I take my time clearing up the kitchen simply to occupy myself a little longer, but once the counter is clear, I realise that maybe I need to try and prise whatever it is that I have done to annoy Taylor out of him. I tiptoe down the hallway, trying to work up the courage to ask the questions I have spent all day trying to avoid, but when I finally stand in the doorway, I hear him arguing over the phone. I can’t make out what he is saying as his tone is hushed, but the look on his face and the rigidity in his shoulders tell me everything. Suddenly Taylor looks over and notices me. He stalks towards me, still talking into the phone, but before I can do or say anything, he shuts the door in my face firmly.
I bite my lip hard, trying to stifle the tears from forming, until I start to taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I flee back down the corridor until I reach the safety of the bedroom, where I feel free to break down. My sobs are loud, and I try to stifle the noise by shutting myself in the bathroom, sinking to the floor in the far corner. The minutes pass slowly as I struggle to get my emotions under control.
I flinch when I hear the bedroom door open and hastily try to wipe away my tears, not wanting Taylor to realise that I have been crying. I hear him moving around in the bedroom softly, and then the door to the bathroom swings open. He doesn’t see me for a moment and something like panic crosses his face, making my stomach flip. When his eyes finally land on me, he crosses the room in a couple of strides before pulling me to my feet wordlessly.
His mouth is on mine, crushing my lips before I have a chance to say anything. Taylor’s hands grip my body as he guides us both back to the bedroom, his kiss deepening as his tongue finds its way into my mouth. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, I find myself on my back, my clothes being stripped off me and Taylor’s hand between my legs. I pull my head away, trying to look into Taylor’s eyes, but he seems to sense what I am trying to do and puts his head down, taking a nipple in his mouth.
There is urgency in his movements, his hands alternating between rubbing my breasts and my clit. Without warning, or even time to really warm me up, I hear the rip of foil moments before he slides into me with force. I gasp at the unexpected fullness; he is completely solid and is stretching me open almost painfully. Only then does Taylor make eye contact, and I almost wish he hadn’t.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and all I see is desolation and anguish. I reach up my hand to touch his face, to try and offer some comfort, but he snatches it away and pins it, along with my other hand, above my head. He starts moving in me rapidly, and with force, causing my core to tighten around him as my orgasm builds. Taylor is no longer avoiding my eyes, and instead, his stare bores through me with a coldness I have never seen there before. I am all sensation and feeling, my body betraying me, when I know in the back of my mind this is all wrong, yet I can’t do anything to stop myself from being swept along.
I hear Taylor grunt as he releases himself inside of me, and that noise is all it takes for me to come apart. We catch our breaths for a few moments before Taylor slides out of me slowly, a look of sadness crossing his eyes before he shuts down completely, his expression becoming guarded and cold once again. He walks away to dispose of the condom, and I roll onto my side away from him, trying to hide my devastation at what just happened. I wait and I wait, but he does not return, and when I roll back, I notice that the door to the bedroom, rather than the bathroom, is open.
It is clear that Taylor is not coming back to bed. As this realisation dawns, the emotions come bubbling back to the surface, and I bury my head in the pillow and sob hard. It feels like I cry like this for hours, but eventually I wear myself out, and I am grateful when the darkness eventually claims me.
The Eighteenth
I wake up alone, which is not unusual, but the feeling of dread that I fell asleep with has only intensified after a restless night of vivid dreams. The apartment feels empty, almost musty, in Taylor’s absence, and there is something else I just can’t pin down. A sadness that seems to have seeped into the walls. My phone tells me that eight o’clock is fast approaching, and I need to get my butt out of bed soon or I am going to be late for work.
My head is filled with the memories of Genevieve’s party and my confrontation with Richard, which I have yet to tell Taylor about. I sigh out loud and promise myself that I will bring it up with Taylor as soon as I see him; if I don’t tell him, I can’t think what the consequences will be.
