"Turn your head to me. No, not that far, just a bit. Yeah, perfect."

I take four photos, each one at a slightly different angle. Riley had asked for a photoshoot to advertise her new designs and Ollie had offered to model. He's currently wearing black pants and a vermilion button down with a white pattern on it.

"You look good."

He winks at me. "You think so?"

"You'd look better if you took it off though," I reply with a smirk.

"Oh, get a room, you two," Riley says, exasperated from where she stands by the window.

I laugh. "Ollie, let's get one more of you standing and then you can change into the next one."

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The days blur together. My schedule involves waking up at twelve in the afternoon, working for ten hours and then going out the until two or three in the morning. I still find a new girl in the clubs every few nights, but I don't take any of them back to my place. Fancy's making biweekly trips up to London and I find that I actually look forward to seeing her. She pulls a new trick on me every time and it's enough to make me curious about what else she's got up her sleeve. Eventually, I stop going out altogether, just filling my time with work between her visits.

We're sharing a smoke after another night together, sitting in bed with the sheets covering our bodies. She's got her leg flung over me, and her chest presses into my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, holding her close. I resist the urge to kiss the side of her head. I've already crossed a line by becoming exclusive with her.

She holds the cigarette up to me, her fingers lightly brushing my lips. I inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs before letting it out. I blow it gently in her face, watching as she crinkles her nose. It's cute. Not for the first time, I'm struck by her beauty. I wonder if she'll let me take photos of her. I haven't touched my camera in months, but I want to capture the expression on her face and the way the lamp light strikes her hair, turning it metallic. Before I know what I'm saying, I ask her if she'll model for me.

She puffs on the fag, contemplating. "I didn't know you were a photographer."

I shrug. "It's just a hobby."

"Are you a professional?

"I make money off it, if that's what you're asking."

"I'll pay you in something better than money," she says, a naughty gleam in her eye. She moves to sit on top of me, grinding her hips suggestively. I pull the cig from her lips, stroking her face.

"I only accept cash."

She leans into the touch, turning her head to kiss my arm. I realize the exact moment when she notes the scars. Before I can pull away, she grabs my wrist.

"Are you ready to talk about this now?" she demands, tracing the marks with a finger. I shiver at the touch.

"No." She doesn't fight me when I retract my arm. I drape it off the edge of the bed, turning my palm down so the scars are hidden again.

"If you've got a problem, you should talk to somebody."

I shoot her a sharp glance. "And that somebody is you, I guess?"

"I mean, I'm here." She rolls off to the side, resting her head on my shoulder. A few quiet moments pass before she says softly, "I've been there, you know. I never did anything, but I thought about it."

I try to think about her, this flirtatious, lively, devilish woman, as I had been. I can't imagine her holding a knife to herself, crying in the dark. "You love life."

"I love distraction," she corrects me. She turns her head up and I can feel her breath on the bottom of my chin. I don't move as she admits, "I've got an ex-boyfriend I'm trying to forget."

Me too. I don't say the words out loud. It's not true, I'm not trying to forget him. I'm just trying to forget his sorrowful eyes as I left him in that villa. I'm trying to drown out the sound of his pleading voice, begging me to stay, saying we can get through the shit together. I often wish I had just listened to him; had turned around and let him hold me in his arms, murmur that he loved me, and continued on. My life would have been different. Better. Instead, I had been scared and walked away.

Fancy reaches a hand up, brushing away the tears I don't realize have slipped down my face. Her hands feel warm to the touch. She sits up and watches me for a moment, her eyes searching for something. Whatever she finds, it makes her cup her hands on my jaw, leaning toward me. This kiss is gentle, none of the rough passion we usually share. Her lips are soft against mine, feather light and tender. It feels more intimate.

She lays back down, resting her head on me again. She traces circles on my skin.

"He was abusive," she says randomly. It takes me a moment to realize she's gone back to the topic from before. "So I left him. And now I fuck around to try and remove the feeling of his hands on me. I thought once what it would be like to be rid of him permanently, but I wasn't brave enough."

