"What's your other story, then?" I asked Teddy.

We lay side by side on the bed, several inches of duvet between us, eyes shut as we exchanged sordid details of our pasts. After he'd told me about Lacey, I'd told him my tale of New York. He'd said Mike had missed out, and I'd wondered if he missed Lacey.

"My other story might not be juicy enough for you."

"I'll give it a shot."

With a chuckle, he shifted around on the mattress and fluffed up his pillow.

"So, I've mentioned before how I got into the music industry," he said.

"Mmhm. Sponging off a famous YouTuber."

"Right... Well, everything happened so quickly that I didn't have time to properly settle into my new lifestyle or the intense scrutiny that came with it. I began to suffer with severe anxiety. I'd be nervous leaving the house—that's when I hired Mark—and preparing to go on stage was agony. I didn't have any friends in the industry at that point. At least nobody I trusted. But Mark recommended I talk to someone. A professional. I don't think I would have done if he hadn't told me that he'd seen my symptoms in lots of other people he'd worked with."

Pausing, Teddy sat up and reached for his water. He took several gulps before lying down again. I cast my mind back to that first encounter with him. Fundraising for a mental health charity had been the topic that urged him to invite Becca to his room.

"Is that the reason for your charity concert?" I asked when the silence dragged on. "Because mental health is so close to your heart?"

"Yeah. When I went to therapy, I spoke about my anxiety and the therapist asked what I did to relieve it. I told her I obsessively chewed gum, because apparently that's supposed to help, and I also had these routines... Just little things I liked to do before going on stage. The routines weren't extensive, but I was convinced I needed to do them beforehand, otherwise I might forget the lyrics, or a string might snap..."

"Like a superstition."

"Like a compulsion. An obsessive compulsion."

Okay, now I could see where he was going with this, but I said nothing, alternating my gaze between his damp lips and cautious eyes.

"During the next session, my therapist asked me to fill out a questionnaire, circling any statements that were relevant to me. A lot of them weren't relevant, but they were all symptoms of OCD. I had no idea that some of these behaviours were down to OCD. Like, surely it's normal to make sure you've locked a door? Who'd want to risk a flood by not checking the tap is turned off?"

He paused, and this time I could tell it was a calculated pause. He was dangling the bait in front of me, waiting for me to bite. How much of this story was true, and how much was a fabrication designed to make me talk?

"I was prescribed medication and advised not to drink while on them," Teddy said. "So I stopped drinking for a while. Took the medication. Attended my sessions. Now I have a handle on the anxiety, but it'll always be part of me. I still chew gum obsessively when I'm stressed or worried. It helps."

Did Lacey give him acting lessons when they were fucking? Or had he rehearsed this speech like he rehearsed his answers to interview questions? Perhaps it had started off with his genuine experiences, and then he'd tailored it to fit my narrative instead. Teddy wasn't an idiot. He'd seen my own compulsions in action. Rather than not noticing, like I'd hoped, it seemed he'd chosen not to speak up.

I had to believe some of this story was real. Only people who'd been through it themselves would understand the pain accompanying each compulsion. The hint of shame in the other half of your mind—the half that knew these actions weren't always rational and therefore didn't want to admit to them out loud.

"I don't want to pretend it doesn't exist. So I talk about it. A lot. It's actually my favourite interview topic because I love to think that someone might be able to relate and realise they're not alone and shouldn't be ashamed of how their mind works. It's so common. But we don't realise how common it is because we don't talk about it."

Up to that point, I'd been sceptical. But Teddy mentioning the interviews reminded me of the conversation we'd had on the plane. He'd spoken of it then, too. I struggled to believe that was part of this same ploy to make me talk, and I felt guilty for even considering his story was fake.

A quick Google of his old interviews would confirm one way or the other, but I was a hypocrite for thinking someone else's mental health battle might not be real.

Sighing, I rolled onto my side to face him. He mirrored my movements, propping his head up with his elbow, the muscle in his bicep flexing.

"So if I catch you chewing gum, I need to worry that you're stressed about something?"

His lips tipped up. "Nah. Not always. Only if I'm chain chewing."

It was a small confession on his part, but also a vulnerable one. Clearly he wanted to show he could relate to my struggles, so I awarded him similar honesty.  

"I didn't stop drinking because of my anxiety," I said. "I stopped drinking because I woke up in bed with the guy Becca liked."

"I know. You told me that."

"But..." I took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. "That night was the spark for me. I felt so guilty that my anxiety skyrocketed. I didn't recognise myself. Talking to Becca about it seemed out of the question for obvious reasons. I didn't want to reach out to Gabby for fear of putting her in the middle. So I took myself off to therapy. Best decision I ever made."

