You know those moments where everything slows, yourself included, and you feel like you might just have died and ended up in purgatory?

Well, this is one of those moments.

But I'm not dead.

I'm very much alive, just like Spencer, and Isaac, and the girl whose shirt is in the sink.

In a feeble attempt to cover up, she makes a grab for it and holds it tightly against her chest. She then turns her eyes, so blue and unassuming, towards me, at which point her shoulders sag, mimicking mine, and the realisation seems to hit.

"He's not single, is he?" she asks, her voice so much smoother than mine.

My lips part, but no sound escapes, so I settle for a quick shake of the head.

"Good to know."

She shoots him a withering glare. It's much more than I can muster, so I offer her a smile. It seems to take her by surprise, but she smiles too and squeezes my shoulder as she slips past and disappears downstairs, leaving me, Spencer and Isaac in a state of uncomfortable silence.

Isaac's next to leave. That is, he doesn't really go, but he's no longer in the bathroom. Instead, he takes up post on the landing. He flips the switch beside him and bathes the space in a soft orange glow that counteracts the harsh white light of the bathroom spotlights. I step into the amber hallway, leaving Spencer in the blinding bathroom, and lean against the bannister.

"I'm sorry," he says, any sense of apology ruined by his actions. "I don't know what came over me. It's like one minute I was looking for you, and the next I—"

"Was shoving your tongue down somebody else's throat?"

He rushes forward and reaches for my hand. I flinch; he takes it anyway. "It was a mistake," he says as he laces his fingers through mine. "A massive mistake."

"That's what you said the last time."

"Because it's the truth."

"And how many times am I supposed to let you make this mistake?" I ask, my voice straining in an attempt to sound strong. "How many times must I sit here and watch you pick yourself?"

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't be fighting for you," he says, entirely ignoring my words, my feelings, my everything.

"Well, thanks."

He smiles. It makes me sick to my stomach.

"But I can fight for myself."

I don't bother to wait for a reaction. Don't bother to wait for his feeble attempts at clawing me back into his sticky web. Nothing he says will change the fact that I can't do this anymore. Can't keep picking him over myself, for that was always the choice.

Not him or Isaac, but him or me. My happiness or his. For as long as Spencer got his own way, there was no such thing as our happiness.

Isaac stands up the moment I reach the landing. He steps aside, giving me the space I need, before following in my wake, the two of us leaving Spencer behind.

I think he says something. Spencer that is. It's probably wholly unnecessary, and almost ninety-nine point nine per cent lie, but it's out there. Thankfully, I don't have to listen to it. Not anymore.

I walk straight past the living room and head out the front door, fishing my phone out of my purse as the chilled air wraps around me like a cloak.

"Where are you going?" Isaac asks, still hot on my heels.

"Home."

"Do you need me to get Jess? Or Henry?"

"No, I'll be fine by myself."

I grab my earphones and stick them into my phone. Just as I'm about to pop them into my ears, Isaac makes a grab for my wrist and stops me.

"Let me come with you," he says as he takes a tentative step forward. "You don't know how you'll feel ten minutes from now, let alone in an hour."

"Maybe not, but I'll be fine."

"Please." His voice cracks, and he lets my wrist go as the tips of his ears redden, the offensively bright streetlights highlighting it further. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Nothing more, promise."

"This feels a little opportunistic," I whisper.

He looks panic-stricken for a second. Then I let out a croaking laugh, and he swats my arm.

I start walking and beckon for him to follow. "Come on," I say, a hint of laughter brightening my otherwise ruined voice. "If we don't leave soon, we run the risk of bumping into Hugh Hefner."

"Hugh Hefner...as in Spencer?"

"Who else?"

"You have the oddest sense of humour."

"At least I have one."

He clutches at his chest with one hand and steers me left with the other. "I'll let you have that one," he says. "Being as your hurt and all."

"It's just us. You can drop the gentleman act."

"Maybe I am a gentleman."

"There's no maybe about it."

He gulps, his adam's apple bobbing violently, and makes what seems to be a concerted effort to roll his eyes. For a moment, I consider teasing further, pushing until he bursts, but then the wind picks up, its assault harsher, and he offers me his jacket. As the denim wraps around me, I realise there's no maybe about it—he's a perfect gentleman.

Fuck.

He's a perfect gentleman, and I picked the one guy without a basic sensitivity chip over him. The one person who can cheat on me repeatedly but somehow convince me it's my fault, for that's how I feel. Not entirely, of course, but the guilt is trickling in with each passing second.

It's tart, like a particularly sour lemon. I want to wince and throw it away, but it nestles further until it becomes a part of me, eating away at any anger I had towards Spencer and turning me in on myself.

"Do you think it's my fault?" I ask abruptly as we turn onto Milton Street.

"Do I think what's your fault?"

"Spencer? Do you think it's my fault that he, you know?"

"Cheated?"

"Yeah," I whisper, turning away, suddenly ashamed that I even asked something so stupid.

"No," he says, my shame intensifying alongside his admission. "But." The shame lessens. "I get why you might think it is."

"I don't want to be the pathetic girl crying over her ex," I say, smiling weakly. "But can I be the pathetic girl crying over her shitty choices?"

"Either is valid."

"You always know what to say."

"Only with you."