"There's nothing brave about it," I say. My words are bland, toneless. I stare at the ceiling. "It's a cowardly move."

"You can't help what you feel."

I close my eyes. I've never spoken about almost killing myself to anyone. Nobody has been with me long enough to notice my attempt. I'm not sure if it's annoyance or relief I feel that Fancy wants to talk about it. On the one hand, someone would know. On the other… someone would know. The thought of placing my secret in another person's hands is terrifying to me. But there's a part of me craves the trust that would come with it, and the intimacy. I take a deep breath and Fancy goes motionless.

"I ran away from someone I shouldn't have," I start shakily. "I made a lot of mistakes after that. I almost got married but I left her too. I had my own business but it wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. It just got to be too much. So I decided it would be better if I just ended it. I came really close too."

"What was it like?" The curiosity in her voice makes my eyes fly open.

"What?"

She sits up and stares at me, a peculiar light in her eyes. "In that moment. What was it like?"

I think about the night five months ago when all my festering emotions came to a head. I can still feel the sharp metal on my arm. The pain had been almost unbearable as I dragged the knife along the taut skin. The blood had been warm as it dribbled out. I remember lying down, the sheets rough against my back, holding my phone to my face for a while, watching a video of my love's face, listening to him say my name over and over again. The thought that he would be the last thing I saw, the last person I'd hear had been like a balm on the fear that welled up in my chest as I felt consciousness leave me.

"I was petrified at first," I admit after a while. "Then my mind went blank and I was more at peace. I was ready to die."

"But you didn't."

My mouth twitches. "No, I didn't. I woke up an hour later." I don't mention the text that I saw when my eyes opened. The message from the one person I never thought I would hear from again, as if he knew what I had done. It had been a simple hello, and I had responded in kind, intending to leave it at that, but he kept sending texts, keeping me from drifting off into oblivion again. I don't tell her that I called him, just to hear him talk to me. He couldn't have known he was talking to me after an attempt at my own life, but I could tell he knew something was wrong. His voice had been kind and soothing as he spoke.

Fancy touches my face, bringing me back to the present. "I'm glad," she whispers. She gives me that gentle kiss again. But as she moves down my chest, I realize it's not her I'm seeing but him. I imagine it's him trailing down my body, rubbing me in the right places. When she looks up at me, it's his eyes I see, warm and loving. I blink and he's gone and I feel a pang of sadness course through me. I stop Fancy before she can go any lower.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Later," I say, pulling her back up. She nestles against me. Before long, she's asleep, her breathing slow and steady. I continue to stare blankly into the air, one arm around her body. My mind is a whirlwind of memories and thoughts. After all this time, after all the women I've slept with, even after almost a year with one of them, he's still the only one I can think about at the end of the day. His laugh echoes around my head. I can see his half smirk as if he were standing right in front of me. I wonder what he would say if he were here.

Fuck, Freddy, you look awful.

I smile a little at the thought. Those are exactly the words that would leave his mouth. Then he would proceed to fix me up, making fun of my methods of drowning him out. He wouldn't hate me for what I did to him, he would just try to pick up where we left off. He would kiss me, and say everything would get better, now that we were together again.

I close my eyes, his face swimming in my mind as I drift off to sleep.

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The next morning, Fancy wakes me up by poking me in the side.

"Hmm?" I mumble.

"I've just gotten a text from my sister."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, I just haven't gone to see her in a while. She's asking me to come visit."

"Alright, go ahead then," I say, starting to roll over, but she catches my shoulder. She asks shyly,

"Will you come with me?"

I open my eyes slowly to look at her, surprised. Increased intimacy, yeah sure. Exclusivity, fine. But meeting family? I hadn't realized we'd reached developed a relationship that meant enough to warrant that. "I don't… I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I mean, we're not really anything, are we?"

"Come on, it's been months. I haven't been with anyone else. Unless there's someone on the side for you?" She hovers over me, lips pursed together in a cute little pout. I give her a reassuring kiss.

