A week has passed since our night in Alex's dungeon and I have not laid eyes on him during that time. That's not to say we haven't communicated; I have had plenty of emails, text messages and even bunches of flowers. Yet every night I fall asleep alone in my own bed, and wake up alone, the only sign that Alex has even been home being the dent in the pillow next to mine and the smell of him on my sheets. I am so frustrated I want to scream.
I am pottering around in the kitchen after a long day at work, making myself a cup of tea, when I hear the front door slam so hard I swear the hinges rattled. I make my way through to the entrance hall and look around, wondering what the hell is going on. I spy Alex's coat flung on the rack, and I cast my eye around looking for clues. I hear more thuds
