237 Ks Zero Fs Chapter 16
Passersby called an ambulance and hauled Conor away.
I assumed he’d vanish after that. A frostbitten American, spending a few days in an NHS hospital, deported. End of story.
A week later, he was back.
From the street corner outside my office, to the Waitrose where I did my grocery shopping. Finally, he bribed the front desk at my apartment and planted himself directly outside the door of my South Kensington flat.
That night, he was clutching a large bag of groceries from Whole Foods. Organic ribeye. Microgreens. San Pellegrino. All exactly to my old tastes.
I’d just come back from the company Christmas dinner. A few glasses of red wine had left my head heavy and foggy. I couldn’t hold him off. He forced his way through the gap in the door.
Alcohol made my limbs soft and useless. I couldn’t be bothered to call the police.
I sank into the velvet sofa and looked at him. “What do you want?”
“I want to be good to you.” He said. “Even if you find it disgusting.”
“Fine.” I laughed coldly. “Go draw me a bath. Thirty-eight degrees. And bring me my slippers.”
His eyes lit up like he’d received some kind of blessing.
He stripped off his coat quickly and went into the bathroom. I heard him testing the water temperature. Then the soft sound of slippers being placed beside the tub.
“Get over here.”
He came out, knelt on the carpet, and cradled my ankle, slipping the slippers onto my feet.
I looked down at him. A man who had once dominated boardrooms, kneeling at my feet like a groveling servant.
“Conor.”
He looked up.
“You look pathetic.”
He didn’t argue. Just lowered his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly.
I stood, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me. He stood outside for a long time. Eventually, I heard the stove ignite in the kitchen. He was braising beef.
I finished my bath, had no energy to deal with him, and collapsed on the sofa, falling asleep almost instantly.