Kit can have it

The Chortle thing I could have laughed about. Kit's a mate, right? He's done the Torrington slot before, he deserves it, he probably didn't even know it was mine. That's what I told myself walking home and I almost believed it and then I checked the listing again on the tube and the walk got longer by three streets. I wasn't hungry for soup but I made it anyway because my hands needed something to do and the plaster from Isla kept lifting at the corner and I kept pressing it down and the Peppa Pig sat next to the actual wound like a small mean joke about how soft I've gone.

The email to Jules. I read it back four times before I sent it and each time I found a new reason not to and then I sent it anyway because not asking is worse than asking wrong. I think. I don't know. She could say no. She could say yes. I don't know which one scares me more. The waiting is the worst part. I ate the soup with both plasters on like a man with a purpose and told myself the purpose was the email, not the fact that my thumb was still bleeding a little underneath and I couldn't look at it.