"There's not."

"I've already told them I'm seeing you, so they want to meet you."

I raise a brow. "You told them about me?"

"I had to explain why I wasn't visiting anymore. So, will you come?"

I hesitate. There is a line in the sand that I'm not sure I want to cross. She is asking for something more from me and did I really want to start going down this path? All three of my last relationships ended terribly and I hadn't been with anyone seriously in two years. But Fancy had pulled me out of a downward spiral. I'm not losing myself in alcohol and smoke every night. Instead, I am almost sane again, and I look forward to seeing her texts every day. She makes me want to live again. The least I could do would be to do this for her.

"Yeah, alright," I say, sitting up.

"Well come on then, get up. We've got to go! " She yanks the blanket off with a happy shriek.

"What, right now?"

"They want us there for lunch."

She rummages in my closet while I take a shower, pulling out a simple black shirt and a pair of jeans. It doesn't do anything for my pale features, but I don't complain. Nothing could make me look better. Next to me, she looks like a bright flower, in a little red dress and a yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

Within an hour, we're standing outside a white building with balconies jutting out above the street. The townhouse looks pristine with its window boxes and autumn wreath on the door. Fancy clasps my hand and squeezes tight.

"Ready?" I give her a slight nod and we walk up to the door. She taps rapidly on it, then takes my hand again. She seems nervous. A minute later, the door opens to reveal a woman who could be Fancy's twin. She's got the same burnished auburn hair, though hers is cut short to her shoulders. They share the bright brown eyes that reflect the warmth of the sunlight. The woman turns those eyes to me, running them down my body before letting them rest on my face for an uncomfortable amount of time. She smiles tightly.

"This is him?" she asks. Even their voices sound similar.

Fancy leans into me. I suspect it's more to support herself than to comfort me. "This is Freddy."

"Is he sick, or does he always look like this?"

"Mercy!" Fancy chides, pushing her way inside.

"Well, come in then. Grace has just arrived so we can start."

We follow her sister into the house. The inside is just as perfect as the outside. Everything looks professionally cleaned and the couches look like they haven't been sat on for years. She leads us to the kitchen off to the side, to the table in the middle of the room, where another woman sits in front of a bag of Maccies. Her blonde hair hides her face, but when she hears us walk in, she lifts her head, flinging her hair behind her.

"Oh, thank god," she says, tearing into the bag. "I'm starving."

"Grace, don't be rude. Say hello before you stuff your face." Grace already has chips in her mouth. She mumbles a hello around the food, giving me a little wave. The red-haired woman rolls her eyes and turns to me. "That is Grace."

I can't help the bark of laughter that comes out. "Sorry," I say as all three of them give me weird looks. "It's just your names. And you're eating fast food. It doesn't seem like it fits."

Mercy smiles winningly. "It's a guilty pleasure. Come on, sit down. We weren't sure what you wanted so we just got you a burger and some chips."

"That's fine," I tell her, taking my place next to Fancy. She rests her hand on my knee with a little squeeze. She lets her sisters grill me on where I'm from, my family, my job. I learn that Mercy is a psychiatrist and Grace is a doctor at the local hospital. They each have husbands who are notably missing. When I ask, Mercy just says,

"We didn't want you to be intimidated."

They tell me stories about growing up together and I admit to feeling a little jealous. As an only child, I never had interactions like that. When they run out of childhood stories, they go back to asking me questions. When the food is gone, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. On my way back, the sisters' voices float to me and I stop short.

"Is he sick?"

"No."

"I can see the entire bone structure of his face. Is he a druggie?"

"No!" Fancy shrieks. "He's got his own business. Now, stop it, both of you. He's just had a rough time of it. He's a good person. He makes me feel… happy again."

"It's good to see you smiling," Mercy sounds soft, caring. "You look like less of a wreck too."

"Thanks."

"Honestly," Grace says, "I never thought you'd find anyone else after— ow! What?"

"Don't say his name, not in this house."

