Jane Lark - Just You

There was another whisper of a sigh from the other side of the block of desks. I saw Justin’s arm lift and his palm settled on top of his head as he stared at the screen, clearly trying to work out in his head how he was going to do something.

Justin was different from any guy in my world back home. The world that now seemed like a nightmare I’d dreamed up.

I’d arrived in New York alone; determined to do stuff my own way. I’d armored myself with the sort of confidence Justin had naturally. It had not come naturally to me. But I think I’d managed to convince everyone that I could do this––that I could make it by myself.

Yet beneath the person who’d conned everyone into believing I was thick-skinned, not-knockable and independent––was still that girl who had arrived in New York, alone and terrified of how she’d cope.

Justin was just Justin…

I was starting to really like him.

I looked down at my cell, my fingers itching.

I picked it up.

‘Stop sighing, you’re distracting me.’

I saw his hand fall from his head. Then there was a little amused grunt.

‘:-) I’m concentrating.’

‘Well concentrate quietly :D’

‘Ha. Ha.’

I had on the sort of smiley face I’d texted as I looked back at my own screen, and tried to get my brain to focus on work again, not on the guy across our block of desks.

I sat on the bed looking at Justin’s number on my cell for about the twentieth time. I was so bored––and lonely. I was fed up of my own company Crystal and Becky weren’t free and… and it was my birthday. Mum and Dad hadn’t rung but then they were in Europe.

They were in Europe every winter, and always too busy to remember the day they’d had me. But why did I care?

Because a part of me was still the child they had rejected for half my life, and then scarred irreparably when I’d discovered why.

My thumb hovered over the call icon again. Should I call him? What would I say if I did? I’d sent him a text first, after we’d swapped numbers, a picture of a stupid looking dressed up dog in the park that I’d seen as I walked home, just to break the ice. We’d sent a few texts since, all just conversational. It was a huge leap from that to calling and saying do you want to come over. But I needed some company.

I slid the call screen off my cell and selected messages, then typed: ‘I’m bored.’

I sat waiting for five minutes, holding my cell in my palm, staring at the thing. It vibrated.

‘Are you :-)’

Shit, what did I say? ‘I want someone to talk to, and no one’s free.’

‘Are you hoping I’ll be that person?’

I breathed out, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. Anyone would do today. I just wanted some company. ‘Maybe? I want someone to come over.’

‘Portia. Are you asking me over or what?’

My stupid stomach did a somersault. Did I care that much if he came? No. It wasn’t him. I just needed someone to spend my birthday with. ‘If you want to come’… I didn’t finish the sentence, I just sent it.

The reply came back immediately. ‘If you’re asking me’…

I didn’t reply; my courage failed.

A moment later there was another text. ‘Are you? Or aren’t you?’

I took a breath. My fingers were actually shaking as I answered. ‘I am. Will you? I’m lonely.’

‘Ha.Ha. That, I do not believe.’

My hand was still shaking and I didn’t know what to say.

At work they all thought I was a stuck-up bitch. I knew I sounded like that. I could hear myself… But… they didn’t know me.

My thumb lifted and hovered over the letters. I wanted to type, please come . But that sounded too needy. Sad and needy was the bit of me I hid from people. ‘Are you coming over or not? I’m not asking again. Do you want to watch films here?’

‘I’ll come. Yes to films. I remember where you live. I’ll be there in about an hour :D’

‘Okay.’ God, I couldn’t believe how much lighter the pressure on my shoulders was, or how much my heart lifted, when it had no business giving a shit whether Justin came over or not. But I was twenty-two today. I deserved some company.

He arrived almost an hour dead from our last text, and even though I was expecting him, when the buzzer rang, telling me he was down at the front door. I jumped and then my stomach quivered with anxiety. God, this was madness. But it was Justin’s company or no-one’s, and no-one’s was a far worse choice.

I had no idea where he’d come from––where he lived.

My fingers were stupidly shaking as I pressed the intercom. “Hi.”

“It’s Justin.”

I pressed the button to free the door. “Come on up, I’m in the attic apartment.”

Shit I didn’t even know if he knew that. Maybe he knew that? Maybe I’d let him up here New Year’s Eve.

My heart was going mad, I was so nervous––it pumped away with the pace of one of those crazy house music baselines like it was going to leap right out of my chest any moment.

I twisted the lock and went out. I’d rather be in control of this–– this time .

On the landing, that was decorated in a modern eclectic style of peeling paint and mold, I leaned over the banister, looking down. “Justin!” He was on about the third flight of stairs. He stopped and looked up.

“Portia! What’s up?”

I smiled. God, it felt so good to have someone here, I was such a sad case. My fingers gripped the wooden rail as he looked away and started jogging up the stairs again. I’d worked with him for a year, I’d never considered him anything other than a work colleague before a few days ago, but now my eyes seemed to be seeing something else.

He didn’t look any different though. His hair was cut dead short so he could hardly style it a new way, and he always had such a relaxed manner at work, he wasn’t going to be suddenly more laid back. Justin was Justin. But I liked what I saw. I mean, he didn’t have the obvious looks his friend Jason had had but he wasn’t at all bad looking and as he rounded the corner of the flight of stairs that would bring him up to my landing, his brown gaze caught mine. The guy had really nice eyes, like light shining through a glass of cola. He was kind of close to a young Will Smith when he smiled and definitely Jason Derulo standards when he didn’t.

I straightened up, smiling too. “Hey.”

“Hey. So this is your space then?”

He hadn’t been up here. That was good to know. “Yep. Come in.” He was carrying some shopping. I turned and went back inside. He held the carrier out when he came in.

“This is for you.” I held out the stuff I’d got in a store along the street, offering it to Portia. Arriving empty handed would have been lame. “There’s M&Ms, vodka, cola and popcorn. All we need for a few hours of Netflix.”

She looked uncertain but she took the carrier from my hand and checked inside it.

She was different outside the office. Her hair was down, and she was only wearing a sleeveless tee and a pair of skinny jeans that clung like a second skin. She looked like a different girl, a girl who might actually play a game of tonsil hockey in a pool with a guy about thirty steps below her on the social scale.

I knew she came from money but shit, you wouldn’t know it from the place she lived in.

She unpacked the stuff from the carrier and put it onto the tiny square of space she had beside a two plate burner.

I glanced about her room.

It was just a room, with a single bed, a few cupboards, the burner and a basin all-in. I’d researched her family in a bored moment when she started at the magazine and I knew her parents were loaded.