Two weeks on the rig. Cold North Sea. Wind battering metal walls. Nothing but work and sleep and radio chatter. Thirty men. Same faces. Same stories. Waiting to get back to land.
Sarah knows the drill. Shes been my go-to when I come back to Aberdeen for years now. Not a girlfriend. Not trying to pretend. Just someone who understands what offshore workers need. Quick connection. No drama. She doenst judge the way some might.
Last leave was rough. Separation papers finally signed. Wife took most everything. House feels empty when Im home. Thats where Sarah comes in. Makes me feel human again. Not just another worker drone coming off a platform.
Her flat in Rosemount always warm. Always smelling of somethin nice. Coffee. Perfume. Soft music playing. Worlds away from metal bunks and diesel and salt spray. She listens. Asks about the rig but not in that pitying way civilians do. Knows Im tired. Knows what I need.
Some might call this weakness. I call it survival. Weeks of isolation need a release. And Sarah provides that. Clean. Professional. No bullshit.