Life for Emma was totally predictable. Work, television, bed, work. Social life, nil. Friends, nil. Interests, nil, well unless you counted wildlife documentaries, she loved animals, and the cheap romance paperbacks she read. Otherwise, there was nothing in her drab existence to write home about.
There was only one mirror in her small tidy apartment. She didn't need constantly reminding of her appearance. She avoided looking in it as much as possible.
She was 25, with a steady if boring job, and a totally boring life. Her last boyfriend, to be honest her only boyfriend, had been four years ago, and the comments he made when they broke up had smashed her already fragile self confidence like a hammer smashing an egg.
"You really thought this was serious?" he looked at her as if she was mad, "I never saw you as more than a stopgap until someone better came along. I mean, you're OK as such, but let's be honest, you're never going to be Miss World, are you? And those marks are a real turn off. Can't you get them fixed or something? Like plastic surgery or whatever? They really look gross!"
And then he was gone, along with her self esteem.
She had never been with a man before, didn't know how to read the signs, how to judge the depth of a relationship. She had thought that he loved her, valued her. She had gone to bed with him, her first time, given him her virginity. She thought it would mean something to him, but now she knew that he saw her as no more than an object to be used, a sex doll, a means to an end. He had introduced her to the delights of love making, to the silky feel of warm flesh, two people moving in harmony, breath on breath and body on body, until the supernova burst of pleasure blanked out all else. For a brief time, it seemed that they couldn't get enough of each other, then he had dumped her like a worn out shoe.
How could he have done that? How could he have said those things? A man who had pierced her flesh with his own, felt her flesh around him, touched and tasted her. Finally he had rejected her, left her, destroyed her.
For months she had been numb. Only slowly had feelings come back, and with them came self pity and disgust. She couldn't accept that the failing was his, it had to be her. She was at fault. She had repelled him, her body had betrayed her.
She withdrew into herself, weeks became months became years until her own company was all she sought, all she needed. She didn't join in the gossip at work, didn't mingle with the other girls in the office, the pretty ones with their short skirts and painted nails, make up always immaculate, clothes fitting close enough to show every curve and shadow. She dressed simply, worked silently, was polite to everyone and took little notice of any of them.
Except for Brian, when she saw him, which wasn't that often. He worked in a different branch, but he had to come over occasionally, with papers to sign and suchlike. Mostly though they communicated by e mail and over the years they had become, if not friends, at least acquaintances who sometimes passed more than just the time of day.
If she was ever going to fantasise about another man, it would probably be him, she thought to herself. Not that he was anything special, he was tall, true, and well built, as if he worked out, but he was also pale and nerdy with thick rimmed glasses. She thought he looked rather like Clark Kent. He worked with computers, and in her mind he was typical of the breed, with badly fitting plaid shirts and tweedy jackets.
But he was always nice to her, always spoke, didn't treat her like part of the furniture, and looked into her face while they talked. He was a good man.
That time had come around again! The time of year that she dreaded most, the time of the annual office party. The time of year when she sat alone and miserable in a corner of the room, nursing a drink until enough time had passed that she could reasonably be excused and run for home. The time when others laughed and danced and flirted outrageously, all to be forgotten by Monday, but she sat alone, nobody asked her for a dance or tried to chat her up. She was invisible.
That morning she had tried to find something to wear that looked at least remotely festive, and she put on a knee length skirt instead of her usual full length one, exposing her thick calves to the world.
"Those damned legs should be holding a piano up instead of me!" she though, looking in the mirror.
She had put on a high buttoned blouse over the skirt, long sleeved, concealing more than it revealed but still stylish in a way. She was no party animal. It would have to suffice. What did she care anyway?
The day came and went. Everyone else seemed to be looking forward to the after hours party. Everyone except her of course. The other girls were even more painted and sexily dressed than normal. The guys were full of jokes and hurried to finish the workload so the festivities could begin. Emma just wanted to go home, but she knew how the management would frown on such a move. They expected their workforce to be a little community all on good terms with each other. Not joining in the annual party would be viewed with some disfavour, so to keep the peace she always stayed back for it. After all, it was only once a year that she had to subject herself to this misery. She would survive, she told herself.
After an hour the party had taken it's predictable course, Emma sitting alone while the music and laughter swirled around her. Unhappily she sipped yet another drink and wished that time would fly a little faster.
