hablo 5 idiomas diferentes, Je parle 5 langues différentes, Eu posso falar 5 línguas diferentes.” She sits back beaming from ear to ear.
I recognise the French and 5 has been in every sentence along with the finger clues. I figure she’s been repeating ‘I speak 5 languages’ or something to that effect.
“I’m impressed, I can barely speak one.” I tell her.
“Once you’ve learnt two, picking up anymore is pretty easy. I can teach you if you like?” she blushes at her offer as though she’s being presumptuous.
“Deal, if I can teach you how to cook?”
“It’s about time someone did.” She murmurs “You’re on.”
“What languages were they, by the way? I figured French, but what about the others?”
“German, Spanish, Portuguese and Italian.”
“So technically you’re fluent in 6?”
“Yeah, I guess. I want to learn more though, some of them just won’t stick.”
“It’s pretty cool to know as many as you do, was there a reason for learning them?”
“Not really, not to start with anyway. My Parents wanted me to learn as much as possible, knowing other languages seemed to make sense and once I started I toyed with the idea of becoming a translator but… well, life had other ideas for me.” She shrugs and starts picking at her onesie.
“You’re in charge, y’know… of your future I mean. My parents had hopes for me but I settled for disappointing them in order to follow my own dreams. They’ll get over it eventually, I wouldn’t have got over not trying to achieve what I wanted. You just need to weigh up what you want and need versus those around you.”
She nods as she plays with a tendril of hair “You’re right, Ash. Baby steps though.”
Felicity
Current mood – Comfortable
Regret level - 0
Two weeks have passed since our bonding day. Two blissful weeks. Weeks that I’ll remember and treasure forever. I managed to maintain my cover and not give myself away by telling as much of the truth as possible. Half-truths. I told him I’ve taken over the family business which luckily for me is quite lucrative hence having no real need to work. I’m a wealthy woman which I didn’t divulge but having money has made this pipe dream possible. He knows I’m an only child as is he and he told me he writes (which I already knew).
Living with Ash is hard work. He’s effortlessly sexy, funny and a natural flirt. It’s like he can’t help himself. I’ve learned so much about him. Nothing big. But all the quirks he has that make us all individual. Little things, like he stirs his coffee precisely eight times before he’ll drink it. He likes sweets a lot, but never eats the green ones. Sometimes we’ll be mid-conversation and he wanders away in his mind. I’ve figured that this happens when an idea hits him or a line for his story needs to be jotted down. We often spend our time in companionable silence – him writing his story and me updating my journal. Only yesterday he stopped writing, looked at me over the top of his screen and asked: “Do you keep a diary?”
“I suppose so.” I told him “Though I don’t think of it as one.”
“Why are you always writing in it?”
“So I never forget a single experience,” I replied truthfully.
I went back to updating it but could feel him watching me. I knew he wanted to ask more and was battling with himself how far to push me for insight into my life. After a few minutes he went back to his story and I released a thankful breath of relief.
I’ve never felt this comfortable in my own skin, never felt this kind of contentment and peace. He’s quite simply easy to be around. Life feels effortless with him. This feels like it was meant to be. Living together has slotted into our lives with such ease, maybe it’s the familiarity we already have from speaking online, even if he’s unaware of it. But we gel, we hit it off in person as much as we did from behind a screen.
Despite his suggestion when I first moved in, he hasn’t had a woman here once. It could be because I’ve monopolised his time, ensuring he stayed in with me every night just hanging out, it could be because he just isn’t interested in getting laid or it could be because spending time with me is more preferable. I like to think it’s the latter.
My favourite part of living with him is every morning after his shower I wander in the bathroom for mine to find he’s drawn a smiley face on the mirror from the steam. The first time I noticed it I spent an age just standing there staring at it. I look forward to these shower smileys every morning, it might be silly but it means he’s thinking about me… I hope. Now, I don’t know if he’s always done that or if he does it for my benefit, maybe it’s how he always started his days before I came along, but it’s cute and endearing and something I’ll sorely miss when I have to leave.
