I text Keegan that I’m giving her space, then I pack an overnight bag and leave.
6
Liam
There is no way of turning off emotions. But there are switches that can be flicked or, more accurately, buttons that can be pressed to aid the process of weaning myself off Freddie Lester. I blocked his number. I signed out of the group chat, and although Ryker tells me it still says I’m part of it, I haven’t seen any interactions he and Freddie might or might not have been having. My purge of Freddie went further. I blocked him on social media, cleared his messaging history, and even deleted my favourite pictures of him from my phone.
It’s cold, I know, but I’ve always been known as the colder one between me and Ryker.
Ryker has taken a different approach, which is to fly abroad each weekend to avoid being in the same country as Freddie. And he thinksmymethod of blocking Freddie from our socials is extreme?
It’s been over a month, and we’re miserable with this new arrangement.
Keiron sits beside me on the sofa, sprawled out in my dressing gown. He’s only wearing his underwear beneath. His bare feet are propped on the coffee table, and he twitches his big toe. It would infuriate Ryker to see him like this, but he doesn’t understand how necessary Keiron is to me getting over Freddie. I need someone who knows my dark moods and about my unrequited feelings for my best friend.
“He’s Just Not That into You,” he says. It’s a suggestion of something to watch, but then the edges of Keiron’s mouth lift into a slow smile, and I know it’s more. It’s a dig, a jab, he’s poking the beast, but it’s in hibernation. He can make all the cruel remarks he wants because it doesn’t hurt. I expect it by now, and maybe Ryker’s right about the wholepoisonthing. Maybe I’m in control of this. I have the cure after all. I could kick Keiron out, but I don’t. Freddie is poison too, a poison that’s seeped so deep it exists in my very atoms, and maybe there’s no cure for that damage, but I can at least stop taking more.
Keiron puts the movie on when I don’t answer. He studies his nails as it starts before cursing at the dirt beneath. I watch as he tries to pick it free, but he soon gives up and glances around to find something to help. He zeros in on my book by his feet. It’s a special edition of Bram Stoker’sDracula, a hardback with red foil font and a bat across the full moon. Freddie bought it for me. I thought about giving it away. I thought aboutthrowingit away. I couldn’t. Keiron knows it’s from Freddie, because Freddie wrote in it after all, wishing me a happy thirtieth birthday, and I imagine that’s the reason Keiron picks it up.
He uses the corners of the book to clean his nails, and I don’t stop him. I do nothing. He dirties my book and blunts the edges, and Idonothing. Keiron doesn’t look at me while he does it, he’s facing the TV, but he’s smirking, and I wonder whether I did this to him.
Did I make him this bitter, cruel person by being in love with someone else while partaking in whatever messed-up relationship we’re in?
Am I his poison too?
I think I am.
The doorbell rings, and Keiron turns to me. “That’ll be the pizza.”
He lets my copy ofDraculaslip from his hand and hit the carpet with a soft thud. I don’t pick it up, but I heave myself off the sofa to answer the front door. My hand comes up, ready to take the pizza, but I snatch it away and curl it into a fist against my chest when I see who stands on the other side of the door.
Freddie tugs on the strap of his rucksack as he gazes up at me. “I was close by,” he says without offering a location or reason for his proximity. “Thought I’d come say hi, it’s been a while.”
It feels like a test. Electronically, I’ve banished him from my life, but he’s here in person, tilting forward like he aims to take a step closer—a step inside—but he won’t do it until he’s invited. He’s curled forward, poised, and I don’t dare move in case my retreat to shut the door on him looks like a welcome. I don’t want him to come in, but I don’t want to slam the door in his face either. That seems unnecessarily cruel, especially when his eyes fill with unshed tears the longer we’re frozen in this standoff.
He bites his lip before asking so softly that I would’ve missed the words if I hadn’t been watching his mouth. “Can I come in?”
I want to tell him yes, if he promises never to leave. That’s the realisation I’ve come to. I can’t be friends with Freddie, not if it’sonlyfriends. Maybe that’s selfish, to give a friendship an ultimatum, but that’s what it’s come down to.
“I’m busy.”
Freddie’s eyes widen, flashing me a sorrowful blue.
I’m hit by a memory—or an inclination, or a habit, I don’t know quite how to describe it—but whenever Freddie had sweetsas a kid, he always picked Smarties, and he always shared them with me and Ryker despite us having our own snacks. He’d give Ryker the orange ones, the colour of the football team he supports, and he’d give me pink and blue. I’d told him they were my favourite colours, and Ryker burst out laughing, adamant they weren’t, but Freddie dutifully handed them over to me with a shy smile every time. Pink and blue. His eyes and his lips. That’s what I saw when I looked at him. That’s what made the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings from when I was nine years old.
Whenever he has Smarties, even now, he’ll share the colours.
I’m looking at Freddie, and he’s bitten his lips red, and his tears distort the blue of his eyes. I don’t like either colour right now, they’rewrongon his beautiful face.
“Liam.” His voice hitches with my name, and he hastily turns away. “I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. Tell me so I can fix it.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He splutters, and it’s a cross between a laugh and a sob, then he rubs the toe of his trainers against the step. “Clearly, I have—”
“What’s the holdup?” The hairs on my nape prickle at Keiron’s voice. He comes up behind me and snakes his arms around my chest. I tolerate his touch. He’s been touching me more and more like this, knowing I hate it, but it pleases him when I don’t react.
I allow it to happen.
