Free Addicted to Witch by Billy London

destruction.
    19.  Why he didn’t try to stop me from leaving.
    20.  If he would let me redesign the reception rooms for him. Or at least alphabetise those vinyls.
     
    Maybe it was the shame of being caught half-naked mid-orgasm. Or that she really didn’t know Auden to have a proper hissy fit. She kept having daydreams were she’d throw her neck around, demanding a real explanation. More it was that she missed him. Really missed him. She’d known him for two lousy days and she missed him. Moreover, it was bliss to be able to sleep. Shame to say it, but she felt safe with him in a way she never had before. Sorry, Dad . How else had she slept so well and through the night if she hadn’t?
    She had his number. She could call him and see what the dillyo. No Helena, take back a little self-respect. Leave him alone. There is your sign that you should not play with boys. You are bad with relationships. Bad. Bad. Terrible. It had to be some sort of record. Being dumped by one’s boyfriend only to then get caught having sex with another woman’s man within days. Was there a Guinness World Record for that? World’s Dumbest Decisions?
    A glance at the time told her she could go home, there were no more patients to be seen. She switched off the desk light and computer, and tugged on her coat. A take-away would be a great idea and she could stay up till all hours of the night by herself. Again.
    Coming out of her room to the reception, her stomach jumped.
    Slouched in a plastic seat that was straining under his weight, a dark grey hoodie over his head, was Auden. He got up when he saw her, lifting the hood from his hair. Not looking at all like the devil, he looked like an angel desperately sorry to be before the wrath of God.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked on a whisper.
    “Came to see you.”
    “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?” she asked with a sneer that wasn’t even her, but hell, she was angry.
    He looked strained. The effort he was putting into trying to speak reminded Helena of a seminar on stammers. What was so traumatising about having a girlfriend? He took a deep breath and said, “Look me up.”
    “What difference will that make?”
    “All the difference in the world.”
    Helena turned back to the room and shrugged off her coat. “I don’t know why I’m giving you the time of day.”
    “Because you know this whole situation doesn’t feel right,” he said, following her. “If you caught your boyfriend with his hands inside the jeans of another woman, would you be offering said woman a lift to the station?”
    “A civilised human being would.”
    “You wouldn’t,” he said with an assurance that would only come from his confidence in her. “You’d throw a fucking fit, Hells. And you’d expect your boyfriend to either start apologising, making excuses or at least giving some sort of explanation.”
    “You had a chance, why didn’t you?”
    “I can’t.” His voice was low and hurt.
    “Really?”
    He closed his eyes briefly. “Hells, look me up. Go on Google. Find me. You’ll understand.”
    “This is ridiculous,” Helena said with a huff, as she switched her computer back on. “What on earth am I going to find?”
    “Type in Auden Garceau and music.”
    Why did that surname ring bells? She typed in the name and a whole list of links and images flashed up. Singer/songwriter in overdose shame. Trustees take over fortune of legend’s son. The quiet recovery of talented songwriter Auden Garceau .
    Helena didn’t follow gossip magazines or trends, except her love for McQueen but that was it. So he was the son of some ancient rock star. Who cared? That would account for his blatant disrespect for women. As much as she wanted to read the articles in detail, it didn’t really resolve the current problem.
    “Try Auden Garceau and girlfriend.”
    “But—”
    “Try it,” he insisted.
    She did so, and images and photos emerged of Auden with models, presenters, actresses