Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

It’s early morning. The sun is barely rising, sending pale slivers of light through the thin curtains.
She’s asleep. Tangled in the bedclothes. She didn’t sleep well last night. You’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Just watching her, and thinking. You’re only barely aware of doing it.

Do I really love her? Or is it just that she’s a celebrity, a model for the biggest fashion line in the world that you are attracted to?

You shake your head. Surely you’re not THAT shallow.
Treading softly so as not to wake her, you slip into your flat’s small kitchen. With several months of practice under your belt, you know which floorboard to step over because it squeaks, which door slams the easiest

It’s not a conscious decision you make, to cook breakfast for her. Maybe it’s a thing your subconscious is doing for you, to prove to her that you’re not completely useless. Having been single for a while now, you had to learn how to cook. It was either that or eat tasteless microwave meals all the time.

You prowl the fridge. She’s gone shopping recently – there’s an unopened packet of bacon and a fresh carton of eggs. She even cleared out the thing that’s been living uninvited in what used to be last month’s meatloaf.

Slice up the bacon, break the eggs into a bowl and whisk them. The whole process takes about fifteen minutes. The coffee machine whirs into life as you absently flick the switch. It’s a comforting process that takes your mind away from the inevitable questions.
Finally ready, you slide the lot onto a tray and take it into the bedroom. She’s awake, and reading one of her romance novels. She smiles so brightly, it's hard not to go all dramatic over it.

‘Nice look.’

You realize that you’re wearing her pink flowery apron. What a way to make an impression. She laughs at the expression on your face, and looks at the tray, sniffs it and grins again.

‘Thanks, hon. I… didn’t sleep the best last night, and I have a big day ahead of me.’

You knew that. She always has big days. You give her the tray, and kiss her as you get up. You have some articles to type up. Another thing to keep your mind occupied. Yesterday morning’s paper is sitting on the bench, the headline screaming to be read. As usual.


The hell they know.