Despite the warmth of the apartment, I feel chilled to the bone and find myself dressing accordingly, wrapping up in some dark-grey cord skinny jeans and a black cashmere cowl neck jumper over a grey silk long-sleeve T-shirt. The choice of colours reflects my mood, I think wryly to myself once I have pulled on my long black boots.
I wander into the kitchen, hoping to see Taylor, but as expected, he is not there. Instead, I find my house keys next to the kettle, the absence of a note adding to my general unease. Abandoning my quest for caffeine, I grab up my keys and bag, and head downstairs to the office, where I settle behind my desk and open up my email. I hesitate a second, trying to find the right words in my head as I try to compose an email to Taylor. I dismiss each idea as it comes into my mind, and after several minutes I close down the window with a loud sigh of frustration. I will just have to talk to him face-to-face instead.
The morning passes quickly as I bury myself in an urgent report. Eddy is noticeably absent, despite his coat casually flung across his chair and his laptop bag shoved next to his desk, and I can’t help but wonder where he is. I am just about to get up and grab a coffee from the kitchen when my phone rings and Taylor’s assistant summons me to his office, her normally haughty voice seemingly softer than usual. My stomach is filled with butterflies and my instinct is to run, but instead I find myself walking rather mechanically across the office until I reach the lift. I have to force myself to breathe, in and out, in and out, until some of the dizziness starts to subside. Somehow I knew yesterday’s events were going to lead to a disaster; just the scale was unknown.
As I walk into Taylor’s office, I notice Eddy sitting awkwardly in a chair, as well as Janice from Human Resources, who keeps her head down. One glance in Taylor’s direction tells me nothing good will be coming out of this meeting. His body language is rigid, and his normally kind eyes are almost black and guarded. I take a deep breath and sit down in the chair he indicates and wait for him to start talking.
“Good morning, Abigail. Thank you for joining us.” Taylor’s voice is soft but has a harshness to it that makes me flinch.
“Um, sure?” My answer is a question as I can’t seem to find the words to say anything else.
“I hope you don’t mind having Eddy and Janice in here”—I nod to confirm my consent—“but as this is a resource issue, I felt the need for them to be involved.”
Resource issue. What the hell? My head is spinning as I try to think of something I may have done that warrants HR and my line manager in here.
Taylor’s eyes soften for a second as he notes my confusion, but then instantly brings his guard up again as he continues, “Due to a change in business interests, I am looking to restructure the analytical department, and as such your role is no longer relevant to the business. Therefore, it is necessary for Hudson to let you go as we no longer have a role for you to fulfil.”
I stare at Taylor in shock. What the fuck? I am being fired. As if reading my thoughts, something Taylor is so adept at, he breaks in, his voice taking on a gentler tone. “Abby, you are not being fired. You have done nothing wrong, and we have been very pleased with your progress to date. It is simply that the business no longer has a requirement for your skills, and as such we are making your role redundant.”
I try to absorb Taylor’s words, but all I hear are skills, redundant and role. Okay, I know this wasn’t my ultimate dream job, but I had been over the moon to get the role at Hudson and be part of Eddy’s team. I glance over at him and he avoids my eyes, looking pale.
“Jan
ice here will complete an exit interview after we finish and explain your redundancy package…”
I interrupt Taylor, my voice shaking. “So can I confirm this is effective immediately?”
“Yes.”
I get to my feet, trying to hide my shaking hands. “Okay, I understand.” I turn to Eddy, knowing that none of this is his fault, and despite my own turmoil, I want to reassure him. “Thanks for everything, Eddy; it has been lovely being part of the team. I have really learnt so much.” He responds with a shaky smile.
“Thanks for the opportunity, Taylor.” I turn to look him straight in the eye, trying to hide the hurt that I am sure is completely evident on my face by plastering on a fake smile. “If you don’t mind, I am going to leave now, and Janice can contact me via post.” With as much grace as I can muster, I sweep from the room, my need to escape overwhelming me.
