Goodbye Girl Ch. 01

Slowly he relaxed as the waves receded, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He found her lips and he kissed her slowly, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world.

Soon he felt self-conscious about his weight; she was such a slight little thing. He slid off her, and pressing himself into her back, he pulled her into his embrace. She rested her hands over his, and curled her knees up so they were pressed against her chest and he cradled her. He didn't have any thoughts. He just held her, and listened to the sound of her breathing, letting her fill his mind, pushing out everything else but the feel of her in his arms.

"Wow," she said, when her breath had evened out.

Greg frowned. "What?"

"You're... you're very good at that."

He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over so he could see her face.

"Oh God." she covered face with hands. "I can't believe I just said that."

He laughed, pulled her onto her back and kissed the end of her nose. "I like your lack of filter."

She finally moved her hands away to reveal fiery cheeks.

"And I like these," he said pressing his lips against her shoulder.

"My shoulders?"

"Your freckles."

"I hate them."

"They're lovely."

The street lights bathed the room in their eerie orange glow and Orla lay under the covers in Greg's arms, her head resting on his chest. She trailed her fingers around the whorls of dark hair on his chest. He was tired, so tired, but he didn't want this to end. Drifting along on this endorphin-fueled crest, watching the shadows of the tree branches on ceiling.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"Me? No, I'm an only child. My Ma wanted to have more and Pa wanted a boy I think, but it didn't work out that way. I have lots of cousins though. My best friend is my cousin, she's like my sister. How about you? Apart from your sister in Hong Kong?"

"No, it's just the two of us."

"Is she older or younger?"

"Older, eighteen months."

They lay in silence for a while longer, Greg stroking her hair. The lines of their earlier conversation returned.

He whispered her name. When she didn't reply he leaned over so he could see her face.

"Orla? Where do you know me from?

Her eyes were closed, dusty lashes brushing against impossibly pale skin.

"Who are you?" He said softly into the darkness. As if she could somehow hear him, through the sheath of sleep, she sighed and pressed herself closer.

There would be plenty of time to find out tomorrow.

~

Orla opened her eyes. A sharp pain filled her head.

Morning. It must be morning.

She shut her eyes again. The pain abated, but nausea washed over her. She lay still, her eyes tightly closed and breathed. The feeling receded.

It was never this bright in the morning. It felt wrong, all wrong.

The memories began to flood back. Her head spun.

Greg.

That was Greg pressed against her back; his chest hard and hot.

Twisting away from the window, she opened her eyes more cautiously. A slower, pulsing throb engulfed her head, but the nausea didn't return. She was grateful.

God, even the sound of his snoring was sexy and he really was very good looking, despite the harsh morning light.

His broad, muscle-bound chest was covered with a smattering of dark, curly hair, his short hair was sticking up in all directions. There was a shadow of thick dark stubble on his jaw, her stomach clenched. The urge to smooth his messy hair, to run her hands along his jaw was strong but no, she mustn't do that. She didn't want to wake him.

Despite her better judgment, the sex they'd had last night was running through her head like a feature length film, with the latest Dolby surround sound technology and all the Technicolor glory of the cinematic age.

What had she done? She's gone home with a stranger. A strange police officer and had sex (fantastic sex). And, oh Lord in heaven above, he'd even tried to talk her out of it. What had she been thinking? He could have been anyone; a married man with kids, a crazed serial killer, a sadist. He might have chopped her up into pieces and buried her in his basement, or sold her to sex traffickers. God she was such a floozy. The woman she had turned into last night was a complete stranger to her this morning.

His eyes sprang open, catching her off guard and his gaze trapped her. He looked at her vacantly as his pupils adjusted to the brightness and she was struck again by what an unusual colour they were. They reminded her of the night sky and the mesmerizing shade of blue it became, just after the sun had set, but before the stars came out. His face broke into a sleepy grin. He slid his arm underneath her and pulled her against him. He buried his face into her neck and sighed. Orla lay frozen in place and listened to his breathing. When it settled back into a shallow, comfortable rhythm, she knew he had fallen asleep again.

