Promised (One Night 1)

I huff, flaming red instantly. ‘Gregory!’

‘I’m sorry!’ He starts adjusting his groin, prompting me to swing around to escape the view, which subsequently prompts me to stagger in the stupid heels. I hear Gregory gasp. ‘Livy!’

‘Shit!’ I go over on my ankle, losing a shoe, then proceed to hop around like a demented kangaroo. ‘Shit, that hurt!’

‘Oh God!’ Gregory is clearly in pieces behind me, the bastard. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No!’ I snap, kicking the other shoe off. ‘I’m not wearing them!’

‘Oh, don’t be like that. I’ll control myself.’

‘You’re bloody g*y!’ I yell, picking up a shoe and waving it around above my head. ‘I can’t walk in these.’

‘You’ve hardly tried!’

‘You put them on and tell me how easy it is.’ I chuck the shoe at him, and he laughs as he catches it.

‘Livy, that would make me a drag queen.’

‘Be a drag queen, then!’

Gregory loses control altogether and collapses on my bed in a helpless fit of laughter. ‘You’re making me cry!’

‘Bastard,’ I spit, yanking the dress off. ‘Where are my Converse?’

‘You can’t.’ He dives up, immediately noticing that the dress has been ditched, as well as the shoes. ‘Oh no! You looked fabulous.’ His eyes run down my semi-nakedness.

‘Yes, but I couldn’t walk,’ I mutter, stomping over to my wardrobe. This irritation is a good enough reason alone to maintain my boring lifestyle. I’ve been bombarded with new situations recently, and for the most part I’ve mainly felt angry, pissed off, or useless throughout. Why the hell am I doing this to myself?

I viciously yank down a cream layered dress and shove it on, quickly realising that my underwear is black and you can see the damn stuff through the material, so I set about removing everything all over again, telling Gregory to stick his face in the pillow so I can do it all quickly and comfortably. When I’m done, I have my white cotton underwear back on, my cream dress in place, my denim jacket over the top, and my navy Converse gracing my feet. I feel so much better.

‘Ready,’ I declare, quickly brushing over my cheeks with some blusher and putting a pink sheen on my lips.

‘What a waste of a shopping trip,’ Gregory mutters, removing himself from my bed and strolling over. ‘You looked lovely.’

‘Don’t I now?’

‘Well, yes, you always look lovely, but you looked less of a walkover in the black number. It would’ve empowered you – given you confidence.’

‘I’m happy the way I am,’ I counter, wondering if that’s strictly true. I don’t even know any more. My head’s not been my own in recent weeks. It’s thinking things I never considered and making my body do things I definitely never considered.

‘I just want you to express yourself a little more, like you did just then.’ He grins at me as he fluffs my hair.

‘You want me to be mad?’ I ask, because that’s exactly how I feel. Moody. Irritable. Pressured.

‘No, I want some sass to surface. I know it’s there.’

‘Sass is dangerous.’ I brush him off and transfer my things from my satchel to a more suitable across-the-body bag. ‘Let’s go before I change my mind,’ I mutter, ignoring his grumbles of disapproval as I march out onto the landing.

I thank all of the Converse gods as I walk down the stairs in my stable flats, but soon stop smiling when I find Nan pacing restlessly at the bottom of them. George is moving out of her way each time she performs an about-turn, pinning himself against the wall of the hallway to avoid being run down.

‘Here she is!’ George says, clearly relieved that his body dodging will soon come to an end. ‘And doesn’t she look lovely?’

I halt on the bottom step and watch Nan give me an all-over assessment, then flick her eyes over my shoulders, homing straight in on Gregory. ‘You said heels,’ she says in disbelief. ‘You said a lovely black dress and heels to match.’

‘I tried,’ Gregory mumbles grumpily behind me, and I swing around to fire an accusing glare at him. He meets my accusing glare with his own. ‘You try avoiding a Nan-style interrogation.’

I sigh my frustration and take the last step, pushing my way past my grandmother, keen to escape all of the bloody fuss. ‘Bye.’

‘Have fun!’ Nan calls. ‘Is this one really better than that Miller?’ I hear her ask quietly.

‘Much!’ Gregory assures her confidently. It just makes me walk faster. How the hell does he know? He’s not met either of them.

‘See,’ George laughs. ‘Now, where’s my pineapple upside-down cake?’

I march onward, grateful for my flats and looking forward to my date because it gets me out of the house and away from Nan, an uncharitable thought, but Lord, give me strength! A quiet life was an easy life, kind of, except for the odd grumble about my reclusiveness. Now it’s a constant stream of questions and brain-picking. It’s painful.

‘Livy!’ Gregory catches up to me as I reach the end of the road. ‘You look dead cute.’

‘You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I feel fine, no thanks to you.’

‘You’re grumpy today.’

‘No thanks to you.’ I let out a girly squeal as I’m hoofed from the pavement. ‘Will you pack it in!’

‘Sass,’ he says simply. ‘You can have it without being a bitch, you know.’