"Sorry."

"Listen, Fancy," Mercy's voice takes on a cautious tone. "Mam asked after you yesterday. Asked if you'd like to come to Christmas dinner this year."

There are few moments of uneasy silence pass by. I can't walk in there now, not when there's clearly a moment going on, so I stay in the hallway, listening.

"Why?" Fancy finally demands. Her words come out clip and chilly.

"She said she regrets what happened between you two. She'd have called you herself, but she doesn't have your number."

"It's been seven years."

"She wants to make amends, Fancy," Grace says.

"Why?" Fancy asks again.

"She's been thinking about family. She wants us all together this year. Start over."

"She's the one that kicked me out."

"Yeah, and she made a mistake. Give her a chance."

"Why should I, when she never gave me one."

"Be the bigger person, Fancy."

"What about Da? Is he going to let me come back?"

"Da will do whatever Mam wants."

Fancy is quiet and then I hear her push her chair back. I push away from the wall I'm leaning against and make it look like I'm just on my way back. I walk into the kitchen at the same time she walks out and we bump into each other. I steady her with a hand.

"Are you alright?" I whisper to her.

"Fine." She looks to her sisters over her shoulder. "I'll consider about it."

Mercy nods. "That's why I told you now, so you'd have time to think on it."

Fancy smiles wryly. "Thanks. We're leaving now."

She grabs my arm and drags me down the hallway. I give a quick wave goodbye before we're out the door. The car ride back is silent and tense. I let her brood until we're at my place again. She goes to the bedroom while I set about making a pot of tea for us. When I bring the steaming mug to her, I find her lying in the bed with the covers over her head. I sit on the edge, putting the cup on the ground. I rub her through the blanket.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She groans. I climb over her and settle in the bed on her other side. When she lifts her head, I see that her eyes are red and puffy, streaks of makeup running down her cheeks. I pull her toward me, tucking her head under my chin. We lay like that for an hour, her sobbing into my chest, me holding her tight. When her weeping turns into soft whimpers, I ask again,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Instead of answering me, she tilts her head up and starts kissing me. She shifts on top of me, the need for distraction evident in her touch. I oblige her. She moves with a fierceness that hasn't been present since the beginning of our relationship. It's like she's trying to forget the world again. So I kiss her lips, her cheeks, the space between her neck and shoulders. She moans and grinds herself against me in fervor. I flip her over and start dragging her dress up her legs. She paws at my chest, bunching my shirt in her hands. I pull it off, letting her fingers roam my chest. But this is not the moment for slow and passionate moves. Our coupling is rough and quick. When we're done, I roll off her, letting her shift to her side, her back to me. I tuck her in close and breath in her scent.

Right as I'm about to drift off, she stirs. She turns over. I can feel her watching me, so I crack an eye.

"Do you love your parents?" I just nod my head. "I don't. Does that make me a bad person?"

I prop myself up on an elbow, looking down at her. Running a finger along her exposed shoulder, I say, "I got lucky with my parents. They've been there for me through everything. But if yours weren't good to you, you aren't obligated to love them."

"My mam wants me to come home for Christmas."

"Do you want to go?"

"I don't know." Fancy buries her head in the pillow again. "I haven't seen them in seven years. It would be nice, but I don't know if it will turn out like she thinks it will."

"That bad?"

"They kicked me out because I wouldn't go to medical school and I haven't been back since. What would you do?"

I haven't seen my parents in six years, haven't been back to their home in ten. I'd jump at the chance to spend the holidays with them, but they've loved me from day one, so it's hard for me to answer her. I settle for,

"Can you forgive them?"

Fancy glares at me. "Are you my shrink?"

I shrug. "It's important. If you can't find it in yourself to forgive them, then you shouldn't go back. Not until you can put the past behind you."

"You're incredibly attractive when you're talking sagely. Come here," she stretches her hands out to me.

I give her a smirk. "Again?"

"Just hold me, idiot."

I pull her close to my body. She falls asleep with her head against my chest.