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He tossed the clothes at me like I was a laundry basket. I sighed, and picked myself off the floor. This was going to get awkward. “Fine.”
Pierre was usually never like this—flustered, embarrassed. And he had every right to be. But he also didn’t have be a shitty friend act like it was my fault, which is exactly what was going through his head. It had to be.
If friends was still what we were.
All my anxiousness faded in an instant when, after pulling on my sweatpants, I looked up to find Pierre crouching down in front of me.
“Get on,” he said, his grin spreading wider. “We’re gonna bust out of here. They won’t even know what they saw.”
Chuckling, I clambered onto Pierre’s back, and he rose to his feet, adjusting me so that his arms hooked under my legs as my own arms clung around his neck. He bent down a bit toward the door, just enough so that I could unlock it.
“Here we go,” Pierre said, and kicked open the door.
We went crashing past the line of people waiting along the wall, laughing like maniacs as Pierre continued sprinting awkwardly through the restaurant toward our table. As soon as we got there, I grabbed my purse, and we dashed toward the exit of the restaurant, not caring that people were looking and pointing, judging. We were free, hot and horny as we burst into the cold night air, and didn’t give a damn.
Thank God we had already paid.
“We’re never coming back here again,” Pierre panted, pulling me close as we entered the flow of traffic on the sidewalk. “That was crazy.”
“It was,” I laughed, also out of breath. “And don’t be a pussy. We have, like, two hundred euros left to spend.”
“You mean pounds?” Pierre said, lifting an eyebrow at me. I laughed at my own stupidity.
“Whatever.”
We kept speed-walking down the wide sidewalk for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, linking arms like a married couple as we breezed past groups of beautiful people beside beautiful buildings—storefronts glowing with premature holiday setups and neon lights written in scripted letters, the smell of perfume and cooked food mingling in the chilled air.
We came to a small park cordoned off from a block of humble residential homes by wrought-iron fencing and rose bushes. We entered the intimate circle of mossy grass and were greeted by a fountain made of white stone, carved into the shape of a wide rose, water streaming between the layers of petals. A ring of blue lights glowed from its base, causing the pool of water to glitter like the ocean I had to fly over to get here.
I felt Pierre shiver beside me, and turned my head to look at him.
“I like to come here sometimes,” he explained. “Or, I used to, until …”
All of a sudden, there were tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and he reached up a hand to wipe them away as if he were scared shitless that I might notice.
“Hey,” I said, taking his shoulders in my hands. I turned him to face me. Pierre sniffled, and kept his gaze cast downward. “Until what? Tell me.”
Pulling away from me, he made an attempt to pull himself together as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and forced his eyes back to the fountain. After a moment, he drew in a long breath.
“Until I tried to kill myself.”
His expression went stone cold. It was happening in front of his eyes, in the reflection of the blue water, all over again. I could feel him feel it.
Do I look familiar to you?
The knife. I remembered back during that last week of senior year, the time that Pierre and I had promised to never speak about that incident. That one terrifying incident. That’s what the note was referring to—the knife that Pierre had used. Tried to use.And tried to use again so recently.
It was familiar to me, alright.
But how would whoever had written that note know that? What kind of sick person would taunt me with those memories?
Even though he had gone stoic, my cheeks became slippery with tears as I reached for his hand, slowly intertwining my fingers with his. I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb in small circles, and leaned my head onto his shoulder.
We stayed like that, warm despite the freezing numbness. And I couldn’t be happier.
I heard Pierre sniffle again, and he wrapped his arm around me to pull me back toward the street.
“Come on. Let’s go home.”
