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“Apparently not,” I sigh. “How did you find out about Nico?”
“Instagram. Don't tell me that you haven’t stalked Toby.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t. I didn’t want my judgement clouded by bullshit on social media. I’m assuming you have, though.”
“Yeah, but there’s not much on him. His accounts are all new. It’s almost as if he didn’t exist a few months ago.”
“Great, my boyfriend is a ghost. Can this get any worse?”
“It could be a lot worse. That boy cares about you.”
“Maybe so, but he clearly doesn’t trust me.” And admitting that hurts more than it really should.
“Jojo.”
“I should go. You’ve got school in the morning, and I need to go and make sure Mum is okay.”
“No, please, don’t go. I feel awful for dropping all this on you on top of everything else.” She squeezes my hand and tries to keep me on the sofa.
“No, you were right to tell me. But I wish it had come from him.” Tugging my hand from hers, I place my empty glass in the sink and pull on my boots.
Normally, I’d call an Uber, but seeing as we need every penny we’ve got right now, my phone stays firmly in my pocket.
“Aren’t you calling for a ride?” Bri asks, as in tune with me as ever.
“No. I need some air. Some time to think. You were right earlier. Tomorrow is a fresh start. I need to figure out how I want it to look.”
With a sad smile at my best friend, I pull open her front door and slip out.
The second I emerge into the bitterly cold night, I pull my coat tighter around myself and head in the direction of the only home I’ve ever known. One that I’m soon going to have to leave to start over.
Each step is heavier than the last as the weight of my world falling apart around me takes hold.
Isn’t it bad enough that I’ve lost the two most important men in my life? Now I’m going to have to walk away from the place where almost all of my memories were made.
That house has seen it all—the joy, the tears, the arguments, the pain. It doesn’t seem right that we’re ripped away from that as well as those we love.
I lose myself in my memories. The Christmases, the birthdays. The first and last days at school that always ended back at that house. The joy of having Dad come home after a length of time away working. The tears when he had to leave again.
Those images soon morph into more recent ones. Ones of the boy who’s held my hand the past few weeks and helped me navigate a life that feels half empty with them gone.
The boy who appeared in my life when I needed him most, who’s made me smile during my darkest times, and picked me up—literally—when things just got too much.
He’s come to mean so much to me in such a short period of time.
Maybe I was foolish. Maybe my grief and pain clouded my judgement, made me see things that weren’t really there, feel things that weren’t really there.
No. I refuse to believe that.
When I’m with him, it is real. I feel it. I feel our connection right down to the depth of my soul. I can’t be making that up because I’m sad and lonely. I’m convinced of it.
But if the feeling is mutual, then why not tell me? Why has he kept all of this a secret when it’s apparently so easy to find online?
There’s a part of me that totally understands. That maybe he wants to keep his worlds separate. Keep me away from that life. And if it’s anything like what we see of the mafia on TV, then of course, I can understand that. But equally, it hurts. Foolishly or not. It hurts that he hasn’t been totally honest with me.
Pulling my phone from my coat pocket, I pull up my photos app and start scrolling through the ones we took together this weekend.
I stare at Toby’s face, squinting as I look into his eyes as if I’ll be able to read the truth within them. To discover the reason he’s hiding who he really is from me.
