Dr Westcott's voice petered out as I focused on his ginormous nostrils flaring out, then getting sucked in when he breathed. If I angled my head lower and looked up, I could see three thick grey hairs sticking out of the end of it. I bet he had hairy ears to match.

"Miss Leighton, are we distracted today?" His dreary voice broke my thoughts.

"Not really. I'm bored." My toes tapped inside my boots and my attention moved from the doctor's nose to the colour of my shoes. Maybe I'll get a pair of these in brown.

"Your parents–"

"Yeah, I know. They pay you loads of money so you can keep telling them I'm fucked up." I sighed and shuffled in my seat, gripping on the leather at the same time. I didn't mean to snap, but Mum had forced me to make my monthly doctor's appointment, the same one I avoided each month. Those visits felt pointless. What else could he do for me? The outcome would never change.

"That wasn't what I was about to say." Dr Westcott clicked his pen lid on and moved over to examine my arm. Not denying the money comment. "The scar tissue has healed nicely. Any sensation?" He pressed over the raised line on my left forearm and I winced.

Fucking right it did. "When you do that there is." I covered my scar with my hand and pulled away from his grasp. One thing that bothered me most about him was his lack of personal space. He should have asked before touching.

"That's a good sign. It means your nerves are healing. What about your facial scarring?"

"A bit tight and uncomfortable, but not as painful. My arm one itches. Will they always be so visible?" I knew the answer to my question and had once been on the other side, reassuring patients, even giving some of them false hope.

"We could start you on a course of steroid injections but would prefer to wait a few more months before we take that step." Dr Westcott returned to his computer and focused on the screen. "In the meantime, continue massaging the area with the retinol oil drops we recommended." He typed a few notes, the clicking sound of his keyboard echoing through the room. "How are the group sessions with Miss Levant going? I'm pleased you're giving them a shot."

A smile played on my lips. My therapy sessions shouldn't make my stomach flip, but I couldn't help thinking of Matt when he mentioned them. "Good. Better than I thought, actually. Everyone's nice."

"Good, good. Would you consider an extra hour with her on a one-to-one basis?"

"Not yet," I answered all too quickly.

His fingers froze over the keyboard and he interlocked them as he placed his elbows on his rich mahogany desk. "Miss Leighton, I don't need to remind you how important those talks are."

"For me or for you?" I interrupted, my lips pulled tight together. More visits meant more money for him.

"Miss Leighton, we should be taking more steps forward and having this extra time with Miss Levant will only accelerate the healing process. We are both well aware of how much you detest your appointments here. Wouldn't you want to see her more so you see less of me?"

"Well, when you put it like that. I'd probably do anything," I dipped my chin and mumbled against my shoulder, but not quiet enough.

"Always a pleasure," he shot back and smiled before jotting down something in his prescription pad. "These capsules will help with the disturbed sleep. Your mother is aware." He handed the slip over.

Sleeping tablets? Yep, no chance I was taking them and feeling even more out of control. "Thanks." I slid the piece of paper into my back pocket and after the briefest of chats with Agnes, the sweetest receptionist to grace our town, I hurried to a waiting Zaire in the clinic's parking area.

"Oh my God, what a penis." I slouched into the rear seat of his car and buried my head in my hands.

"I know right? I'm huge." He patted his crotch and reversed out of his parking bay.

Typical Zaire. I kneed the back of his seat. "Sick. Save those comments for someone else. Seriously, that doctor gives me the creeps. I hate when Mum doesn't come with me."

"Why? What'd he do?" He snapped, swerving the car into traffic. His shoulders hunched over and his grip tightened on the wheel. Zaire was in full protective mode.

"Nothing. I just have a bad gut feeling about him." Riffling through my handbag, I checked my phone for any messages from Matt.

"That's it? Your gut? You don't like him because he's all up in your business and you hate that. But he's paid for that shit."

"Not true," I mumbled and shot Zaire a side glance in his rearview mirror. Saffron swore by her gut feeling and she would tell me to trust it. The last few days, it hurt less to think of her and the first person I wanted to admit that to was Matt. I swiped my screen, ready to send him a text.

"Really?"

"Okay, you might have a point." Maybe we could drive past his house. "What are the plans?"

"Treat my best girl to dinner and a mooch around some shops? Could do with some new threads."

I held the phone close to my chest, my stomach doing somersaults like it was the main acrobat at the circus. "Sounds great to me." Fear took a hold of my hands and I couldn't bring myself to take that step. I'll wait for him to reach out.

