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He was ours. “Josh.” I swallow.
Then Fabian kisses me on the forehead, pulls me into him, and tells me that it’s all going to be okay.
35
Kate
But a week later everything is very far from okay. I hear the music thumping as I approach Fabian’s building, and I press my hands together to stop them shaking. Every night I’ve come here and it’s been the same, like he’s checked out. When I wake in the night, I find him sitting in the dark, drunk. He’s been taking drugs too. As I walk up the stairs in the building, the music gets louder and louder, and a door opens on the second-floor landing, a red-faced man bristling in front of me.
“I’ve told him to turn that goddamn music down!” he spits in my face. “Turn that fucking noise off.”
Two people died on me today, one of them in his teens. So, I just nod and carry on walking up the stone stairs, the man’s voice echoing off the concrete walls behind me.
“I’m calling the cops!” he shouts.Oh God, that’s all I need.
When I reach the third floor, it feels like the walls are vibrating. Another door opens on the landing, the lady’s face set in a harsh frown.
“I’ll turn it off,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
The apartment door isn’t even shut when I get to it, and when I push it open, Fabian is there in the lounge dressed only in tracksuit pants, eyes closed, shouting the words to the song at the top of his voice. I look down at my phone, open up the app and turn the music off. The silence seems to echo as Fabian swings around.
“Hey! Whatchadoing? I’m singing!” he says, flinging his arms wide and beaming.
It’s been the same every evening I’ve come here this week.
“Yeah, and every neighbor in the building can hear it and they all talked to me about it on the way up here.”
“Killjoys,” he mumbles, reeling toward the couch and picking up his phone. In two presses, the music starts thumping out again.
“This is the best bit!And now …” he sings loudly, “we are …” I can hardly hear what he’s singing.
I tap my screen to turn the music off again. “Fab. Fab! We can’t have the music on this loud. Put your headphones on!”
“Let’s partayyyyyy!” he shouts, taking my hands and swinging them out to the side and around pulling me into him and dragging me in a waltz around the lounge.
And it would be funny if I wasn’t bone tired. If I hadn’t been looking after people all day. If I didn’t feel likeIneeded to be looked after.
“Fab …”
“Don’t be miserable, Kate! We’re young and in the best city in the world!”
I bite the inside of my cheek as my stomach grumbles.
“I’m going to order something to eat. Have you eaten anything?”
“Na, I’m good! I’m goooooood!”
When did he eat last? But half an hour later when the delivery guy arrives, Fabian’s passed out on the couch. I eat my food, shower, and pay a couple of bills online, and when I’m ready for bed, I sit on the cushion next to his hip examining his pale gray face.What do I do with you now?I take hold of his wrist and take his pulse. It’s fast but not unreasonably so: I wonder what he took. Perhaps leaving him to sleep it off here is the best approach.
I wake up to a loud crash, and I shoot out of bed, heart racing. But as I listen, I hear feet shuffling around and a muttered curse. When I peer into the lounge, Fabian is on his feet, swaying. He blinks at me confused and then smiles a checked-out, predatory smile. Then his eyes roll and he lurches. And I try to catch him as he falls, but he comes down hard, lying on the floor groaning as I drop down beside him.
“Are you okay?” I look at his ribs, pronounced against his pale skin. “God, you’re wasting away.” I don’t know if I’m talking to myself or him.
“Oh God, my arm,” he says as his eyes roll.
“Fab, Fab.” I push at him to try to examine the side of his body where he hit the floor. He feels so light as I roll him onto his back. How much weight is he losing? He grunts. “Did you eat yesterday?”
“He was so tiny,” he mumbles, and my heart squeezes.
