Cost

Riding the bus home, my eyes wander through the city streets; the old buildings and sparkling department stores with their imaginative window displays. The bus slows and my eyes land on a man and woman walking within the crowds of tourists and redundant teenagers basking in the sunshine of this particularly bright Saturday morning. He stands a few inches taller than her, and her eyes look up at him adoringly, both of their faces crease into joyous grins as they laugh at something he said. My heart sinks as I realise that that is what I want - I want to feel the warmth of another person's skin on mine, for somebody to look at me longingly, to make me giggle the way Isobel does when he whispers in her ear. And I'll make sure I get it, at whatever cost. I feel a vibration against my lap, dig in my bag and find my phone. 'One new message'. Him.