It's been five days. I go to work, I come home, I eat, study and sleep... or try to. The sun comes up and I start all over again. I find comfort in the routine until the night comes and Jeremy doesn't.

I can't believe we're back to this... again. I never learn. I don't know what I expected after I shut the door on him for the umpteenth time. I ran away, not able to take the pain that plagued when I looked him in the eyes. I did the same thing I always do. So why on Earth did I expect him to do anything remotely different than what he usually does?

The first night after our great fallout, I stayed up all night waiting to hear the key scratch against the lock. The sun was already up when that happened and even then he was as drunk as Dumbo. He crashed into the side table and I rushed out of my room to see if he was hurt. He took one look at me, scoffed and went to his room slamming the door behind him.

The next night it was the same but I didn't leave my bed. Not even when I heard him swear and kick one of the chairs before slamming the door. On the third night, he brought company and company was loud. I don't know what happened. My guess is that he got bored before things got too heated but, as horrible as this may sound, I cannot honestly say I felt sorry for her when he yelled at her to 'get the fuck out.'

Yesterday, I found the empty whiskey bottle laying on the counter. The pungent smell of spirit coming from the sink assured me that he poured it down the drain rather than down his throat. I thought this was progress but then he didn't come home at all.

This morning, I sent him a single text message, 'Are you okay?' This was almost eight hours ago and he still hasn't replied.

As I start clearing my station, anxious to go home and see if Jeremy is there, Robert comes up to me and asks me if I want to join him and the rest of the team for drinks. I smile ruefully and shake my head. No.

Less than half an hour later, I am knocking gently on the door to his study. 

"Please talk to me. I just need to know you're safe, Jer."

Nothing.

After a moment of deliberation, I push down on the handle. It's locked. My heart splits in two.

My phone beeps in my bag. It's Robert.

Last chance for drinks. Pick you up on the way?

I stare at Jeremy's closed door for way too long. I don't want to go out. But I don't want to stay here, waiting for the front door to open and praying that there will be only one set of footsteps. So, I text Robert back.

Okay.

I have a quick shower and throw on a pair of torn jeans and a light, pink sweater and decide to wait for Robert outside. I open the front door and all but scream when I find Jeremy behind it.

At first, he looks apologetic at having frightened me but then his face hardens, his eyes flash viciously and his hands shoot into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

A familiar sense of rage pools in my chest. What the bloody hell is wrong with this man?

"Out," I reply coldly trying to get around him. But he steps sideways and blocks my way.

"Where?"

His voice is murderous but there isn't much he can do to hurt me anymore. 

"None of your damn business!" I say angrily and push past him.

His fingers wrap around my wrist and he pulls me back.

"Language," he murmurs, but it only triggers me more.

"Fuck you!" I challenge trying to fight him off. Does he even realise how much he hurt me? How much he's hurting me right now?

But then his eyes soften and he pulls me closer. He looks sober and he smells so damn good.

"What are we doing, Ally?"

The tenderness in his voice cuts right through me and I'm left with nothing but a searching brain and a fluttering heart. His hands go to my waist, his eyes meld with mine.

"Jer," I breathe not knowing what to say or what to do.

The elevator doors open behind us but neither of us looks away. We stand there staring at each other, waiting for something to happen. But what?

All my feelings, all my desires, my fears rush to the surface and the chaos in my brain is dizzying until Robert's voice whips through the fog and brings me back to my senses.

Jeremy's eyes burn with urgency, begging me not to break contact. But it's too late. I break free from him and follow Robert into the elevator.

#

It's not even ten when I get back. The living room is dark. There is no light under Jeremy's door. I wonder if he's out again. I wonder if he's drinking. I wonder if he's alone.

I sigh and go to my room.

What are we doing?

#

I open my eyes to my sunlit room. Checking my phone, I am shocked to see that it's just past one in the afternoon. 

I get up and walk into the shower, straining my ears futilely for any sounds that might indicate that he's here. I don't know what's worse, fighting him or missing him.

Washed and dressed, I open the door to find a stack of books by my bedroom door. I recognise most of them from the library in his room but some look new. There is a yellow sticky note on top of the pile. I read it and smile.

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food. Check the fridge."

I open the fridge to find a container of pasta with my name on it. A subtle warmth washes over me knowing that this is Jeremy's way of calling a truce, his equivalent to my failed attempt at making him Lasagne.

Is that what I want? A truce? 

A strange ringing sound rattles me out of my hazy thoughts. I look around the room startled and realise it's the landline. This phone hasn't rung once since I moved in and I didn't even know there was one up till now. I follow the sound to the corner table by the door to his study and pick up a black cordless from its dock.

"Hello," I answer awkwardly.

Perfect silence follows. I look at the display but I don't recognise the number. It's a local call from a cell but there is no name assigned to it.

"Hello?" I say again.

"Is this Jeremy Cordina's number?" a misty female voice replies.

My heart skips two beats and then restarts with a rhythm that's more paced than usual. Who is this woman and why is she calling our home?

'His home,' a nasty little voice says in my head.

"Yes. Um... I'm sorry but who is this?" I ask trying my best to sound neutral.

"Who is this? Who are you and why are you answering my son's phone?"

My blood runs cold even though her tone should have made it boil. It's Jeremy's mother. What do I do? What do I say? 

"Hello? Are you there?" Mrs Cordina's haughty voice calls out again.

Shivers run up and down my spine. Now I know where Jeremy gets his arrogance from.

"Yes. Hello, Mrs Cordina," I say, trying to make my voice sound as sweet as possible. "We've never met. I'm Ally. Alison. I'm a... I'm... a friend of Jeremy's."

"Right. Well, can I talk to my son or not?"

Jesus.

 "Um... he's not here right now but I can tell him to call you as soon as he gets back."

Silence. Stone cold silence. She's definitely Jeremy's mother. She can suck all the tranquility from a room even over the phone.

"If my son is not there, what are you doing in his apartment?"

Damn it.

"I'm... uh... I'm just staying here for a few days. Jeremy is doing me a favour and letting me sleep on the couch. I'm... uh... having my house re-painted."

"On the couch?" she exclaims, clearly not impressed with my story. "Do you expect me to believe that my son is letting a woman sleep on his couch? How ugly can you possibly be?"

"Excuse me?" I answer. All attempts at sweetness and decorum go flying out the balcony door.

"How old are you?" she asks unfazed.

"I'm twenty-two," I reply indignantly.

"Twenty-two? Hmm... I guess you are a bit young for him, not that something like that would usually stop him. Be careful. My son is not known to do any favours unless there's something in it for him. And if you're after his money, you better find someone else to leech on. Jeremy is too smart for his own good. He locked himself in an ice fortress and he's the only cold-hearted bastard who can survive it."

Each word slices through me like a knife and the rage that bleeds out is indescribable. How can a mother think so little of her own son? 

"Mrs Cordina, I appreciate your concern but I assure you, I do not want your son's money. And for your information, Jeremy has done more for me than anybody else ever has without for or even accepting anything in return. If this is how you feel about your son then you're really missing out. I'll tell him you called. Have a nice day!" And with that, I slam the phone back into the docking station, chest heaving and flushed.

I can't believe she has the nerve to infer such things about Jeremy! He was right about his parents. They are heartless. It's no wonder Jeremy is so broken. He's never had anyone believe in him.

I go back to the kitchen still fuming when my thoughts are interrupted by another beeping sound. It's my phone this time, signalling that I have a text message. It's from him.

The pounding in my heart increases and I will it to calm down. Why does it still do that? He hurt me beyond reason. 

Meet me at this address in thirty minutes.

I scroll down and check the address. It's in Birgu. My phone beeps again.

Please. Thank you.

I feel a smile force its way onto my lips and my fingers text back one word.

Okay.

It's like my own body is turning against me.

I change into a white t-shirt and light blue jeans and turn to head out, ashamed of the sudden spurt of excitement consuming my stomach.

As I drive through the tunnel that leads back to the Three Cities, a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow settles over me and it does nothing to relieve my tension. I reminisce on the walks Millie and I used to take along the baċir and a familiar burning stings at the back of my eyes. I wonder if her house is still up or if they're turning it into a block of apartments as we speak. I think of all the memories I have of this place and smile at the decent years she gave me to cherish.

I reach Birgu and park by the church. After taking a minute to recompose myself, I find Jeremy's message again and start walking towards the address he gave me until I'm in front of a three-story, run-down building with a big façade that is rather pretty once you look past how neglected it is. 

The walls are bare and the stone looks dirty. It has three grand Maltese balconies with peeling dark blue paint. The door is thrown wide open and there seems to be a lot of activity going on inside. I check the address on my phone again, confirming it's the correct place but I don't see Jeremy anywhere.

Just when I'm about to call him, I hear his voice coming from inside. I walk in tentatively through the dark long hallway until I find myself in a beautiful circular internal yard where a lot of broken furniture and ornaments are gathered at the base of what looks like the remains of a great fountain pond. Glancing around the interior of the building, I get the impression that this used to be a majestic townhouse up until a few years ago.

The windows are all rotting and quite a few have missing or cracked panes. Stephanotis plants climb up the walls, giving the space a warm and natural glow as the sun hits the corroded stone. Archways perched on beautiful columns surround the perimeter, behind which I can see floor-to-ceiling windows and doors that lead to different rooms. The stone floor is mostly intact, but moss and grass are growing from between the slabs. Yet, even in its decaying state, the place is undoubtedly enchanting.

Two men push past me carrying what looks like an old armoire. The back is bashed in and one of the doors is hanging awkwardly off its hinges. Another group of workmen follow and after a while, I realise that they are all huddled around none other than Jeremy. He's wearing a pale blue shirt and cream suit pants and I'm guessing the matching blazer is hanging over the back of a chair somewhere. His ray bans are in his hands as he waves them around giving orders to the workmen in his familiar commanding tone.

My heart glows at the sight of him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.