"I highly doubt that," I snort. "You're definitely too slick for your own good. I saw you out there, flirting on the beach that day. You had those girls eating out of the palm of your hand."

"You were watching?"

"Of course. I was seething actually, but you know, game recognises game."

"You think you've got game?" he laughs.

"I got you didn't I?"

He clears his throat and nods. "I guess you did."

"See." I wink. "Game recognises game."

The conversation turns away from us and heads straight for the safer option of summer plans. It's probably for the best. I'm in no place to be flirting, least of all with Isaac. Then we reach the house, and I can't help but invite him in. Not to flirt, obviously, but suddenly, the thought of being alone with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company makes me want to vomit. Like physically retch.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he says as I stick my keys in the lock.

"Nothing's going to happen," I laugh, "I just do-don't want to be alone."

"Oh."

I glance up, my eyes latching onto his, and watch as they soften, rolling back slightly. "Fine," he says, offering me a hand. "But there's no way I'm keeping you company in there."

"Why not?" I turn to the house.

"Because." His breath fans across my cheek. "I don't want to be opportunistic."

He jumps back before I turn to face him, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth, and he offers me his hand again. "What do you say?"

"If it involves ice cream, you know I'm in."

"Oh, it involves ice cream," he promises.

Soon enough, we find ourselves back on Milton Street. Empty stretches of pavement flank the recently resurfaced road, a glossy black lamp post towering every fifty meters. It's kind of perfect, like a quaint British street come to life. Even the stupid café, with its reinforced yarn signage, adds to the illusion. Then we turn onto another road, and reality comes crashing down.

Wentworth Street is busier, partly because it houses the best local takeaways, but also because of the McDonalds. As per usual, the sprawling fast food restaurant is packed wall to wall with delivery drivers. We slip through the crowd and head for the row of self-service machines.

"Smarties or Oreo?" Isaac asks, his finger hovering over the grubby screen, made dirtier by the harsh glare of the cheap fluorescent lights.

"Is that even a question?"

"So you're still a Smarties girl?"

"Till death do us part."

"I'm an Oreo man myself," he admits as he waves his phone over the card reader.

"Blasphemous. If it's not Smarties, is it even worth it?"

"Oh, it's more than worth it."

We squeeze into a cramped corner behind an older couple whose wandering hand placement gets riskier and riskier by the minute. Thankfully, after one of them shoves their hand down the other's skirt, their number is called, saving us from the free show.

"Some people have zero shame," he mutters as they leave their food on an empty table and slip into the disabled toilet.

"Who are we to judge? A few days ago, I almost snogged Spencer on the tube to spite a nosey lady."

"You did not."

"Unfortunately, I did."

"What stopped you?"

"I'm no exhibitionist."

"Surely snogging isn't exhibitionism."

"It is the way Spencer and I do it." I pause, flashes of tonight replacing the dingy Mcdonalds. "Did it," I say, a tight smile lingering on my lips. "The way Spencer and I did it."

Thankfully, one of the staff comes to my rescue and calls our number. I shove Isaac forward and crumple against the wall the moment he reaches the collection station. My eyes flutter close, the darkness bringing clarity.

I can never take him back.

Spencer.

Never, ever, ever.

I deserve more.

So much more.

Don't I?

Isaac taps me on the shoulder and hands me a Mcflurry. We slip through the crowd and spill out onto the cracked pavement. I half expect him to turn back towards Milton Street, but he continues further on Wentworth Street. Walking away from not just my home, but his too.

"Where are we going?" I ask in between bites.

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere?"

"Well, if you still need company, then we still need to be out, but if you're ready to go home, lead the way."

"That's your solution?" I laugh, twirling my spoon through the speckled white cream.

"Do you have a better one?"

"No, I suppose not."

"So? What will it be?"

I want to stay out, desperately, selfishly. But one look at him, at the shiver that runs down his spine, his jacket suddenly heavy on my back, and I'm unselfish. "I'll be fine," I say, turning in the opposite direction.

"You sure?"

"Of course. I've got my ice cream. I don't need much more than that to be happy."

We walk back in silence, our pace slow and measured. Isaac slows further once we reach my street and comes to a complete stop outside the gate.

"You can come to the door," I tease from a safe distance, the gate swinging shut between us.

"I like my odds over here," he grins.

"I wouldn't mind if you were opportunistic."

"Now, but you don't know how you'll feel in ten minutes or an hour."

"I don't."

"But when you do know, remember I'm here."

I lick my lips and nod before giving him an awkward wave, a wave which I curse myself for the moment I turn away from him. Although I don't look back, don't check to see if he's staring, watching, I know he's there.

He's just the type of guy.

Who walks you home even though you've been a massive dick.

Who eats ice cream because you want to even though he's slowly freezing half to death.

Who refuses to be opportunistic, even when you offer yourself up on a silver platter.

Who silently promises that when you know, he'll be there too.

And yet, despite everything, when I close the door, I'm not marvelling at how amazing he is but wondering why Spencer is so awful. Why he couldn't be Isaac. Which is ridiculous because I have an Isaac. If only I wanted him the way I want Spencer.

***

Isaac's too sweet for his own good.

Do you think Lizzie and Spencer are truly finished?

Or is there another chapter in thier story?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx