Page 11

Chapter 11

Hudson

I need to see her.

I need to see with my own eyes that she’s okay.

Flagging down the first black cab I see, I crawl into the backseat and reel off the address Giselle gave me, to the driver. He nods and then pulls away from the curb with less than perfect finesse whilst I snap my seatbelt over my chest.

Now that I’ve heard her sweet voice, the knot of worry sitting low in my stomach has loosened a little, making space for a fiery anger. I know she was upset at something I said, although what exactly I don’t know, but still, there wasn’t any reason for Giselle to walk out into the night like that without another word to me.

I hate that the very reason I was worried is because I’ve watched the news, I’ve seen the statics, I’ve heard the first-hand accounts from my very own mother, and I know the sick things that depraved men do to women in the dark cover of night. It’s disgusting and I hate it. It makes me sick to my stomach, wretchedly angry and ashamed of my own gender.

After she’d left, my mind wouldn’t stop bringing up images of Giselle in danger, being leered on and cornered. Followed even.

Leaving the pub behind, I began to walk with no particular destination in sight.

Well, my most desired destination was Giselle’s apartment, but as I had no fucking clue where that was…

With cold, shaky hands I hit call on Rex’s number, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty when he answered with a groggy voice that told me I’d woken him up.

“Do you have Giselle’s number, mate?”

It was a sign of how tired he was, or maybe even still half asleep, because he didn’t ask me why on earth I’d need Giselle’s number, but rather yawned audibly and then muttered, “Nah, I don’t.”

“Rosie’s?”

“Yeah.” He smacked his lips, and I heard the low questioning tone of a woman’s voice in the background. “I’ll send it to you.”

I wasn’t even sure the phone number Rex text me a minute after we’d put the phone down on each other would be correct. How could it be when he wasn’t awake enough to form proper sentences, let alone type out eleven digits?

But sure enough the number he’d given me connected and, thank fuck someone was on my side, the blue ticks beside the message I sent to Rosie, told me that she was still wide awake enough to read it and reply.

She sent me through another set of eleven digits, although these ones were the only ones that made my heart race and my stomach flip while the dial tone rang and rang and—

The sound of Giselle’s voice as she picked up the phone still rings in my ears, as the driver of the cab I’m sitting in goes over a speed bump without any real care for his suspension.

I fumble through social media app after social media app in an attempt to make the drive pass by quicker, but nothing holds my attention, every highly edited post I see only fuelling my irritation until I close out of the apps with a huff.

When the driver eventually pulls up to the curb and rattles off the amount I owe him, I toss him the note through the partition, and hurriedly step out with a promise for him to keep the change. Nothing else really matters except getting to Giselle as quickly as possible so I can see with my own eyes that she’s fine.

Standing in front of the glass door to her apartment block, I jamb my thumb into the square button where somebody has hastily written her apartment number on a tiny bit of paper which, by the looks of it, has had to be taped back up, numerous times.

I hear the tinny sound of the buzzer, like an angry bumblebee, and then the click of the receiver on the other end. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Will you let me up, please?”

Giselle doesn’t reply, although I can hear her breathing through the receiver and for a heartbeat I wonder if she’s going to turn me away before the line disconnects and the door to her apartment block flashes green with entry.

Once inside, I take the stairs two at a time. I could take the lift to the fifth floor, but those bastards make me feel claustrophobic, so I sprint up the fire exit staircase instead; a mixture of adrenaline, anger and worry nipping at my heels.

Tucking my fingers into a fist, I rap twice in quick succession on Giselle’s door, waiting, waiting, waiting—

The door swings open, Giselle appearing on the other side and the sliver of sanity I’d been holding onto disappears. I push inside, closing the door behind me with the bat of my palm, twisting the lock without even needing to look and then I’m on her, gripping the sides of her waist so I can feel her – solid and unharmed beneath my fingers.

“You scared me shitless,” I breathe.

Those sky-blue eyes of hers bounce across my face. “I’m sorry, Hudson. I didn’t mean to make you worry, I just…”

“Don’t ever do that again, Giselle.”

Her brow furrows, lips becoming bunched. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“It’s a fucking good job I’m not,” I say, “because otherwise I’d be taking you over my knee right now until you learn your lesson.”

Giselle scoffs, but I don’t miss the way her pupil dilates, eating up her brightly coloured iris.

“Why?” I squeeze her hips through her leggings. “Why did you leave like that? What the fuck happened?”

“Nothing.” Giselle’s fingertips come to rest on mine, pausing there for a heartbeat before she physically peels my hands from her body and steps back, putting space between us. Space that I hate. “It was nothing, Hudson.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” I argue. “You were upset at something. Just tell me what it was.”

“It doesn’t matter. Seriously, Hudson, I’m fine. It was nothing, okay?”

The frustration building inside of me raises its ugly head; I don’t believe Giselle for a second.

“You’re making this more complicated than it has to be, Gee.” I clench my jaw, feeling it tick. “Just tell me what I said that upset you.”

But whatever it is, the walls Giselle has built around herself hold firm. Her chest rises unsteadily, arms coming to cross over her body.

“If you’ve come to just try and pick me apart, Hudson, then you can leave.”

Her words are soft, but no less hard – still packing a punch to my gut.

I’m so angry with her, with the entire situation. If she’d just tell me what it is that I said, what it is that upset her, then we could just move past it, but there’s no amount of prodding tonight that is going to get Giselle to break apart and spill her guts to me.

Not that I’m willing to do so either and I don’t care if I sound hypocritical.

Shaking my head, I let the words roll off my tongue. “I don’t want to pick you apart, Giselle, that’s not why I came here.”

“Then why did you?”

Her question hangs above us; suspended in the air.

“Because…” I lick my lips. “Because I was worried something had happened to you. Because I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay. Because somewhere along the way, from the first day we laid eyes on each other, to the playful insults we trade back and forth, I’ve come to care for you, Giselle.”

“I’ve come to care for you too,” she all but whispers. “But…”

My stomach flips unpleasantly. “But what?”

“Hudson, you don’t date, you—”

“How do you know I don’t date?”

I don’t, or should I say I haven’t in a couple of years. Not to date in hopes of getting into a relationship at least. The last few dates I’ve been on have simply been a common courtesy call before I sleep with the girl – a dinner here, drinks there, maybe even a trip to the cinema if I’m feeling particularly comfortable.

But date to get into a relationship?

Why would I need to do that when I can have everything a relationship has – the girl, the sex, the… whatever else a relationship contains – but without the label? Without the pressure and the worry that loving somebody comes with.

I know how to love, of course I do. I’m grateful I’ve been showered with it since I was born, and I love my family to death.

But growing feelings for someone outside of that, someone who isn’t my family… wanting that person, needing them, falling in love with them… that sounds terrifying.

Especially when I know how all too soon that person can be ripped away from you.

When my mum developed breast cancer and began the difficult fight for her life, I saw, even as a small boy, how much it effected my dad. He had to watch the woman he loved, the woman he’d promised to cherish and uphold and look after in sickness and health, deteriorate rapidly in front of his very eyes. In front of all of our eyes.

He had to be away from her for months while she stayed in hospital, hooked up to loudly beeping machines and IV drips, all while trying to keep our life at home as normal as possible.

It wasn’t just Mum who aged as she battled, but my dad too. The stress and worry and sheer pain at the idea of being ripped apart from one another so cruelly, had taken its toll on both of them.

I think it was then, at ten-years old, that I first realised how resilient a human being can be, how much they can withstand and take without being knocked down.

But also, how much loving somebody can be the very thing that makes a human easy to break.

Giselle is still staring at me as her words settle into my bones. She’s not incorrect with her assumption, but is there really anything wrong with my choice to not date?

Who wouldn’t want to protect themselves from potential heartbreak? It’s only natural.

I don’t see why Giselle and I can’t have a good time together without the need of making things more complicated?

“Hudson, you could have had your pick of any of those women at the pub tonight. Why aren’t you back at one of their apartments instead?”

“Because I don’t want any of them,” I say without taking my eyes off of her. It’s the truth. I don’t want to look at other women, I don’t want anybody else. I haven’t fucking slept with anybody since that redhead a couple of weeks ago, because every time I even contemplate the idea my cock seems to rebel. “I want you , Giselle.”

She shakes her head, her pin straight sheet of black hair bouncing over her shoulders. “You can’t have me, Hudson.”

“Why not?” I argue, feeling my stomach roll at her words. I’m pretty sure she’s attracted to me too, so why is she fucking fighting it? “I’ve told you to ask anything you want to know about me, Giselle. I’ll tell you, right here, right now. I’ll call my mum and you can run a background check on me if you want. Giselle—”

“Because not everything is always as black and white as that!”

“It can be if you want it to be. Not everything has be complicated!”

Giselle narrows her eyes at me as our conversation grows more heated once more. “Sleeping with someone isn’t as simple for me as it is for you, Hudson.”

Her comment doesn’t sting. Mainly because she’s telling the truth; I do find no strings attached sex to be easy.

But it’s Giselle’s declaration that rings in my ears like a drum.

Taking a step forward, I dig my hands into the back of her sofa to avoid grabbing what I really want; her. “I’m sorry, Gee. Really. I didn’t come here to argue with you or—”

Giselle’s shoulders slump at my apology, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t want to argue either. It makes my skin crawl.”

I nod, swallowing thickly. “I’ll go if you want…”

Peering over her shoulder, Giselle looks out at her apartment windows; the vast sprawl of London town spread out beyond. Although, I’m not sure how much she can really see. It’s so dark outside now that her windows reflect the golden glare coming from inside her apartment, highlighting her pretty silhouette and the empty coffee cup, stained with a lipstick ring, sitting on her coffee table, sans coaster.

When her head swings back around, it’s to settle her gaze one me once more. “How long would it take for you to get back to your apartment?”

I shrug my broad shoulders. “Twenty minutes or so.”

Top teeth sinking into her plush bottom lip, Giselle nods slowly. My thumb itches to reach over and pull her bottom lip free, but I tuck my thumb into my palm instead, lest she fucking bite it off. Honestly, after the way we’ve been shouting at each other tonight, I wouldn’t put it past her.

“You can stay here.”

I drag my focus from her lips.

“What?”

“You may as well stay the night. Save you having to get a taxi home.” She drops her arms and walks past me, brushing my torso with her hand. “I’ve got some spare sheets and a pillow. I’ll make the sofa up for you.”

That doesn’t actually sound like a half bad idea. It would save me the cash and the agonising, most likely cold, ride back along the streets of London.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

She returns with an armful of white sheets, unfolding one and spreading it out over her sofa. It won’t be the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had, but I’m not going to be picky.

“Bathroom is down the hall. I don’t have any spare clothes, but—”

“I’ll be fine.” I find myself smiling softly at her. “Thanks, Gee.”

“You’re welcome.” Turning on the heel of her foot, I watch as Giselle double checks the lock on her apartment door and then pads down the hallway to her bedroom.

I hear the click of her door opening and then—

“Goodnight, Hudson.”