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Fuck.
Sarah and I aren’t even in an official relationship yet, and I’m already talking like one of those pussy-whipped suckers who are always wondering what they’ve done to incur the wrath of their women.
At first, my optimistic guess was that she was afraid to get the piercing after all and changed her mind. But that doesn’t seem likely now.
No, there’s something else going on.
Did she find out about . . .
No. There’s no way. I’ve been careful. There’s no way for Sarah to find out . . . unless . . . unless she looked through my shit at work.
That doesn’t seem like something Sarah would do, though.
As she drives away and leaves me alone with the trees and the nocturnal creatures of the woods, I make a vow to myself.
I swear I’ll find out what’s wrong, and then I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything.
Sarah
It’s midnight. Finally.
I turn off the lights in the living room. I’m going to do something I’ve wanted to do all night.
I step toward the window, twisting behind me one last time to check that it’s completely dark. If there’s even just a little bit of light, Luca may be able to see me.
I pull the curtain open just a tiny bit, careful not to let my silhouette be clearly seen from outside.
As I expected, Luca’s outside.
He’s leaning against his parked car. It’s starting to collect some dirt on its usually shiny black body.
Luca should take that car to the carwash. He used to do that about every week, but he’s been sitting out there for ten days now, and the car hasn’t budged from its spot in this outdoor carpark.
Normally, the car would be tucked into Luca’s garage where it would be safe from the elements. Looking at it right now, I can tell the car’s been through a lot these past few days. I even see a couple of white splatters on the hood—a sign that the local pigeons aren’t happy about it spending so much time here.
Luca doesn’t look much better than his car either.
His shirt is starting to look more grey than white, and dark hair is taking over his face.
Charming, right? You’d think a guy would at least shave and put on a clean shirt when he’s trying to talk to a girl he likes.
But then again, who ever said he likes me? He probably didn’t. I’m the idiot for making assumptions.
He was just using me to get drugs. I wonder how long this has been going on. Based on the codes on the pill bottles, this could’ve started when Peter was still alive.
A chill shoots down my spine at the thought that even Luca’s friendship with Peter might’ve been a lie.
It’s possible Luca only got close to Peter in order to get to the drugs. And now that Peter’s gone, Luca needs another sucker to help him. That’s where I, apparently, come in.
I can’t believe I’m saying this. But maybe my mom was right. Maybe Luca is a dealer.
I don’t think I was ever in any danger of him getting me hooked on drugs, though. If he wants me to maintain a steady supply of drugs, he needs me to keep my business running. That means he needs me to have my act together and to trust him.
He almost succeeded.
I scold myself as worry takes root in my heart.
I shouldn’t care about him, but I can’t help wondering . . . Is he eating and drinking okay? And where does he go when he needs a bathroom? Is he actually using those drugs himself? Will he go through withdrawal soon? How is he going to endure that, while living in his car?
Luca . . . are you okay?
My breath catches when Luca raises his gaze and stares straight at me.
He can’t possibly see me, though. There’s no way.
As Luca’s eyes shift focus, I breathe a sigh of relief.
He didn’t see me.
Let’s keep it that way.
I close the curtain, go to my bedroom, and let myself fall into bed.
I can’t see him from here. But the image of Luca, standing alone and forlorn under the yellow street lights, follows me all the way into my dreams.
“Sarah, are you ready to talk yet?” Luca’s eyes are pleading. They appear sincere.
But then again, obviously, I can’t trust my own judgment of Luca’s character. If it weren’t for me finding indisputable proof of his theft—which is a serious crime, by the way—I still would trust him, like a chump.
It angers me that he tried to deceive me, but it makes me furious to think that he may have done the same thing to Peter, too.
I ignore Luca. If I look at those duplicitous eyes too long, I might cave and start to believe his lies again.
He’s a liar. He’s a liar. He’s a liar.
I say these three words to myself, over and over again, like a mantra, as Luca follows me to my car. Unfortunately, I don’t have a garage, so I can’t escape a confrontation with Luca every time I need to go out for some errands.
