The kitchen is a mess.

I am baking us cupcakes. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting – probably my all time favourite. Maybe it’s the name.

I am covered in ingredients, I smell of vanilla.

I frown when the butter does not mix smoothly with the rest, and I know I have not let it sit out for long enough.

You are quick, and I am distracted. It is a moment before I realise you have planted a kiss on my cheek.

I spin on my heels to look for you. You are no where to be found.

I press my fingers to the spot your lips touched my skin. I blush and hide a smile. I look for you again.

I leave a trail of cupcakes for you, like breadcrumbs for a sparrow, hoping you’ll return on the breeze.

This is how it will happen:

He will approach her. He will have had too much to drink by accident.

She will notice this in the way he pronounces his ‘s’s when he talks. She will assume he doesn’t mean a word he’s saying.

She will feel sad the only time he has spoken to her, he has been drunk. She will think this means he doesn’t notice her when he’s sober. This will make her want to go home.

He will join her on the front steps. He will steal glances of her from the corner of his eyes. She will smile politely.

He will scoot a little closer to her, she will pretend not to notice – then slightly lean away.

He will say something stupid about the weather lately. He will tap his feet to a rhythm playing in his veins – her.

He will wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans, and pray she doesn’t see.

She will feel uncomfortable. She will hate how he is filled with liquid courage. She will imagine him being sick later, and forgetting this ever happened.

He will make a move to kiss her. She will turn away.

She will sigh. He will frown.

He will laugh it off. She will hug herself a little tighter.

He will get up awkwardly and offer to walk her home. She will shake her head and not look him in the eye.

It will all be a series of misunderstandings. It will be over before it has even begun.

My eyes close slowly, and I snap them open again quickly once I realise – but she has noticed.

“You’re falling asleep.” She says with a hint of a smirk.

“No I’m not,” I don’t look at her. That’s always my tell. I forget she knows these things about me.

We continue watching the screen, my eyelids feel like they weigh a tonne.

I know she’s looking at me, keeping a laugh on the edges of her lips.

“Just go to sleep, you’re tired.” She says with such affection. She is so genuine. That’s how I feel about her. So honest, so pure.

“But, I want to stay awake, here, with you.” I get worried.

She studies me; eyes, nose, ears, hair, chin. Tilting her head softly to the side she gives a little sigh.

“We never have enough time. We waste it on silly things.” I’m so tired I let this get to me.

“It’s never silly.” She says. Always with such reassuring knowledge. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She doesn’t understand. Tomorrow’s not today. Later isn’t now.

My eyelids flutter again; the hardest thing is to fight sleep when you are warm and content.

“Just a nap.” I clarify. She nods.

But when I wake up, she’s gone. And my bones ache with the absence of her.

She takes the keys out of the ignition and looks through the windscreen up to the balcony.

She sits for just over an hour. Someone is playing music from the apartment downstairs, but it is muffled and she can’t make out the words.

She winds down the window and lets a breeze float through. She closes her eyes.

After a deep chest rattling breath in and out again, her shaky fingers move to the door handle.

She watches each step up to the first floor, her feet drag one by one, she grips the banister with all the strength she has left.

She traces the numbers on the door. 143. 14/3. She almost laughs.

The base of her clenched fist hits the door. Once. Twice.

A girl answers, leaning on the handle, so unassumingly.

He’s asleep in the bed. She can make out the scar on his shoulder blade from where she stands.

She is weak, pathetic. She is falling apart.

“Please give him back to me.” She whispers. Her heart cracks right through the middle.

The girl stands there. The girl just fucking stands there.

He stirs and she backs away, her spine hits the cold hard steel of the balcony.

The girl closes the door.

143.

She walks to the car, the breeze blows her hair over her shoulders.

She can still smell him. He is on her, in her, always with her.

She tied herself to him; fastened her future to his. She bound those knots so securely, so deeply. But as quick as someone can tug on the end of shoelace – they are unraveled now.

People talk a lot about liars – but the truth is so apparent.

It’s in the way their hands move.

It’s in the way the calm falls over them.

It’s in the way their eyes light up.

It’s in the way they lean towards you with that Cheshire grin.

It’s there in a way they can’t contain it; even if they tried.