Page 37

“No sympathy. I don’t want it, don’t need it. None of that usual therapist speak, no apologies or reassurances. I know. Deal?”

I nod, I don’t know what I’m about to hear. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what is coming next.

“Usual rough kid childhood shit, Dad was a violent prick. He was a great father and a fuck awful husband. Mum was a saint. Everyone loved her, lit up rooms, could make a funeral laugh. Got more violent the older I got, the less I looked like him, the more angry he got. Eventually I watched him strangle her, I couldn’t stop him. The police pried me off of her body when they arrived. He went to prison, I went into care. Didn’t like school much. Left as soon as I could, did shitty jobs, then joined the Marines. Loved it. Did well, was good at it, I enjoyed it. Couple of tours in Helmand, couple of medals and honours. Eventually recruited into the SBS, Special Boat Service. Most of that I can’t talk about until it’s declassified. Did some black ops stuff. Some of it got ugly. Improvised explosives, ambushed gunfights. Saw better men than me go down. Some of them we got home, some we didn’t. Got disillusioned with the politics so I left. Went into security, money was shit and the work was boring. Then I got swept up into this kind of shit, easy done. Sexy money, bit of danger, that kind of ‘no medals, just get the fucker done’ objective purity. It’s an industry of cunts though, so there’s that, but yeah I guess that’s about it really”

Holy shit on hellfire. What I… what’s the correct…

“Nik…” I reach my hand out to hold his

He raises an emotionless eyebrow “yes…?”

I sit just holding his hand trying to process everything he’s said. That was a lot. Delivered with absolutely no visible emotion. Now he’s just motionless. He’s got to feel something, that stuff has to have some kind of something. It kind of explains some stuff I suppose. How much pain has this man even endured? What has he left out? What even is black ops? I realise that I’m the one tearing up for him so decide to quickly move things along.

“So, what now?” I ask him

“Breakfast” please not back to this

“and then…?”

“Dishes”

Damn it, Nik.

“About the impending crime thriller descending on my fucking house”

“Oh it’s your house now, is it?” he challenges, with playful sarcasm

“Always has been!”

“Who fixed the walls?” he returns fire, I mean he’s got a point on that one

“Who kicked my bathroom door off of its fucking hinges?!” check, dick

“Whose name is on the tenancy?” checkmate. Goddammit. It isn’t his, but it definitely isn’t mine, or Dan’s for that matter. After a smirk I deliberately re-establish my serious face before going back in.

“How can we be in this together if I don’t know what’s going on?”

“What you don’t know, you can’t be tortured into revealing” my bumhole spasms at hearing that particular sentence

“C’mon man, I cleaned ‘claret’ for you!”

“I thought it was your kitchen? Did you not want a clean kitchen?” I know he’s winding me up on purpose, and it’s working.

“Would you like to see another molar?” I challenge him

“Why, you wiggling one loose?”

At this point I’m immensely amused, but also getting rapidly tired of his shit.

“I’m a damsel, and there’s big scary men out there!”

“There’s a bigger, scarier one in here”

“You’re not that big” I fire the obvious shot, because fuck him

“Don’t kid yourself” and then the cheeky bastard keeps playing, mock mimicking me “‘cum for me Nik, ooh Nik, make it hurt’ does that sound like a woman who is dissatisfied?”

He carries on though, almost in sync with me he grunts with faux-exasperation and stamps his foot in an all-too-accurate parody. It pisses me off enough that I launch a coaster at his head, as hard as I can. It misses its mark by about three feet and breaks a glass on the draining board.