Gingerly, she disentangled herself and crept out of the bed. He'd made her come twice, well three times really. That had never happened before. Not all on one night. Her pants were on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her bra draped over the chair. Gathering them up, she pulled them on. She was opening the door when he groaned. She spun around.

He rolled over, his arm reaching across the bed and into the empty space she'd left behind. She stilled and waited for him to wake up again and find her edging out the door in nothing but her underwear. Mercifully he didn't.

As she slipped into the living room, just before she pulled the door too behind her she took one final look. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to press her lips against his chest and inhale so she wouldn't forget his smell. But her fear of waking him was too great.

Back in the lounge she found the rest of her clothes and pulled on her dress. She was terrified he was going to wake any minute but somebody must have crept into her mouth while she was sleeping and fitted wall-to-wall deep pile carpet. Her need for water had never been greater.

It wasn't too hard to locate a glass in the small kitchen. She leaned against the counter and drank an entire pint of water in two gulps, and then most of another before rinsing the glass and resting it on the draining rack by the sink.

Outside the weather was glorious. If it didn't cloud over it would probably turn out to be a warm spring day, but just then it was fresh and bitingly cold. Orla's teeth chattered as she dug her mobile phone out of her pocket. It was nearly 8am. There were dozens of calls and texts from Tim and a fair few from Vanessa and Rachel too. She cringed as she remembered their faces when she left the Duke. Did Tim see her leaving with Greg? She found she doesn't care much. The new situation eclipsed Tim.

Pulling her jacket tighter she started to walk. The borrowed dress seemed even shorter in the harsh light of day, she wished she hadn't let Rachel and Vanessa talk her out of wearing tights under it. She felt so exposed.

The building reminded her a bit of her own place. A small terraced house in a little street which looked like it met a main road. She might be able to find a taxi. She narrowed her eyes. That was Brow Hill. She walked faster. It was. She was just a short way from home. How did she not notice last night? She pulled her coat closer, it was nippy, but at least she didn't have far to go.

She couldn't face listening to her voicemails, at least not until after she'd had a shower and some breakfast. Instead she texted, telling the girls she was okay, apologising for leaving without an explanation, promising she'd call later. Within seconds of her hitting send the phone rang. It was Vanessa.

"Hi" she said, and then, holding the phone away from here ear. "Too loud, too loud."

There was a torrent of angry words, but no reduction in volume or pitch.

"I'm fine, really I'm fine," she said, when she can get a word in edgeways. "I'm nearly home, are you still at Rachel's? Tell her I'll come by later and pick up my car and I'm sorry."

She hung up, trying to ignore the crushing guilt. What had she been thinking? What an irresponsible thing to do. Thank goodness they'd used protection. Well he'd used protection; she hadn't given it a second thought.

Her head was hurting.

She popped into the newsagents and bought a can of Coke and newspaper. He probably came here all the time. Maybe she should move?

"Morning."

She smiled blearily at Ranjit.

She let herself into her flat and climbed gratefully into the shower. Afterwards she wandered into the kitchen but her stomach turned at the thought of food, so instead she crawled into her bed.

*

The moment Greg woke up he knew she'd gone.

He got up anyway, pulling on his boxer shorts, stumbling into the living room. He looked around trying to spot any sign that she was still there. Her dress wasn't on the floor by the sofa so he wandered into the kitchen. There was an empty glass on the side by the sink but no Orla. He pushed open the bathroom door. Nope, she was gone; disappeared without a trace.

He got a glass of water and wandered back to the bedroom and set it down on the bedside table. She'd got right under his skin. He couldn't remember the last time anyone affected him in this way.

There was a faint silvery mark on the pillow. He leaned closer to get a better look. It is glitter. Silver glitter. He could smell her too, that faint scent of vanilla with nutmeg. Well, she hadn't disappeared entirely. There is some evidence that she was more than a figment of his imagination.

He wondered if he'd ever see her again.