Lucky Scars Page 5

  “Well that sucks. I love to cook. Sounds like you need a new flatmate.”

  Ziggy laughed bitterly. “Truth.” He reached forward and plucked out another slice. “So, what about you? No flatmate or…boyfriend?”

  I blanched. “No.” I wondered how to word my need to be on my own. “I like living by myself; it’s…reliable.”

  Ziggy’s eyebrows rose slightly at my word choice. “I see,” he said simply, but his stare said so much more. I couldn’t place the exact sentiment in his eyes, but it felt very much like understanding. Like he sympathised with pain he couldn’t possibly have guessed I was feeling. He surely couldn’t, could he? No. I shook my head, telling myself that was crazy. I felt comfortable with him, but that didn’t make him some kind of mystic.

  “I, um…” he trailed off as I shook off my musings. God, was I still shaking my head? I must look like a fruitcake.

  He cleared his throat. “I…wondered if you wanted it back?”

  “Huh?” I frowned, confused. I felt sure that somewhere lost in my thoughts, I had missed something he had said to me, and now I was confused. It came out of the blue, said quietly, cautiously, like something he was debating whether to even bring up.

  He shrugged almost regretfully and rubbed his chin. “The T-shirt you gave me. I have it in my bag.”

  “Oh,” I swallowed hard, the wind almost knocked out of me. It was back. That shirt had been like a weight around my neck for so long that part of me knew it wouldn’t really let me go. It had been like throwing it into the sea only to have it wash back up by my feet a moment later. I’d thought…I suppose I’d hoped it was gone for good, but of course not. I’d finally set it free only to end up keeping its new owner around. Figures. I paused for a long time, not knowing what to say.

  “Bea, I can see this is something sensitive for you. Just tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he said softly.

  I blew out a long breath and looked at my knees like they had the answers I didn’t. They gave me nothing of use, so I floundered, opening and closing my mouth.

  Ziggy placed his hand on my arm. “Look, I’ll keep it safe until you decide what you want me to do with it. I just didn’t want to hold on to something that you wanted back. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

  Then I felt his arm slide around my shoulders in a comforting gesture. I sighed. “It’s stupid. It’s only a T-shirt.”

  “It’s clearly way more than that,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

  I laughed mirthlessly with him. God, I was such a downer. This was just another reason I tried to keep to myself.

  “I thought it was important to you the way you handed it over, now I’m getting the sense that you were trying to let it go somehow. Like by giving it to a stranger you would never see again, you were saying goodbye without the guilt of tossing it out. Only…I came back.”

  I couldn’t find words. How could this stranger sense the things I locked so deep inside me? I just nodded. Not only had he figured out all of that within less than a week of meeting me, but he also seemed to realise it was connected with my self-imposed solitude.

  “Tell me about him,” he whispered.

  The floor dropped away from me in that moment. I felt like I was falling, and somehow, I couldn’t breathe the air around me. It felt like I was drowning in sorrow all over again.

  Only this time, a hand reached out to me.

  “Hey,” he soothed, drawing his fingers back and forth across my back, “it’s alright. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know I’d listen, that’s all…” When he trailed off and no other words followed, it occurred to me that I must have been showing some outward sign of my turmoil, and I tried to tune back in.

  I was indeed. My breathing was ragged and laced with emotion, and although no tears had fallen, my eyes were brimming with them, heavy and unshed.

  “Jesus,” I hissed and tried to straighten up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, tightening his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. “Tell me to mind my own business. I don’t mind.”

  I choked out a laugh. “It’s okay. I’m being silly.”

  “I don’t think so,” he soothed. “You’re just human, that’s all. It’s perfectly normal to have feelings about people from your past. Were you together for long?”

  “Five years,” I sniffed.

  Ziggy only nodded. Because, yeah, five years was a long time. Enough that he understood how getting over it was hard, even if he didn’t know the half of it.

  “Was it long ago?”

  I could understand how he would assume it was reasonably fresh. I was certainly behaving like a recently jilted lover. “Seven years ago,” I replied quietly without offering any further explanation. I was ashamed of how weak that made me sound.

  He stiffened, but again he nodded, seemingly unfazed by my lingering emotion. “He must have been special.”

  “He was.” I choked on the words, and the swell of feeling that rushed up out of me all at once. A single sob shook me, but that was all I needed. I had cried all I would ever need to in the past few years, and I knew it wouldn’t help me.

  “Would you rather I didn’t ask what happened? I can drop it right now, if you’d prefer.”

  I sighed softly. It was so stupid. I was so stupid. Ziggy was just trying to get to know me, and this was very much a part of me. “It’s ok, really. I just don’t talk about it much anymore. His name was Lewis. We were together for five years; we lived together for two of them. We were going to get married once we’d made our dreams a reality.” I waved at the studio, indicating that this had once been a shared dream. One that Lewis never saw come true. “He was charming and sweet and pretty much the perfect boyfriend. I loved him very much, and then—he died.”