Ash is a tactile being, so innocently touchy-feely. He loves holding hands, hugging and holding me when we watch films. He’s thoughtful, always considering and taking into account my feelings.
I’ve fallen harder than I ever could have imagined.
I’ve fallen harder than I ever should have allowed myself to.
He’s also ridiculously upbeat. Seriously, it’s like the guy never has a down day, even when he’s at fifty-percent he’s still happier and perkier than most human beings.
He makes me laugh. I can’t remember the last time I laughed before meeting him. It’s been a while. A long while. I’m completely and utterly addicted to how he makes me feel. It’s a feeling I don’t want to give up.
It makes me feel awful for continuing to lie to him because everything he’d told me online about himself is true. He hasn’t deceived me at all, not once and I just keep adding to my ever-growing lie list. I can’t find a way to now drop it on him. So I’m praying that the longer I’m around and the more attached he gets to me or the more indispensable I make myself, when the time comes he’ll weigh up the pro’s and con’s and decide to keep me around anyway. Denial is my friend.
“Fliss!” he hollers
“Yeah?” I yell back
“First cooking lesson in five minutes, be ready.” He says
Exactly five minutes later, we’re stood side by side in the kitchen. Ash is a stickler for timekeeping.
“Is there anything you’ve always wanted to learn to cook or shall we just start with basics?”
“Cake. I need to learn how to make cakes.”
“I was thinking proper food. Cooking as opposed to baking.”
“Oh come on. Both options include ingredients, right? Pleeassse?” I beg and dramatically flutter my eyelashes
“Cake it is.”
I smile widely and watch his eyes fall to my lips, they linger for a moment before he clears his throat and turns to start gathering items and ingredients.
He starts adding ingredients to a metal bowl, explaining about quantities as he does before giving me the task of breaking eggs into it. Instead of tapping against the bowl, I more or less smash it against the side causing egg and shell to all make it into the mix.
He looks horrified for a second before he bursts out laughing “Jesus, Fliss, you’re dangerous.”
“There’s no way I can fish out all those shell bits, let’s start from scratch.” He throws the lot into
the bin, cleans the bowl and starts again, this time I’m allowed to measure the flour because any idiot can pour and count, right?
“How come you’re fluent in many languages but can’t even work an egg?”
“Shh, I’m concentrating,” I tell him as I keep tipping the flour
“Do you know how to do toast?” he continues with his familiar smirk
“Yes, the toaster takes care of that for me.”
“Right, I’ll add the eggs, pay attention.” He tells me
I roll my eyes but still I lean closer to see how this is done. He cracks first one then two effortlessly, the egg slips out as the shell remains in his palm.
“Now you mix.” He says
I start mixing as he potters around, washing utensils, checking the oven and then he’s behind me, leaning over my shoulder as he inspects my handiwork. He presses up closer and I bite my lip before realising I’ve stopped moving. The mixture is no longer being mixed but my damn emotions are.
He grabs both of my pigtails, pulling them gently so they hang down my back instead of my front “These should be tied back.”
“They are.” I protest
He shakes his head “I don’t like hair in my food.”
“Well tuck them in my onesie then.” I tell him as my hands are covered in allsorts and I’m not getting it in my hair.
Instead he pulls out each pony, gathering my hair into a bunch at the back of my neck, he tugs again like he’s testing something out and then I feel him sectioning it. He hums as he braids my hair and it’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever witnessed. I can’t even braid, so the fact he can is astonishing to me. Having his hands in my hair is just a bonus. But every time his fingers graze my neck, I tingle all the way down my spine.
“It’s lumpy.” He breathes against my ear once he’s finished with my unruly locks.
I start up my mixing again, pretending I’m composed as he just watches “It’s meant to be a smooth texture.” He continues.
“Maybe if you weren’t pressed up against me, I’d be able to get the job done.” I breathe out.