***

My delicate fingers ran over the brown leather, eager to try them on. They were perfect and exactly how I pictured them; the last pair of size 5 ankle boots amongst a sea of black.

"I'm starving," Zaire whispered into my ear, his chin digging into my shoulder.

I jumped back, whacking his face in the process. "Fucking hell! Don't scare me like that," I whisper-yelled, my hand over my heart. So focused on my new purchase, I didn't notice him creeping up on me. "Hope that hurt. Let me try these on first and then we can feed you. I told you we should've eaten first. You're always hungry."

Zaire massaged his jaw, a deep scowl on his face. "Remind me never to sneak up on you again. Violent little thing, aren't ya."

"Why are you so surprised?" I kicked my black boots off to slip the brown ones on. "Aren't they pretty?" Pointing my left foot out, I twisted my ankle round to inspect the side of the shoe. "I love them."

"They're the same– but brown."

"They're not the same," I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Look at the buckle detail and laces. Not the same. You told me to stop wearing so much black."

"Well, if you like them, buy them. And hurry the hell up. My stomach is eating itself."

"Slightly Dramatic." I tucked the boots under my arm and headed for the closest till. "Come on then. Burgers are on you."

After I paid for my boots, Zaire rushed out of the shop and towards the fast-food joint like his arse was on fire. It probably would be after eating from there.

He pulled open the grubby glass door, his hand covered by the sleeve of his hoodie. Looked promising. The tired decor and matching chequered floor and back wall left little to be desired.

"Don't be fooled. Looks like a shit hole, but the chicken burger is the best around," he said his words low so only I would catch them.

I dodged a waitress, rushing around the packed 50s style diner, and slid across a worn red leather banquette. My palm stuck to the table as I used it for balance and wished I had picked where we ate.

"I swear, Z. If I get food poisoning–"

"Trust me. You'll thank me."

Our food ordered and waiting in front of us, I picked at the bread bun on my chicken burger and watched Zaire inhale his. A combination of mayonnaise and ketchup dripped off his chin.

"You're disgusting. Take a breath," I laughed and threw a napkin his way. "Seen CeCe since the road trip?"

"Nah, she's gigging out of town for a couple of weeks. Has one in Leeds and another in Manchester."

"That's awesome."

He wiped his chin and took a long sip of his drink. "She likes you, ya know. Says you're quirky." He air quoted the last word and smirked.

I stifled a giggle behind my fist. Quirky? Great. "That's one way of putting it. I think she meant weird. She's too polite, that one."

"That's exactly what I said."

"Oi, you're not supposed to agree with me."

"So, you heard from Matt?" He asked, amusement barely hidden in his voice. He wolfed down a handful of fries, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Mmm." I nodded and grinned, dropping my gaze to the table. My face felt hot under his scrutinising gaze. "He met my parents," I rushed, my heart leaping from my chest, onto the space between us; raw and a bleeding mess, waiting for someone to wrap it in reassurance.

His eyes widened and he coughed as he choked on his mouthful of food. "Fuck off, he did not. Big step that one."

"I like him." I nudged my heart closer to him.

"I hope so. You're shagging him."

"No, I mean, I like him, like him. Regular liking."

"Go on."

"He couldn't come to a group therapy this week because he had an exam and I missed him being there. I don't miss people–" I bit into an onion ring– "well, you know. Not new people since all this." I motioned to my face, knowing he would automatically pick up on what I really meant. My scars, the visible marks of the anguish I carried inside. "I can't stop thinking about him," I whispered. My pulse raced and I felt queasy as I made my confession.

"Tell him," he soothed, placing his hand over mine.

"No." I shook my head and watched the rain beating against the window we sat next to. "I'll scare him away." Keeping that piece of information to myself would make it easier. But I was naïve to think he couldn't hurt me either way. Those emotions had blossomed, and whether or not he knew about them, they still had the potential to wither or get stomped on.

"Tell him. Come on, Bea. Life's too short. If anyone knows that it's us two. Plus, a little birdy told me he really likes you too. Jump." Zaire delivered the reassurance I needed.

"I don't know how."

"You open your mouth and start with what you told me. He'll do the rest. Come to work with me. Surprise him."

Zaire made everything sound so easy. A mixture of fear and elation swirled in my gut and lodged itself under my ribcage.

"Got time to help me pick a new dress first? I have an idea." If I was going to surprise him at work, I wanted his jaw to hit the floor.

"Sure. All the time in the world for you."

I grabbed my chicken burger and took my first bite. A moan escaped my mouth. Zaire was right, my burger was delicious. The best I'd tasted. He laughed as I devoured everything on my plate. I should believe him more often.

***