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My heart hammers in my chest and my stomach flips.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you soon, beautiful.”
IstumbleasIstruggle to hook my foot into the black stiletto heel I kept from the days when I had been able to go out regularly; the final artefact of a life long left behind.
Catching sight of myself in the mirror I pause. The poppy red dress hugs my figure tight, wrapping around my waist and cutting in a smooth square across my chest. The colour is striking. I adjust myself, smoothing the fabric as I turn to the side to appraise myself a little more and frown. Objectively, I look good. I have never been under any misguided impression that I’m not what my mother would callchocolate box pretty, but staring at this image of me - all dolled up and trying to impress - something just feels wrong.
Fixing my hair so that it falls in smooth waves down my back and adjusting the shoulder of my dress to cover the small scar there, I take one last look at myself before opening my bedroom door. I need to let go of the nagging voice telling me to change my dress. That voice does not belong to me.
Moving through the space slowly, I begin to hum as I search for my keys. After assessing the kitchen counters I figure they have to be on the couch, so I pour a glass of wine and head over to the seat I’d thrown my jacket on in my rush this afternoon.
As I lean over the back of the couch, rummaging between cushions, the front door opens and closes and I half shout a quick hey over my shoulder, without looking behind me.
My hand is buried beneath the cushions, trapped between pillows that refuse to give to my touch but drag me in still. My hair falls forwards, like a curtain between me and the room, and I grunt as I try to blow it out of my eyes.
I should have taken the five extra seconds and gone around.
With my ass in the air and my face dangerously close to the pristine cream fabric, I hear Jamie’s keys clunk on the counter and the fridge door open.
“Gotcha!” I mutter as I hook my pinky finger through my keyring and pull hard. The key snags, but another tug and they’re free. “I found a place!” I push myself up from my precarious position, legs flailing slightly before I teeter in my heels, and shove the keys into the tiny bag beside me. “It’s small and it’s quirky and I love it.”
“Quirky in what way?”
“Oh.” I still at his voice.
Yes, I pity Ben right now.
Yes, I offered him a smile and agreed to a truce.
Yes, I did these things as a willing participant.
Truthfully, I know I need to say something. I need to answer him because our truce is new and fragile. I want to say something. I really do. But when I look up at him and he smiles tentatively at me, his lips curving into a lazy sort of half smile and his eyes still a little sad, my mind goes blank. No. That’s a lie. My mind flashes right back to that torn and broken expression from ten years ago and Iache. I have nothing I can say. I offer him a tense smile instead and he nods before dropping his gaze to the floor.
“Jamie, I’m going out. I’ll be back late.” I look to the floor too, just as Jamie rolls his eyes.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” My brother jumps over the back of the couch as if he’s some eighteen year old gamer and not a thirty-one year old business man, and I chuckle a little. “Or do. Up to you.”
As if on cue, the buzzer sounds and I scuttle to the door, leaving without another word and shutting down the bubbling feeling of anxiety building under the heat of sea blue eyes that follow me out to the corridor.
“I’mtellingyou.”Joshsmiles and his eyes sparkle with something akin to mischief as he leans forwards in his chair and pours more wine into my glass. I can’t help but notice his is still barely touched. “I remember it clear as day and I’ve never seen so many mice. The poor man was just screaming and the four of us were hiding in the bushes, crying with laughter. How we weren’t expelled for that I’ll never know.”
“So they caught you?” I place my napkin down as I watch him intently. He’s so relaxed and calm here, whereas I feel out of place and on display, and it’s jarring how different we are.
Josh nods as he laughs. “Oh God, yeah. Apparently, having one hundred live mice delivered to your room in a boarding school is really easy to track.”
He furrows his brow as a wicked grin spreads over his lips, and suddenly I feel a little silly; like I’ve given the wrong answer in class only for the teacher’s pet to pipe up with corrections. Trying to smile through a wave of self-doubt, I take a steadying breath and glance behind me.
“I’m sorry.” I look back at him with an apologetic smile as I rise to my feet and Josh stands too. “I’ll be right back.”
“Of course.” His eyes roam over my body and I feel awkward under his scrutiny.
Slowly, I make my way through the restaurant and towards the toilets, looking back to Josh as he takes his seat, his eyes glued to me with an intensity I can’t escape.
Watchingmyfingertipsturnwhite, the tremors pulling through my body as I cling to the marble of the counter, I try to breathe. My eyes move, fixing on the spark of darkness hidden deep beneath the green that stare back at me, and I can see it still.Never too far from the surface. Always too close to escape.
“He is not Matthew.” It comes as a whisper and yet it cuts at my throat like razor blades dragging up with his name. “He is not Matthew.”