  Ziggy let out a whispered curse and gripped my shoulder even tighter to him. There was a tension in his body that didn’t fit with the kind of sympathy I had grown used to. I was accustomed to a sort of sighing, shoulder-sagging hopelessness. He seemed to be angry more than anything. It was confusing to me, but I supposed everyone handled tragedy in their own way.

  “I’m really sorry, Bea. Was it sudden?”

  “As sudden as it gets. He died in his sleep. Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome, they call it. It’s like cot death in babies, but for adults.”

  “Fuck,” he bit out. To my surprise, I felt his lips press against my hair, and then he was silent for a moment. I was used to people not knowing what to say. What could you say that wasn’t just noise?

  I continued, wanting to get it all out in one go now that I was on a roll. “I left him in bed and went to work that morning. When I got home, the house was in darkness, which was strange. I texted him to find out what time he would be home and started dinner. I splashed myself with the sauce I was stirring and was annoyed because I didn’t want a stain, so I ran upstairs to change. I hit the bedroom light switch and went to the wardrobe, pulling off my top and fishing out a new one. As I dragged it over my head, I turned around and saw him.” I swallowed hard. This was the part that was the harshest memory. Seven years did nothing to distance me from the pain I experienced in that moment.

  “Shh,” he whispered into my hair. “Tell me the rest another time.”

  “No,” I sniffed. “It’s alright.” I felt his warm embrace enfold me, and it gave me the strength to continue. “He was…he was exactly how I’d left him that morning, hunkered down on his side under the covers. I couldn’t see his face; his back was to me. But I knew. I just…knew.” Tears fell down my face. I obviously had reserves after all. “He was so cold,” I sobbed. “He had been gone for hours.”

  We were rocking, I realised. Ziggy was swaying us slowly for comfort as I cried in his arms. I wondered how this had happened in a few short days? From the accidental coffee assault in the street with a complete stranger to retelling my darkest hour to a friend.

  “Do they kno
w why it happened?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. It’s a blanket term for these kinds of unexplained deaths. They have begun to understand it better in the last few years than they did back then. They have even identified some warning signs now. But back then, it was just one of those things. He had fainted a couple of times in the weeks before, both times running for his train. We thought he was working too hard. We were saving up to start this company and both working all the hours we could at the time. He didn’t bother going to the doctors, though. He didn’t think it was anything to worry about; he just promised me he would eat when he needed to and cut back on shifts a little. There is some evidence to suggest that fainting or seizure during exercise, excitement, or from a shock is a result of electrical problems in the heart. But we thought he was just a regular, healthy guy. They—”

  Ugh. I shivered as I began this admission. It was never going to get easier, but I wanted to do it. For some reason, I wanted to share this with Ziggy. “They put his time of death at around the time I left the flat. It could have been something as small as his alarm going off that triggered the electrical disruption that killed him. Anything that caused him to startle really. It could have been…” I gulped, “when I slammed the front door.”

  Ziggy tensed, and I could almost feel his objections bursting to get out of him. Before he could speak them, I shut him down. That guilt was my own to feel, if I needed to feel it. He couldn’t take it away even if he wanted to. “There was no way of us knowing it was going to happen—it just—did.” I relaxed a little. He couldn’t change how I felt.

  “I…” he seemed to be speechless. People usually were. I knew too well.

  “You don’t know what to say. I know. No one does. It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”

  “No, I was just going to say, I—” there was a long pause, and then he seemed to snap out of his thoughts. “You know, you’re right. I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head ruefully. “How fucking awful that must have been for you. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. How old were you?”

  “Twenty-eight. So was Lewis.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” I huffed, relieved to have got it out there. “He was fit and strong and clever and handsome and now he’s gone.” With a sigh, I relaxed into his arms. “So there, now you know my sad story.”

  He huffed then. It was the kind of sad story I’m sure he could have survived a lifetime without knowing, but it was my story, and he did ask. “So, that’s why you prefer to be alone?” His tone said he didn’t quite believe I preferred solitude, but he wasn’t calling me on it.

  “I just prefer to know where I stand. I can’t live through something like that again. I’ve managed to build my life, my career, as we had planned to do together, but I honestly couldn’t stand for anything so out of my control to happen again. My own company is safer.” I was firm as I said it, knowing how it sounded to most normal people.

  “I get that,” he said convincingly. He sounded as resolved as I had.

  “You do?” I pulled away from him slightly wanting to see his face. I was so used to the pity and platitudes that usually followed my admission that I wanted to see if his face told me he really understood my self-preservation. To my shock, it did.

  “Mmmhmm,” he muttered, pulling me back against his chest and I suspected…no, I knew it was so that I didn’t study him. He too had a story to tell, I realised then, and I wanted to know it.

  “Want to tell me about it?” I asked carefully, knowing I was making a big assumption but feeling sure I was reading him right.

  He inhaled a deep shuddering sigh and then patted my shoulder, withdrawing his arms completely from me and standing up. I watched him cautiously and wondered how that could be pushing too hard when I’d just spilled my own woes to him. “One sad story is enough for tonight, Sparkles,” he said with finality, not shying from my gaze. He reached out and stroked a stray hair from my forehead and stepped backwards. Then as he turned towards the bathroom, he shot over his shoulder in an entirely too cheerful tone, “Set up a new race, I’m going to kick your arse this time.”

