The Debt & the Doormat by Laura Barnard Page B

struggling to think clearly, to find some way to explain.  As I search for the right words I can see him getting impatient, frustrated by my silence.  He starts to scowl.
    ‘I...I can't really tell you.’
    He slams his hand down hard on the kitchen counter, making me jump, his brown eyes growing sharp.  What is his problem?
    ‘Chill out, ok.’  I hold my hands up to him defensively, terrified that I’m living with a psychopath. 
    I discreetly start searching the kitchen for a weapon.  The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me to be on guard, that this man cannot be trusted.  But then his expression quickly changes to one of worry.
    ‘Shit.  What happened to your hands?’ he asks in a softer voice.  He comes forward and grabs my wrists, bringing them closer to him to inspect. 
    ‘Oh, I got mugged.’  He really is quite rough.  Doesn’t he realise I’m a girl?
    ‘You got mugged?  Where?’  His eyes are wide with alarm.
    ‘At Pearl Cross.  I didn’t really notice until I got back up.  Jazz tried to run after him.’
    ‘Jesus, what the hell were you both doing there?  It’s the end of the world.’
    ‘I know.  I found out the hard way.’  I pull my hands away and attempt a laugh to lighten the mood.  It doesn’t seem to work.
    He stares back at me, analysing, searching, and attempting to find out what's wrong with me.  
    ‘God, you really do have a way of getting yourself into trouble don't you.’ he says, more as a statement than a question.
    ‘Well I’m very sorry that I’m such a bother to you.  I don't know why you care anyway.  I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself.’
    He snorts.  ‘Yeah looks like it.’
    My lip curls up in anger. 
    ‘Why don't you just fuck off and mind your own business.  I don't need someone playing older brother to me; I have three of my own thanks.’
    ‘Well fine.  If you wanna be a bitch about it then I won’t bother next time.’
    ‘Fine!’ I snarl. 
    ‘Fine!’ he shouts. 
    My fists clench and I turn on my heel stomping off to bed, ignoring my hungry, growling stomach.
    *                             *                            *
     
     
    Ryan sneaks into my bedroom, a regretful pained expression on his face.
    ‘Poppy, I’m sorry.’
    I look up to him and our eyes lock.  He looks at my face and moves to sit on the bed, close enough for me to hear his breath.  He takes my face in his hands and pushes his warm lips against mine.  I melt, pushing back the covers to invite him in.  He climbs in, his lips not moving from mine.  He reaches under my night shirt, searching hungrily for my breasts.  I begin to unbutton his shirt, feeling his toned stomach as my hand reaches to undo his belt. 

Chapter 7
     
    I wake up from the dream trembling.  What on earth was that all about?  I suppose I could blame it on that crazy day, but it doesn’t stop the disturbed thoughts running through my head, again and again.  I get up, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead and check my watch.  5.30 Am. Well, at least I have a few more hours sleep before I have to face the day.  I just hope I can dream about something else.  I throw the duvet over my head and breathe in Jazz’s familiar floral perfume. 
    ‘Poppy?’
    I must be losing my mind.  Now I’m hearing voices.  I keep my head under the duvet, half scared that it's a ghost Jazz forgot to mention.  Maybe that's why she was so eager to swap homes.  This room is haunted by an old woman who likes to give you disturbed dreams and pester you at half five in the morning.
    ‘Poppy?  It’s me, Izzy,’ she whispers.
    I throw the duvet back in disbelief.  She’s leaning over me dressed in pink jogging bottoms and a sports bra.  She can't seriously want to grab breakfast at 5.30 in the morning.  I mean, is she crazy?
    ‘Izzy – what the?  I mean...what is it?’ I ask, irritation showing in my voice.
    ‘You said