Page 2 of Bad Girl
“Makes good tea though.”
I loaded the tray.
The fruit bowl sat at the end of the counter, neat and well-stocked because Kilcullen Tech prided itself on employee wellness—which meant fresh fruit and an EAP helpline number on the back of the bathroom door and not much else.
One perfect Pink Lady apple. Right on top. Like it had been waiting.
I picked it up, gave it a thorough rub against my armpit a few times, and set it neatly on the tray.
There you go, Carla, munch on that Pink Lady.
I carried everything back with a perfectly level expression.
??????
Gone were the days Finley used to wait for me after work so we could go home together. Two years of living together and the romance was well and truly dead. We’d been drifting for a while—I knew that. Most days he felt less like a boyfriend and more like a dependent I hadn’t officially adopted.
It started long before him, if I was honest.
My mum. I loved her to bits, but when she worked, I was the one looking after my younger sister. Cooking, cleaning, doing more than my fair share before I was old enough to know I could push back. I became a carer before I became anything else, and the habit never really left me.
Twenty-eight years old and I still couldn’t say no.
Reliable girlfriend. Reliable friend. Reliable colleague, sister, daughter. The only boundary I’d ever successfully held was around lending money—because I’d learned that lesson the hard way. You never got it back and the friendship just got worse.
With Finley I hadn’t even managed that much. Somewhere along the way I’d started covering most of the utilities and groceries while he covered half the rent and called it even. His laundry got done. His meals got cooked. He had a very comfortable life and I was the infrastructure holding it up.
I climbed the last step and walked down the corridor to our apartment door.
I didn’t pause to listen the way I sometimes did. I just stuck my key in and turned.
Inside, the lights were all off except for the lamp in the living room. Its soft glow reached into the hallway, just enough to see by. Just enough to see the footprints Finley had tracked across the pale wooden floor.
I stared at them for a moment.
How difficult was it to take your shoes off at the door?
I hung my bag and jacket on the hooks, slipped my own shoes onto the rubber mat, and told myself it wasn’t worth the conversation.
“Hi, I’m home.”
“Hey.” His voice came from the living room, unbothered.“Got Chinese. Left you some on the counter.”
I was about to thank him. I almost did.
“Next time let me know when you’re working late. Food was expensive. Left the bill on the counter—just transfer me your half.”
I stood in the hallway for a moment.
“I’m not really hungry,” I said.“You can have it tomorrow.”
Cutting off my nose to spite my face, because I was absolutely famished.
His leftovers would be the dregs anyway. And he’d still include the delivery fee.
I stood in the kitchen doorway and looked at the takeaway containers on the counter and thought, not for the first time, that I’d probably be better off with a pet rat.
At least a rat wouldn’t expect me to split the bill.