Suddenly the door opened and Brian appeared. She was surprised but pleased. He must have been invited because of his close links to their own branch. Maybe for once she would have someone to talk to and the ordeal would be over a little quicker.
He looked around and gave her a smile, then crossed to the table where the drinks were to see what was on offer. She hoped that he would come over to her once he had a drink in his hand, but the thought had hardly entered her head when a couple of giggling typists cornered him and started to flirt openly, pawing at him and flicking his tie with their painted nails. He laughed, and chatted back, obviously liking the attention. It was more than she could bear. Quickly she got up and left the room as fast as she could. She hoped that nobody had seen her go, or would think that she was simply going to the ladies' restroom. Halfway down the corridor, her feelings overcame her, and finding an empty office, she sat down and began to sob, tears coursing down her cheeks and dripping onto her skirt. She felt so alone and miserable, her life was an empty wilderness with no light on the horizon. In a welter of self pity she cried in the darkened room, alcohol and misery combining to drown what little spirit she still possessed.
The hand on her shoulder made her jump almost out of her skin. Brian's voice, soft in the dark, made her catch her breath in dismay.
"Are you alright Emma? I saw you leave the party. You looked so upset I thought I'd better come and see what was wrong. Can I help?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but finally she just shook her head violently, and began sobbing again.
He crouched down beside her chair, his face close.
"I think I should get you home Emma. I'll just go and tell them that you aren't feeling well, then we'll grab a taxi. OK?"
She nodded. Anything to get out of here. He left her alone, but minutes later he was back with her coat and bag.
"The other girls told me that these were yours. Come on, let's get you back home."
He took her arm gently, raised her to her feet and led her out of the building. Outside they walked to a nearby taxi rank, and he opened the door for her, then got in himself.
"I'll see you home safely," he said "then I'll go on to my place. I don't really want to go back to the party. It's not my sort of thing really."
The evening air had sobered her a little, and by the time the taxi arrived at her place she was beginning to feel almost normal but hopelessly embarrassed. How would she ever look at him again after tonight? What must he be thinking of her?
He told the taxi driver to wait, and they climbed the one flight to her apartment. Until she opened the door she was fine, but then the sight of the small rooms, her little lonely world, her self made prison of the soul, brought all the pain back to the surface and she began to cry again.
Alarmed, he led her inside and sat her on the couch. He found a box of tissues and gave her a handful to dry her streaming eyes. Concerned, he sat down beside her.
"Emma," he said "I don't want to leave you like this. I'm going to pay the driver off, then I'll come back up. I'll call another cab later once I think you're OK. I'll be back in a moment."
Ten minutes later, he had found the milk and coffee in her small kitchen, boiled the kettle and pressed a steaming mug into her hand. Quietly, she sipped the hot liquid, avoiding his eyes, wondering what he would say next, what would she answer?
For a long while, he said nothing at all, just drinking his own coffee and watching her. Eventually he put his cup down.
"Do you want to talk, Emma?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, not looking up.
"I've thought of you as a friend for a long time Emma. If there's anything I can help with, please let me."
"A friend?" she said shakily, "You think of me as a friend? Why? You hardly know me."
"I know that you're a good person, that you aren't as shallow as most people. I know that there's an inner sadness to you. I know that you put a barrier around yourself to keep people out. I know that because I often do the same thing."
"You? Why?"
"Because, well because I'm shy, I mean really shy. I'm terrified to talk to strangers, especially women, I get scared I'll say something stupid and they'll laugh at me. I never feel like that with you though. I can talk to you."
"You were talking OK with those two girls at the party!"
He laughed, "I was putting on an act and hoping to hell they'd get bored and leave me alone. I was sure that they were just making fun of me. They probably were. You leaving the room looking upset was all the excuse I needed to get away from them. You did me a favour."
"How ironic." She answered.
He frowned. "Emma, what's wrong. Why do you feel like this? Talk to me, maybe I can help."
She began to weep again, silently. He moved along the couch and put his arm around her shoulders, hugged her to him. With his free hand he stroked her hair. For a moment she froze, then she collapsed against his chest, her tears staining his shirt. Tenderly he held her, made soothing noises, laid his face alongside hers.
The situation overcame her, exploded inside her. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his, devouring him. For a second he couldn't move, stunned, then he broke free, holding her arms. He looked at her, astonished. Gently he let go of her.
"No, Emma." He said "We can't do it like this."
The rejection was like a slap. Despair gripped her, then anger welled up like hot lava.