I make it as far as the ladies’ toilets before I am overcome by my emotions. I lock myself in a stall and let the tears course down, doing my best to remain silent. After a few minutes I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps approach as I hold my breath, hoping no one will notice me in here.
“Abby, I know you are in here,” Taylor’s voice rings out, and I shrink back, knowing that talking to Taylor now is the last thing I need. “Abby, please…talk to me…” His voice, while not pleading, is not as harsh as it was in the meeting.
“What do you want, Taylor?” I can’t help the bitterness that oozes out. “You couldn’t have given me some warning about this, like—I don’t know—last night? I can’t help but think there is more going on than simply a change in company direction.”
Taylor lets out a sigh, and I hold my breath as I wait for his response. When he finally speaks, his voice is stiff, as if he is trying to hold back. “Look, Abby, all this, you and me, it is clear to me now that it is not going to work. It is just too…difficult.” He sighs, and I imagine that he is running his hands through his hair as he does when he is agitated. I stay silent, and after a couple of seconds he continues. “Look, just take the redundancy package, okay?”
My heart feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. It’s not broken; it’s shattered. Taylor has given up on us. I always knew I wasn’t good enough for him, and now I have been proved right. Gathering all my courage I rasp out, “Okay.” I have so many questions to ask, but they all stick like a lump in my throat. The thought of now having to walk out back to my desk is more than I can bear, but I have no choice. My bag with my keys and phone is still there.
Once again Taylor reads my mind and comes to stand in front of the door. My bag and coat, which has appeared from the apartment, is pushed underneath the stall door. “Here is your stuff, Abby. Look, I am sorry about how it has come to this.” I don’t really understand what he means, but at this point my emotional pain is all-consuming, and I just want Taylor to leave. When I don’t say anything else, he pads softly out, and all I am left with is the sound of the door closing softly behind him.
I am left gasping for air, panic consuming me, and I have to fight to maintain a modicum of sanity. When I am convinced that I am finally alone, I leave the safety of my stall and peer at myself in the mirror, wondering how in a few short weeks my life has come to this. My eyes are red-rimmed and my nose is streaming, blotches covering my face. I swipe angrily at my face, but the tears fall in abandon. Eventually I turn the cold tap on and splash my face, trying to stem the tide.
The cold water shocks my system, and after a few minutes, while my emotions are still in turmoil, my face starts to return to a normal colour. I am not confident enough to walk out the front door, but at least the ladies’ toilets are opposite the lifts, and I can use Taylor’s private exit to slink out. Heaven knows what I am going to say to Michelle when she realises I have been made redundant. I start to wonder, in a rather abstract way, what Eddy will be telling people about me leaving.
The wind whips my hair as I exit the garage, and I pull my coat tighter around me. Today is not the day for struggling with London’s public transport system, so I stick out my hand, and as luck would have it, a taxi pulls over immediately. The ride is quiet, and I am thankful for having a driver who is not asking me ten million questions, a rarity for London. When he finally deposits me outside my flat, my heart starts to speed up and my palms start to sweat, making me fumble with my keys. I check over my shoulder several times before finally unlocking the outer door and walking through, slamming it quickly behind me.
Several minutes later I am standing outside my own flat door, steeling myself to walk through. The last time I had been in there, Taylor and I had cleared the mess, and I had been left with very little of my worldly possessions untouched. The thought saddens me, and I find myself digging deep for some courage. With a gulp, I slowly push open the door and step into my tiny studio.
I gasp, taking in the sight of my flat transformed. Where I left my bare futon base now stands a double bed, made up with new linen, pillows and duvet. A lovely compact table and two chairs stand in the corner, complete with a vase bursting with bright gerbera. I turn to the kitchen and immediately notice the mixer Taylor gave me standing on the side. I can already guess that my cupboards are filled with everything he bought me on Saturday, and when I go to check them, I confirm what I already know.
