by Anna Woodbury

Created on: February 24, 2009

The sound of the doorbell woke me long before I was ready to be awake. Lazily I climbed out of bed and reached for the closest t shirt I could find. Who the hell could that be at this time of the morning I thought to myself as I caught sight of the time on my radio. 7.30am. The quietness of the hallway contrasted greatly to the constant sound of the bell, whoever was outside was clearly not in the mood for waiting. "Christ", I muttered to myself angrily. Usually I would look through the keyhole to see who it was, a habit of mine since moving to the flat but this morning time didn't permit. As I opened the door not even I could have expected who was there. Standing with a slightly bemused look on his face was my ex Mark.

"Mark?", I asked almost too shocked to believe it was him. "what are you? , i mean , how ? why are you here?"

before he could answer , he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. His scent , the scent that for the longest time was a comfort somehow seemed different.

"I had to see you" , he whispered.

For what felt like hours we stood just holding each other his eyes boring into my the whole time. I still hadn't manage to look back at him directly, almost afraid if I did I'd cry.

"you smell different" , i said matter of factly.

"good different" , he enquired.

"not good, not bad, just different. Not how you used to" i replied still not meeting his gaze.

The silence was deafening as we both stood at the doorway, almost like strangers again.

"Are you gonna invite me in then?" he asked , though before I had time to answer he gently urged me back into the hallway and dropped his bag which I'd only just noticed by his feet.

"The girls are asleep , you better come into my room. They'll be pissed if you wake them", i gestured letting him lead the way. Instinctively I perched on the side of my bed and grabbed my duvet to cover myself , finally realising how little I had on. Mark sensing my confusing and uncomfort sat beside me and gently stroked the back of my hand. To an outsider it might have looked like an innocent gesture, but to us it meant so much more. He used to stroke my hand like that when I was upset . Over the two years we where together it became something I associated with safety , comfort , togetherness. Now however the movement seemed inappropriate. Empty.

"I had to come and see you Lyndsey, I missed you so much." he urged. " Are you going to even look at me ?" he asked lowering his head down in front of me so it his eyes where level with

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