The Debt & the Doormat(16)

He stares back at me, analysing, searching, and attempting to find out what's wrong with me.

‘God, you really do have a way of getting yourself into trouble don't you.’ he says, more as a statement than a question.

‘Well I’m very sorry that I’m such a bother to you. I don't know why you care anyway. I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself.’

He snorts. ‘Yeah looks like it.’

My lip curls up in anger.

‘Why don't you just fuck off and mind your own business. I don't need someone playing older brother to me; I have three of my own thanks.’

‘Well fine. If you wanna be a bitch about it then I won’t bother next time.’

‘Fine!’ I snarl.

‘Fine!’ he shouts.

My fists clench and I turn on my heel stomping off to bed, ignoring my hungry, growling stomach.

* * *





Ryan sneaks into my bedroom, a regretful pained expression on his face.

‘Poppy, I’m sorry.’

I look up to him and our eyes lock. He looks at my face and moves to sit on the bed, close enough for me to hear his breath. He takes my face in his hands and pushes his warm lips against mine. I melt, pushing back the covers to invite him in. He climbs in, his lips not moving from mine. He reaches under my night shirt, searching hungrily for my breasts. I begin to unbutton his shirt, feeling his toned stomach as my hand reaches to undo his belt.





Chapter 7




I wake up from the dream trembling. What on earth was that all about? I suppose I could blame it on that crazy day, but it doesn’t stop the disturbed thoughts running through my head, again and again. I get up, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead and check my watch. 5.30 Am. Well, at least I have a few more hours sleep before I have to face the day. I just hope I can dream about something else. I throw the duvet over my head and breathe in Jazz’s familiar floral perfume.

‘Poppy?’

I must be losing my mind. Now I’m hearing voices. I keep my head under the duvet, half scared that it's a ghost Jazz forgot to mention. Maybe that's why she was so eager to swap homes. This room is haunted by an old woman who likes to give you disturbed dreams and pester you at half five in the morning.

‘Poppy? It’s me, Izzy,’ she whispers.

I throw the duvet back in disbelief. She’s leaning over me dressed in pink jogging bottoms and a sports bra. She can't seriously want to grab breakfast at 5.30 in the morning. I mean, is she crazy?

‘Izzy – what the? I mean...what is it?’ I ask, irritation showing in my voice.

‘You said to wake you in the morning remember?’ she whispers encouragingly.

‘Yeah, but you said for breakfast. So I assumed it would be at least 7 or something?’ I check my watch again.

‘Yeah I know, that was the plan. But then I thought why bother sitting around doing bugger all when instead we could go for a refreshing power walk?’ She smiles enthusiastically.

‘Power walk?’ I laugh. But then I realise she’s serious. She’s wearing jogging bottoms and holding a water bottle. She’s actually serious.

‘So...I’ll give you about five minutes to get ready.’ She smiles and pulls the curtains back exposing me to the early morning sunshine streaming in. I feel like a witch who might melt under it. The birds are tweeting loudly.

I stare at her, still half expecting her to laugh and tell me she’s only joking. But underneath that smiley, petite face she looks kind of stern. I realise she means business and there's no way I’m getting out of this.





It can't be that bad, I think to myself as we leave the house. I just hope I don't sweat all over my borrowed sports clothes. It's only a walk. I mean, how bad can it be?

It turns out pretty bad.

‘So, what do you do then Izzy?’ I ask her, hoping she’ll slow down to answer.

‘I’m a personal trainer,’ she smiles. ‘Come on, keep up.’

Well that figures.

‘I’m...trying’ I say in between breaths.

God, my chest is tight and my shins are starting to ache. I’ve only been walking five minutes.

‘So, how long have you been a personal trainer?’

‘About two years now. I love exercise. I’m just so happy that I can do it for a career.’

‘How can you love exercise?’ I ask panting. How could anyone possibly love this?

‘The endorphins it releases are like magic. It gives me so much more energy,’ she beams. ‘I always feel super-duper after a workout.’

Why would she want more energy? She’s like an excitable puppy as it is.

‘So...do you work at a gym or anything?’

