Love Me by Gemma Weekes Read Free Book Online Page A

irritating as he is – has done nothing to deserve such treatment. Instead I swipe a couple more keepsakes for the road: Zed’s moisturiser and aftershave.
    I almost trip down the narrow staircase trying to be fast and sure. My ankle twists on the bottom step. I soldier it. No sprain could hurt as much as I do in the heart muscle. Max flicks a gesture toward my coffee on the table.
    â€˜There ya go, love,’ she says, turning the volume up on her cartoons. ‘You OK, yeah?’
    â€˜I’m going home!’ I announce to the wall, and set about gathering my things.
    â€˜Eden, come here for a minute.’ Zed’s voice from the kitchen.
    â€˜I gotta go!’ I yell.
    â€˜Just get in here, please.’
    I stumble over and lurk mindlessly in the kitchen doorway, watch him begin setting out his ingredients one-handed. He has a gorgeous, broad back. He glances at me while he’s whisking eggs in a bowl.
    â€˜Yeah, so what do you want?’
    â€˜You should eat something, Eden. I’m making breakfast.’
    â€˜Well done, chef Wake ’n’ Bake,’ I say, glancing at the spliff behind his ear, ‘but I’ll eat at home.’
    â€˜You’ve been throwing up half the night, lush. You go out there without something in your stomach and you’re gonna make really good friends with the sidewalk.’
    â€˜What the bloody hell do you care?’ I say, quietly enough that I hope it won’t be heard in the living room.
    â€˜Just eat, please. I’ll be five minutes.’
    â€˜You’re not gonna stay and ’ave some breakfast, Eden?’ Max pipes up from the next room, lazy cow. ‘You ain’t even finished that coffee I slaved over!’
    â€˜OK,’ I hiss at Zed. ‘Whatever. Prove whatever it is you want to prove. I like my eggs scrambled.’
    â€˜I ain’t trying to prove shit. That’s your game,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I thought you were gonna swallow your tongue last night!’
    â€˜You should know what I was trying to do.’
    â€˜What? Get alcohol poisoning?’
    â€˜Same thing you’re gonna do with that thing behind your ear. Relieve some damn stress.’
    Five or ten more minutes, and I never have to see either of these fuckers again. I can reclaim myself. Maybe Reiki healingthis time, or acupuncture, or something. There must be a special programme out there made especially for serfs like me.
    Zed begins throwing things into pans. He doesn’t seem like the type of man who’d be so capable. At a glance he might be the type who could burn water and has never done a load of laundry in his life. But he’s not. His mum didn’t completely fail at raising him. Just mostly. I take my camera out and
snap snap snap
. I feel empty.
    â€˜There you go again,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you intend to do with all those damn pictures.’
    When he’s done, we all sit down around the coffee table and eat in silence: scrambled eggs, sausages and toast. After the first forkful I stop wanting to retch. Even Max Crack Baby is quiet because her mouth is full. She’s really wolfing it down for someone who weighs about the same as a keyring. She takes a breath and turns her blue gaze toward Zed. ‘What am I gonna do when you go back to the States, hey?’ she pouts. ‘The time’s coming so quick! I’ll starve!’
    â€˜That’s what cereal is for, my dear.’
    â€˜You’re so heartless.’ Max spots my camera. Takes it. I can’t move yet, can’t believe what I just heard. The room contracts. He’s going back to Atlanta? I thought he’d had enough of life there. Max says to him: ‘Will you take a picture of me and Eden, love?’
    She leans over and puts her arm around me. She smiles, I don’t. Zed takes the picture.
    â€˜You’re going back?’ I ask, before I can stop myself.
    â€˜Yeah,’