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“Charlie, people are watching.”
He continues to ignore me. Sighing loudly, I reach down and pick up the cellophane bag, curling my hand around it. With my other hand I grab his shoulder in an attempt to pull him away. “Let's go, okay?”
Finally he stands up, the expression on his face distraught. “Fucking hell, that cost me a grand.”
I'm about to answer when I feel somebody standing behind us. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my breath escapes in a whistle.
The half-spilled baggie of coke is still in my hand.
I twist my head in a slow, torturous fashion, afraid that it's a security guard, or even worse a policeman, who’s spotted us scrabbling around on the floor.
But instead of a navy-blue uniform, I see a pair of cool, mossy green eyes.
“What the fuck's going on?” Callum's accent gets stronger when he's angry. His lips twist as he stares down at the powder-coated paving slab, taking in the detritus Charlie's left behind. “What's that?”
“I don't know,” Charlie says, his voice tremulous. I think it's finally dawned on him what an idiot he's been, and the possible consequences of his action.
“Amy.” Callum's tone is quiet, but it's edged with steel. There's a coldness to it I haven't heard before. “Is that yours?”
My muscles seize up. I can't breathe, I can't move. I definitely can't work out how to answer his question without landing one of us in it. That's why I stay silent, gripping the baggie tightly.
“Are you going to say something, or do I need to call the police?”
I look over at Charlie, who's staring back at me. His face is almost as white as the powdered floor. He shakes his head slowly at me.
“Don't call the police,” I say, my hand aching from holding the packet so tightly. Any minute now it's going to cramp, and everything will be revealed.
For a moment I think about throwing Charlie under the bus. I could tell Callum exactly who's responsible for this clusterfuck of epic proportions. But then I remember Charlie's kindness, the way he's included me in evenings out while the other interns have mostly ignored me. He's a decent guy. Easily led, but nice.
Somehow I find the strength to raise my eyes to Callum's. “It's not ours. We just found it here.”
“Liar.”
He's looking at me as if he hates me. There's a twitch on the side of his jaw that is rapidly pushing at his cheek.
“Callum, I...”
He grabs my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin. His ferocity scares me.
“You're doing drugs,” he hisses. “Do you know how stupidly fucked up that is? I thought you were better than that.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “You're hurting me.”
He steps back, wincing as if I've slapped him. My wrist throbs from its newfound freedom. Charlie is completely silent, looking back and forth at the two of us. He seems totally out of his depth.
Callum exhales slowly, rubbing his face with agitation. “Just tell me what the fuck's going on.”
I'm not sure what makes me do it. It could be the haunted look on his face or the desperate tone of his voice. Whatever it is I find my fingers slowly unfurling, revealing the crumpled, now-damp bag of coke. Callum follows my gaze, and his expression hardens into something unrecognisable.
The next minute he's grabbing hold of my sleeve and dragging me away, while Charlie mutters something about going back inside. Then Callum takes the baggie from me, his breath coming in shallow, irregular gulps.
He pulls me around the corner of the building, then stops, pushing me against the cool, brick wall. Leaning close, he rasps out a question.
“How long have you been taking it?”
I shake my head, my voice surprisingly strong. “I'm not.”