I let out a small ironic laugh, prompting a smile from Teddy.

"I probably did the same questionnaire as you. Unless famous people get different questionnaires. So yes. I am perfectly aware that I suffer from OCD, but thanks for trying to subtly enlighten me, anyway."

"I know you're aware, Soph. I wasn't trying to enlighten you. I was trying to show you're not alone."

"I know that, too."

"Great."

The faint ticking of Teddy's watch, where his hand rested close to my ear, tracked every second of silence. He wanted me to speak, to open up like he had. Even when I knew he wouldn't judge, I struggled, those conflicting parts of my mind refusing to succumb to one another.

Instead, I watched his long fingers trace invisible patterns on the duvet, breathed in the familiar cologne that lingered in the space between us, and fought to calm my thudding heart.

"We don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather not," Teddy said.

I cleared my throat. "There's not much more to say. I kept my therapy sessions regular, did the whole CBT thing, realised a lot of my triggers were work-related so quit my job... Then got anxious about affording my rent. It's a vicious circle."

"But you and Becca made up, obviously."

"Hmm. Gabby saw my medication. She's shit at tact and asked me what they were without thinking. They were so supportive. Especially Becca. She offered to come to the sessions with me, she helped me with my CBT homework... She stood by me the whole time and still does. No judgement, no frustration... Just a really good, loyal friend."

"You're a good friend, too, Soph. You came to my concert despite hating crowds."

"Gabby got us VIP tickets. I knew we wouldn't be in the middle of it."

"So? You're still putting yourself in the environment. That takes courage."

To lighten the mood, I pasted on a smile. "Perhaps I should start reading your interviews, after all. Then I'll feel less alone."

"I'd rather you talk to me in person. There's a lot I leave out in interviews. But I promise I'll tell you anything."

The inches between us sparked with a sense of solidarity. Maybe I didn't agree with how he'd treated Becca, but we had something huge in common—and not just a past of screwing over my best friend.

*

Darkness cloaked the room. The time on my phone read just gone two, and when I cast my eyes across the bed, I saw Teddy fast asleep, still on top of the duvet.

Tiptoeing so as not to disturb him, I swept up my pyjamas from within my case then locked myself in the bathroom. As I got changed and brushed my teeth, I pondered whether to wake him or if that would make things awkward. The bed was big enough to sleep in with plenty of space between us, and it wasn't like I'd invited him to stay; he'd just fallen asleep, same as me.

I switched off the ensuite light before opening the door, but Teddy stirred when I slipped back into bed.

"Sorry," he said, his voice groggy. "Fell asleep."

"Same."

"Want me to leave?"

I busied myself with getting comfy—rearranging the pillow, pulling the duvet higher over me—to delay answering his question. Would I sound like a dick if I kicked him out in the middle of the night? Nothing had happened, so what difference did it make if he stayed or not?

"Up to you," I said eventually. "It's not long 'till morning. You can stay if you want."

"Thanks, Soph. Promise I'll keep my hands to myself and the majority of my clothes on."

"Great."

I rolled to face away from him, not wanting to see which of his clothes he was removing. But from the clink of his belt buckle, I could guess.

*

It had been a while since I'd shared a bed with someone. My one-night stands never lasted the whole evening: after sex and the polite chit-chat that followed, we'd gone our separate ways.

But I'd never had a guy who looked like Teddy Stone in my bed either, and that was probably the main explanation why I struggled to drift off. I got another two hours' worth of sleep before I woke again, but this time for a different reason.

Despite telling myself that the bed was plenty big enough for two people to sleep in without coming anywhere near each other, both Teddy and I had shifted during the night. His deep breathing fanned warm air across the base of my neck, his hard chest brushing my back every time he inhaled.

This wasn't part of my sleepover plan. If I'd known that I'd wake up with Teddy's body so close to mine, setting my skin alight with horny tingles, I never would have let him stay. It was too dangerous.

Too tempting.

In the middle of the night, blinded by darkness with our bodies hidden beneath the soft duvet, it almost felt like daytime rules didn't exist. Like we could get away with anything due to drowsiness clouding our judgement.

It was only us. Alone in a bed. In a hotel room, miles away from home. Nobody would know. Nobody would see. A private moment between us, like earlier on that evening when we'd found a personal struggle in common.

But Teddy still slept, and with every second that passed, my conscience caught up with my instincts—and the battle between them both exhausted me into sleep again.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

How are we feeling about Teddy and Sophia? Has your opinion of Becca changed after Soph's glowing review of her? Curious to hear your thoughts!