  I stared for a moment. Whatever his story was, I was not going to hear it tonight. I’d have to respect that since it was usually me with the pointed avoidance tactics. He needed space to share whatever it was in his own time. I would give him that. “Fine,” I smirked. “I’ll set up a new race and try and teach you a thing or two.”

  Ziggy barked out a genuine-sounding laugh, and just like that, the doom and gloom was wiped from the slate.

  Chapter Seven

  I looked up and watched Ziggy talking with one of our graphics people, both hunched over her work station and scowling at something on her screen. He was right at home here, even though I knew he didn’t want to admit it. Like me, he thought he didn’t fit in anywhere, but here among his people, there wasn’t a problem. He’d shown up every day, Frappuccinos in hand, positive attitude in place, and he’d become involved very quickly with everyone on the team and what they were working on.

  I knew he’d probably heard horror stories about the kind of perky gaming companies he did freelance work for and all their team-building bullshit and company outings, but, hell, I’d probably quit if that was required of me. We just head to the pub occasionally and frequently order in pizza and battle it out on the consoles. It’s the introvert’s dream work place.

  Try as he might to roll his eyes and tick off the days of his “incarceration,” as he liked to joke, he was enjoying himself and I knew it. I smiled fondly at the glass jar on my desk. It contained several brightly-coloured origami lucky stars. He’d given it to me the morning after we set up his desk. He had added a new star to it each day since.

  The empty space in the large jar had come to represent the number of days I had left to get him to fall in love. I had the best part of a year. I could do it.

  I kept catching myself staring at them. I was a little bit speechless when he set the big empty jar on my desk alongside my morning Frappuccino. He’d pulled the first star out of his pocket and dropped it in there, securing the lid and giving me a shy smile. Stars because I sparkle, he’d told me as I tried not to look affected by the sweet gesture. And the jar, he added with a smirk, to symbolise his glass case/prison. I shoved him, and he threatened a tribunal. Business pretty much as usual with us since he moved in.

  When I say moved in, I seriously mean it. He brought in some weird and wonderful computer equipment from home and turned his desk into what looked like centre of operations. And don’t get me started on all the stuff he’d accumulated around himself. Books, objects, magazines…anything he felt inspired by, really. It all ended up surrounding him at work. Every time I passed his desk, I found his small figure models in different positions and a series of hurried sketches depicting a sequence of movement. I had no idea his work would be such an obsession for him, but I had at least come to appreciate how and why he was the best.

  I hadn’t realised I’d felt so isolated until I began sharing my space with such a presence, and I certainly hadn’t noticed until that moment how much I was enjoying being surrounded by someone else’s existence.

  The thought should have scared me, but I found it hadn’t, which in itself was terrifying.

  My phone vibrated on my desk, pulling me away from my fear, and I turned it over, freezing at the message on the screen. I hadn’t saved his number, but I still knew exactly who it was from.

  Jonathan: Beautiful Bea?

  I blew out a breath and slowly dropped my forehead to my desk.

  “Sup, Sparkles?” Ziggy approached. “Can’t keep up?” He chuckled, knowing he’d been keeping long hours, and I had made sure to match them. He was here past midnight last night, which wasn’t unusual for me, but I’d often be in my PJs and take my laptop to bed or sit on my sofa. Keeping up with him night after night had meant often not even going upstairs for dinner. We just ordered takeaways and pushed through.


  “You don’t have to keep me company, you know,” he offered.

  “While I appreciate that you aren’t actually trying to kill me, I can hold my own. It’s not that anyway.” I shook my head. I’d already told him when he’d arrived that if he was planning on staying late again, I was going to cook us a real dinner and make him move it up to the sofa. I wanted to brainstorm with him.

  “What is it, then?”

  “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  “Really?” He perched on the edge of my desk beside my head and waited.

  I dragged my head up and looked at him wearily. “I’ve got a problem.” I kept my voice low and glanced around to check Melanie was nowhere in sight.

  “Oh?”

  “A guy problem,” I whispered.

  His eyes went wide. “Do I need to call Mel?”

  “Fuck no,” I hissed.

  He smiled, the arse, knowing damn well I wouldn’t want her, of all people, involved. He may have only been around a couple of weeks, but he’d already got a pretty good handle on how things worked by now. Mel was trouble when it came to my personal life. “You told me you don’t have a boyfriend, Sparkles.” He tapped the end of my nose with his finger. “Were you telling me porky pies?”

  I grabbed his finger and glared at him. “No, I was not.”

  “So, who’s the guy problem?”

  “Just some random from Starbucks.”

  “Uh oh,” he cringed. “Did you throw your coffee on him too?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m starting to wish I had because then my cup would have been empty already when I ran into you, and I could have saved myself all this hassle,” I teased. He knew I was kidding. I was too happy he was here to mean anything of the sort.

  “A whole year of me, you mean?” Then his face stilled as he put the facts together. “So, wait, you met this dude the same day you attacked me?”