Page 8 of Someone Like You

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, startling himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’dlaughed.

Abby looked shocked, too, but in a good way. She held up her little finger in front of him with an encouraging smile. “Pinky promise?”

And at this point it just came naturally to Phil to hook his own little finger around hers and promise that, starting tomorrow, he was going to try and be a better version of himself.

* * *

Holding up the promise was easier than expected, because through the whole week Phil didn’t even need to make an effort. He went out every morning around 9, ran his five miles, popped intoLa Dolce Vitato grab a quick decaf espresso, then rushed home feeling galvanised and regenerated. No Scottish beefcakes in sight.

When, on Wednesday, Abby asked if he’d seen Ian again, an innocent lie rolled out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Yeah, we’re starting to hit it off. He’s not as bad as I thought.”

“See?” Abby beamed. “I told you things would be looking up!”

Phil had trouble falling asleep that night, harrowed by his own insincerity. He wanted to believe it was for the best, that there was nothing wrong with wanting to make it less distressing for Abby to leave for her business trips, but Thursday came and another little lie slipped —‘Yeah, Ian showed me a new route today’— and another one on Friday —‘I’m keeping up just fine with his pace’— and on Saturday morning Phil woke up feeling like crap after a night of restless tossing and turning, that old impression thatsomethingwas missing stronger and more debilitating than ever.

When he went to the bathroom, he cringed at the state of himself: puffy eyes, dark circles around them, worse than usual. He let the water run until it was ice-cold and washed his face several times, hoping it would take away some of that ghastly air he had. Predictably, it didn’t do much.

Abby was in the master bathroom, buried neck deep in mint-scented bubbles that filled up the tub to the brim. She had a towel around her head and her eyes closed, but one eye cracked open when she sensed Phil’s presence.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A foot lifted out of the water and dragged sultrily along the border of the tub. “Wanna join?”

‘No,’Phil thought way before his automatic response to that kind of question kicked in and he apologised one more time for not being in the right mood forthat.

He’d been warned that Seroxat often caused a decrease in libido and arousal, but it hadn’t made much of a difference to him: he’d already been there before the meds and the burnout. Perks of untreated depression, and now, apparently,treateddepression. If he’d barely cared about sex before, now the thought of it almost annoyed him. Sometimes he feared he’d never be able to feel sexual desire again and it crushed him, not so much for his own manly pride, but because Abby deserved a future husband who could take care of her and fulfil her needs, but the more days went by, the more he believed he couldn’t be that man for her. Not any more.

“Your loss,” said Abby waving him off, no trace of disappointment in her sweet, girly voice. “Breakfast might still be warm if you hurry up.”

“Thank you.” He smiled with a heavy heart and trudged downstairs.

He wasn’t hungry, but ate everything he found waiting for him because the very least he could do was show some gratitude for Abby’s hard work. Back upstairs, he found his running clothes, still warm from the dryer, splayed out on the bed, waiting for him. He sighed. He didn’t feel like running, but he knew that if he skipped one day he’d likely relapse into his apathetic lethargy and he couldn’t ruin what little progress he’d achieved, nor Abby’s expectations.

He could tell from the very first mile that his body wasn’t really into it. The sound of his own feet dragging against the groundirritated him to the point he decided to walk, and even that wasn’t great. The weather was a tad better than the week before, overcast but no rain, and some shy blades of sunlight even made an appearance here and there through the clouds. It was a perfect day for running, if only Phil hadn’t felt sosickinside.

A light cramp in his calf gave him an excuse to slump down on the rim of the fountain. The very moment he touched the stone he doubted he’d be able to get up any time soon. He bent down to grab the tip of his foot and stretch the cramp out. There had been a small but significant improvement in his mobility since he’d started stretching regularly. Just two months ago he wouldn’t have been able to do any of that without embarrassing himself. He rubbed the tense muscle and after a couple of minutes the cramp dissolved, meaning his excuse to pointlessly sit here also dissolved.

“Waitin’ for me, Handsome?”

That voice…

That damn voice whose deep, warm timbre spread goosebumps of vexation all over his arms. He turned back, finding Ian standing behind him in a black t-shirt that was surely too snug to be comfortable and a half smirk plastered on his face. Phil sprang to his feet, all demotivation wiped by a sudden burst of energy that ignited his body and mind alike.

“You’re late,” he quipped, so readily that Ian let out a muffled laugh through his nose. His smirk, however, didn’t waver.

“We had an appointment? Must’ve slipped my mind.”

He was clever, Phil had to give him props for that. Quick wits, wry humour. Remembering his promise to Abby, he wondered if meeting Ian again was a sign. There was no harm in trying: if it didn’t work out, he could walk out of this with his head up high and his conscience clean. He had to do this. For Abby.

“Do you have a minute?”

Ian scowled. “What’s up?”

Phil sighed, passing a hand over his mouth as he sought the right words.

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