"Why didn't you tell me that I had a photoshoot with a complete bítch?" I ask Marcus over the phone.

"Didn't think it was important. You've gotta learn how to handle people."

"I wouldn't have turned her down, I would have just been prepared," I mutter, fiddling with a loose thread on my blouse.

"You need to be able to cope with these people on the spot."

"Okay, Marcus, whatever you say," I reply in an exasperated tone.

"So how was it?" he asks me.

"Stressful." 

He chuckles deep in his throat, a low, rumbling sound.

"That's not surprising," he mumbles. "That woman is more than a handful."

He starts to guffaw idiotically when I growl through the phone.

"Don't be miserable, Leah. It doesn't suit you."

"Fuck you," is all I say in reply.

"No thanks," he answers cheekily.

As soon as he says this, I feel a pair of eyes on my back.

"Listen, Marcus, I have go go. I'll call you back."

"Okay. Bye, Leah," he says through the phone just as I feel a pair of lips on the side of my neck.

"Marcus?" he asks after I hang up the phone.

"Yeah."

"You sounded pissed," he comments.

"I had to work with a complete asshole today."

"Hmm," he sighs into my neck. "That was me once."

I chuckle to myself as I remember how David and I started off. We were definitely not on the best of terms.

"Only difference is that she was a model."

"A model, huh?" he asks, his lips now at my shoulder.

"Is sex always on your mind?" I ask softly, the question sounding suspiciously like a moan.

"Not always," he drawls, sucking hard on my neck. 

"Often enough," I pant out as his hands trail down the front of my dress.

"Why are you so tense?" he asks, nibbling on my ear.

"I just told y--"

"No. No bullshit, no lies; I want the real reason," he answers.

I exhale loudly, realising that lying is useless. Why do I feel so weird about this anyway? It's his goddamn idea.

"I want to put their pictures up on the fridge."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his hands freeze on my ass, and then dropping to his sides.

"You sure?" he asks me cautiously, his whole demeanor changing.

"Yes," I say, my voice full of certainty.

"Then why are you so tense?" he asks again, causing me to pull my bottom lip into my mouth and chew it. "Leah?" he asks again.

"Because I didn't know how you'd feel about it, David. You probably think that I'm not ready." I'm ready for him to tell me that I'm not ready, that I should wait, but he does the exact opposite.

"I'm fine with it; I mean, it was my idea. I just want to know that you're okay."

"I'm okay," I say to him with a smile, but the truth is that I'm better than okay; I feel great. It feels amazing to be this happy again, this free again. I never thought that I'd see the day that I'm able to look at the pictures of my dead loved ones without even flinching, and after so many years of pain, that kind of liberty makes you feel almost high.

 "I love you, David," I tell him, caressing his cheek.

"I love you, too," he whispers before pulling my lips to his. 

*****

"I think you ruptured my ear drums."

"I think you should shut the fuck up," I murmur into his chest as he absentmindedly traces patterns on my back with his fingertips.

He starts to chuckle.

"What was that? I can barely hear you," he replies, but tries to turn his laughter into a cough when he looks down and sees the look on my face.

"If you want me to keep fuking you, you will shut the fuk up."

"Okay, fine. You don't wail like a banshee when were having sex."

"It's your fault," I say in an accusatory tone.

"And you still sound like a banshee, I mean you don't sound like a banshee, sorry."

"Just shut up."

"Okay."

He continues to rub my back, and I almost fall asleep; that is, until his gentle rubs turn to violent jabs.

"C'mon. You haven't eaten," he states, getting up and pulling me out of the bed violently by one arm.

"My arm," I complain.

"Hush. Now net me cook for you, or do you want KFC again?"

"Fuck off," I snarl defensively. "you know that they aren't usually that full, and I still got food, didn't I?"

"Oxtail it is," David declares, ignoring me. Oh, shit. I haven't had oxtail in forever, but it's just so damn expensive. My stomach growls just hearing the word.

"You like oxtail, right?"

"Yeah, I do. Haven't had it in forever, though. The last time I ate it was when I was with Andrew." Again, I am amazed by my ability to talk about him without breaking down. However, my joy is short lived once something occurs to me. I've been so selfish only thinking about myself, my own feelings, my emotional turmoil, that I never stopped to think about David. What if hearing me talk about Andrew makes him feel... insecure?

''That was years ago," he comments, walking to the kitchen with me trailing close by.

"I know. Tell me something, does it bother you when I talk about him?" It would be reasonable. Even though Andrew is dead, he was still by boyfriend, and I still love him. That will never stop.

"Should it?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "He was the love of your life. I don't expect you to forget about him just because I'm here. That's unreasonable. That's idiotic. It would only serve to push you away, and I have no intention of doing that."

"You're amazing, you know that?" I respond, because its all I can say.

"'Course I am," he says with a goofy smile, before turning to search through the drawer for a pressure cooker. 

"Can you get some fruits and vegetables  from the fridge?"

"You're using fruits and vegetables to cook oxtail?"

"I'm making a side dish," he replies.

"Okay," I mumble opening the fridge and picking up anything worthy of being put in a salad, but not before I glance the three new pictures on the front of the fridge. And no, I don't cry, or collapse, or freeze, or anything else that I would have probably done not so long ago. I just smile to myself, before commencing my search through David's fridge.