A feeling of dread settles in my stomach as I walk across to my wardrobe. Opening the door, I find it stuffed with all the clothes that Taylor bought me, and when I look in the drawers, I find the underwear sets that I have been wearing, all freshly washed. Given that I have been with Taylor pretty much every minute of the day for the last week, I can only suppose that Mrs Harris is responsible for the transformation of the flat.
My phone rings, and I see Michelle’s name on the caller ID. Knowing that I am in no mood to talk to anyone, even my best friend, I send the call to voicemail before sinking onto the bed. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I am going to do. I look around at the walls, noticing some of my photos now put up in new frames, and a sense of unease grows until I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Nothing here is truly mine. Everything has been bought and paid for by Taylor.
This final thought sends me rushing to my tiny en-suite, where the bile rises up my throat and I find myself with my head in the toilet. When my stomach is finally empty and I finish dry-heaving, I slip down onto the tiles and put my head between my knees, trying to breathe slowly.
I don’t know how long I sit there contemplating the situation, but when I finally get to my feet, the flat is in twilight. Despite all the solutions I have contemplated, the only thing I know for sure is that I can’t stay here. Everything in the flat has been bought and paid for by Taylor, and it feels like being paid off for services rendered. I refuse to be the ‘gold-digging whore’ Taylor’s mother painted me to be.
I find my phone and with shaking fingers dial Mr Thompson. His secretary informs me in a nonplussed tone that he only has an appointment first thing, and I take it eagerly, hoping that perhaps this might be a solution to my current predicament.
I go back to the wardrobe and dig through the mounds of clothes until I find a few of my original bits and pieces that survived Richard’s intrusion. Pulling them out, I root around until I find a small holdall and fill it with my meagre collection of clothes. I toss in some toiletries and then add my laptop. I close the zip with a flourish, grateful for the five-minute distraction and then sink down onto the floor, the reality of my situation sinking in.
My boyfriend has effectively abandoned me as I am more hassle than it’s worth. My worldly goods have been destroyed by said boyfriend’s brother, and now I am effectively homeless, as there is no way I can stay in the flat now. And to top it off, my mother still isn’t speaking to me, so all in all, things feel quite hopeless.
I’ve always thought that that Bella chick in Twilight was a little overdramatic, but right now I would be more than happy to go find some woods to cry in. Maybe then some handsome wolf-man
would rescue me, I think to myself wryly, but hey, this is real life and there are no happy endings. Instead, I simply sit on the floor, tracking the moon’s progress across the picture window of my attic flat until, at last, the birds start to chirp.
The Nineteenth
I raise myself off the cold floor to find my limbs stiff and aching, mirroring the state of my heart. The sun is only just rising, so I make myself get in the shower in an attempt to soap away some of the tension in my shoulders. The warm water is soothing, and part of me wishes I could just stay in this tiny cubicle and forget the rest of the world. Eventually the water turns cold, and I jump out, drying myself briskly before pulling on an old faded pair of jeans, a bulky hooded sweatshirt and my trusty Converse trainers that seem to have made their way back. I look at the beautiful black cashmere coat that Taylor bought me but immediately snub it in favour of my duffel coat. It may be worn and old, but at least it was bought and paid for by me.
When I am finally ready to leave, I take a look around, knowing in my soul that this is the last time I will step foot in my flat. I admire the effort that Taylor, or rather, Mrs Harris, made in restoring my flat into a home, and under other circumstances I would have been delighted with the transformation, but now, with everything seemingly falling apart, all I feel is revulsion.
I make the familiar journey to the train station in somewhat of a trance, stopping only for a latte in my favourite coffee shop on the way. I keep my earbuds plugged in and my music blaring throughout the journey in a vain attempt to try and distract my thoughts from returning again and again to Taylor. As I recite the words to Three Days Grace’s ‘I Hate Everything About You’, a numbness starts to settle in my core, a welcome relief to the searing pain that has been tearing me apart. The final line ‘Why do I love you?’ haunts me because I could name a hundred things I love about Taylor, but right now all I want to do is hate him.
Book One: Thirty Days, Book 1 Page 15