Erm, something went wrong. I went on holiday to the sun and the sea and the superbock and THIS POPS INTO MIND? Sorry #LTMTEAMAWESOME!

I blame Brandi Carlile 's 'Looking Out', hence the title.

She's tried it all – the pillow between her legs, the extra duvets (even in summer), the suitcase on her chest; All to feel somebody's weight. It never works, not like she hopes. It just makes her feel desperate and alone and sad. But it's better than this. This feels worse.

She can't even bear to open her eyes, lest she sees his.

His glossy, unfocussed, heavy-lidded eyes bobbing before hers.

No, she doesn't look.

If she looks, it'll be real. She will have really done the most desperate thing she can imagine.

A one-night stand would be more acceptable, more understandable. Anything but this.

He grabs her like he always did. Tweaks, rubs, thrusts like he always did and, like always, it's not working. This was never his forte, after all.

She plays along, like she always did, squirms and whimpers until he finally comes. Until she can finally grab her clothes and go cry in the car, in the shower, into her three-finger whisky.

Cry until she sleeps and wakes to his voicemail message.

He's glad she stopped by.

He enjoyed what happened, but, well, he's seeing someone now and...and as fun as it was, he doesn't think it should happen again. He thinks they should just chalk it up to old-times-sakes.

He hopes she can be happy.

She presses delete. Presses again and again until her finger hurts but she's sure his smarmy, smiling voice is gone. Until he stops calling her fucking Gilly.