This is trying out a new writing style which I probably won't use often but was quite fun and different all the same.

And yes, the paragraphs and sentences are deliberately short and disjointed for a reason.

Enjoy :)

Joetina isn't canon. Martina kept going back to Shifty. That proves that I do not own bread.

The clock ticks by Martina loudly, each sound reverberating through her bones.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He's late.

Again.

How many times this week has shifty been late? So many, she realises, that she cannot count on one hand, or even both. Late to take her out for lunch, late to turn up at her house for the dinner she has spent hours on, and once he has finally turned up he is late to leave her home and instead stays, lounging on her couch, stuffing his face with her food and listening to her old TV too loud, spilling beer all over the expensive pink carpet that cost her a good months' pay to install.

She can't live like this any more.

She wants a man who is reliable, who is considerate and polite.

At this rate, she'd even settle for one who wasn't either, if only he didn't spill beer all over her floor.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, after she's been waiting longingly at the window for hours, each car that passes getting her hopes up only to dash them against when it drives away without stopping. She wants to give him a piece of her mind, to shout and criticise and lay down the law, things that come so easily to her in the DHSS. Now, however, she just smiles sadly.

"I know you are. It's Okay."

But he's not, and it isn't.

He sleeps over. Secretly she hates it; she has work to go to, and he keeps her awake. He sprawls out across her bed leaving her minimal room, and his snores could wake up the people in the flat next door. She is awake, inevitably, and as he sleeps she crosses the floor, snatches up a book from her dresser.

When "Mr Right" is Mr Wrong

One of her colleagues, the closest thing she has to a friend, gave her this. She was indignant and refused to read it at first, trying to maintain the illusion that her relationship was healthy.

Now, as she flicks through the pages, she sees Shifty crop up everywhere, and she feels another crack in her stone heart.

"How about we go out for lunch?" One hand rubs her back. Her shoulders heave in a sigh.

She knows the drill. He asks her out to lunch, she foolishly accepts and then waits, eyes glued to her watch, until her lunch break is over. Once, he used to turn up to lunch, albeit late. Now, he rarely shows up and if he does, he dashes off again as soon as possible. It's become a painful routine, and she tells herself that this time she won't accept- if they don't make plans for lunch, then he can't stand her up again.

"Well?" he stares at her, his muddy brown eyes that remind her so much of a wounded dog pleading with her.

Why does he ask, when he has no intention of turning up?

No, Shifty. I can't.

She opens her mouth. His eyes grow more intense, and his hand curls around her shoulder.

Another sigh. She can't.

"Okay."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tock.

She stands outside the restaurant they had agreed on, eyes searching the streets even though she knows he isn't coming. It's raining; not scattered, fat drops, but a steady thin drizzle, the kind that seeps into her skin and leaves her sodden. She feels like a drowned cat standing there, her hair which is usually styled immaculately hanging down like rats' tails. She sees a couple walk past, hand in hand. They wear identical rain coats and both turn to grin at each other; their eyes are full of youth, happiness and hope... Full of love.

She can't remember the last time Shifty and her smiled at each other like that. In fact, she doesn't think they have looked at each other like that.

Ever.

Droplets trail down her cheeks, but she tells herself it is just the rain on her face. She never cries.

Martina waits for what seems like hours in the cold rain.

Shifty never shows up.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it at lunch. It was me job- I was really busy, Tina."

You don't have a proper job, you liar. You're just too busy caught up in yourself to make time for me, but when you need me you expect me to come running...

"That's fine."

No. It's not.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

It's Eight PM and the smell of Roast Beef fills the house.

Shifty's presence, however, does not.

He was supposed to get there at four.

This is a first. Four hours. Four. He has never stood her up for dinner before. Lunch, yes, many times, but the promise of one of her home cooked meals always gets him stumbling through the door, even if it is a few hours after he planned. This time, however, she has been waiting for too long. She has dressed up, styled her hair and put a meal- which cost a good few quid that she couldn't really afford- In the oven. But Shifty is nowhere to be seen.

Is he going to start standing her up for dinner, now, as well as lunch?

The answer is clear when the hours melt away and it is nine o'clock.

Mind occupied with waiting for Shifty, she let the food burn. She changes out of her best dress, and tosses the charred hunk of beef into the rubbish.

Then she sits down.

And cries.

Martina never cries, but she does so now. She cries for all the hours she has wasted on this man who clearly doesn't love her, and for the fact that she needs to pull out of this relationship, and for the even worse fact that she can't.

She sits and pours her emotions out for hours.

Then the phone rings.

Here we go. Another feeble excuse. What is it this time?

"Martina!" His voice sounds lost, smothered by some unknown setting. "Thank God you're there! This is me only phone call! The pigs got me... They said I was stealing a car, but I swear, it wasn't me... I know I've done it before, but this time-"

Oh.

It's not a feeble excuse. He has a genuine reason for not turning up this time.

And it's even worse than if he'd lied.

"I can't believe it."

But she can believe it. He's a thief and he's lied to her countless times and she can't take it any more.

"I swear, it wasn't me!"

Just one more lie. He wasted his one phone call, because there's no way she's giving him any sympathy.

"Really?" Her voice is cold, cynical. She doesn't believe him, and he can sense it.

His voice grows frantic, pleading, desperate.

"Please! If you just... I'll pay you back, just please come over here and..."

Pay you back. She's heard that line before. She pauses, gathering her courage, drawing up the fierce Dragon-lady persona she adopts at work.

"Goodbye, Shifty."

Goodbye forever.

"Tina! Ti-"

Click.

She hangs up the phone. It takes all her strength to do it but she does, and turns away.

He's left her waiting too many times.

Now, it's his turn to wait. He can sit in that cell for hours, hoping and praying that she'll turn up and bail him out.

Well, he can wait as long as he wants. He can rot, for all she cares.

Because she's not coming.

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock.

Shifty waits up for what seems like hours on a cold jail bed.

Martina never shows up.