‘I actually do a mix of both. I do personal training at a gym, but also have my own private clients. I like the mix, but I think that if I get a lot more private clients then I’ll go totally freelance. I can set my own hours then. I could make you an exercise plan if you like?’ she suggests barely out of breath.

‘Um...maybe.’

‘Yes! That's what I’ll do,’ she says, her face lighting up. ‘So anyway, what happened yesterday at work?’

I fill her in on all of the details and she happily laughs along.

‘Do you ever get any fit clients?’

‘Yep,’ she laughs. ‘It's funny because sometimes the biggest fatties are hiding stunning faces. Once they shed the weight it's really hard not to start fancying them!’

‘Yeah, it must be hard.’

Ryan pops into my head and I can't help but ask her about him.

‘So, what's the deal with Ryan?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, taken aback, but not meeting my eye.

‘I mean, he seems such an arrogant prick. He obviously thinks the whole world is in love with him.’

‘He’s really not that bad,’ she says, quickly and curtly.

Whoops, I think I’ve offended her.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be horrible or anything.’

‘No, its fine,’ she smiles, all signs of a bad mood gone. ‘It's just that Ryan puts on this act for the world, but he’s actually been through a lot.’

‘Really? I ask, intrigued. ‘Like what?’

‘Anyway, we’re back on our road now Pops. I want us to run all the way to the door, ok?’

‘What?’

She’s grabbed my arm and is dragging me down the street before I have time to even realise what she wants. We’re actually moving so fast that I’m scared I’m going to fall flat on my face. It's like we’re flying, except my legs are thudding against the pavement, my blisters screaming in protest as they take the full weight of my thunder thighs.

‘You can have a shower first. I’m gonna make myself a smoothie,’ she says, smiling at me as she opens the door.

I stand there, panting and sweating profusely.

‘Tha – tha – thanks,’ I finally manage. I’m so out of breath I honestly think I might die.

I grab my shower bag and walk up the stairs to the bathroom, my legs feeling like weights. I long so badly for the heat of the water on my tight muscles, but the sound of running water stops me in my tracks. Damn, somebody beat me to it. I sigh in annoyance, turn round and begin to walk down the stairs when the door abruptly opens.

I turn round to face Ryan standing in the doorway holding a loose white towel around his waist, dripping wet. His hair is curly from the moisture and I notice one particular drop of water trickle down his chest, past his belly button to beneath the towel.

‘Morning,’ he says, giving me a strange sideways glance. Maybe I’m staring, whoops.

I meet his eyes and feel my cheeks burning. The last time I saw him was in my dreams, when his hands were under my night dress. My back arches as I remember the pleasure. When I was touching what lies underneath that small little towel.

‘Poppy, are you ok?’ he asks, studying my face, seeming to be frustrated by my irrational behaviour. ‘You seem kind of...ill?’

‘Yeah...I’m just...having a shower, you know,’ I mumble like an idiot.

‘O...kay,’ he smiles tightly.

I hate this. It’s like he knows I had the dream and it amuses him. My mouth keeps twitching, wanting to break into a big hysterical smile, but I keep biting my tongue to stop it. I will not let him know what I’m thinking. I will not give him any kind of satisfaction. And definitely not the kind of satisfaction I dreamt about last night.

‘Anyway,’ he says, his voice formal. ‘I was thinking about last night and...I think an apology is in order.’

‘Oh yeah, I agree,’ I say in surprise.

We both stare at each other expectantly.

‘Well...’ He looks me dead in the eye. ‘Go on then.’

I stare back at him bewildered.

‘What? Wait...you want me to apologise TO YOU!?’

Surprise flashes across his face.

‘Yes. Like I said, I think you need to apologise.’

‘I only agreed because I thought you were going to apologise. Why would I apologise? I’ve got nothing to apologise for,’ I shout, shocked by the loudness of my own voice.

‘Really?’ He narrows his eyes. ‘So, nearly setting the house on fire doesn’t count then?’

‘Oh, whatever. You were just a drama queen.’

We scowl at each other in silence. I decide after a few awkward moments that I should be the first to speak. I try to keep myself focused. I’m in danger of being distracted by his livid, gorgeous face. It's like trying to stare down a sexual God. How can one dream make me suddenly like his face when in reality the only time he looks at me is to shoot me an evil look?