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The longer I stare at him, the fear that had paralysed me mere moments ago begins to shift.
“Chris?” His name is a hoarse whisper from my throat.
What the fuck? Why is he here? How did he find me? Did he just kill someone? Does he know I saw him? Is he going to kill me too?
Panic consumes me, every muscle in my body frozen with fear.
Before I can react, he storms past me, slamming the door shut, and starts pacing the room. I inch backwards, keeping as much distance as I can, my heart pounding in terror. I don’t take my eyes off him for a second, not even daring to blink.
His hands are in his coat pockets and I’m all too aware that he could pull a knife out at any moment. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Tears prick my eyes and I send a prayer up to God, to Jesus, Mary, to my parents, to any higher spirit looking out for me, begging them not to let me die tonight.
I need to call the police. Maybe if I just dial, they can hear what’s going on and trace the address. Or Marcus. If I don’t say anything, he’ll know something’s wrong and he’ll come back.
My hand clenches into a fist, the space where I usually hold my phone empty as I suddenly remember it’s on the bed.
I consider dashing to the bedroom, but terror keeps my feet glued to their spot.
Please come back, Marcus.Please.
He collapses onto my couch, dropping his face in his hands.
“Tell me you didn’t call the cops,” he says, his voice a shaky whisper.
What do I do? Do I lie? Will he kill me if I say yes?
“I… I…”
He stands up and walks toward me, my entire body curling inward in anticipation of an attack, but instead, he stops a foot in front of me.
I look at his face, and I’m suddenly taken aback.
His eyes are brimming with tears and his face is screwed up in almost as much terror as I assume mine is.
“Did you tell them my name, Lila?” he shouts, his voice sharp and sudden - like a crack of thunder that slams into me. Every muscle in my body coils tight.
But then… I look in his eyes. And there’s vulnerability, and fear. And the eyes that had just looked threatening, now just look… scared.
And suddenly, I don’t see a murderer, or even a stranger.
Instead, I’m sixteen again, standing in that grimy flat his cousin used to stay in – the reek of stale smoke and stained carpets manifesting themselves in my mind, and the memory that flashed earlier comesback full-force - my heart pounding from what I thought was intimacy. Thinking I’d just done something good. And then him, pulling away, like I’d done something wrong. “Go wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
The memory of it burns fresh like acid on my skin.
I blink, and I see him. Now. In my flat.Myflat. The flat I pay for, with my own damn money.
He’s older. Harder. And far more of a wreck than I ever imagined he’d become.
But beneath the hard exterior, he’s still the same boy – broken in the same awful ways.
I shake my head slowly, my voice barely a whisper. “No.”
He lets out a huge breath, rubbing his face with both hands, dragging his fingers down like he’s trying to scrape off the panic. He stumbles back to the couch and collapses, and for the first time since opening the door, I allow myself to take a breath.
“I fucked up,” he mutters. “I fucked up real bad.”
I simply stare at him, not knowing what to say.