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He lets out a sob that seems to start in his gut and rip its way out, his face twisting with emotion before he pushes himself up again.
He’s shaking. Pacing. His eyes darting between the floor, the window, the door, and back to me.
“Swear down, you ain’t told ‘em my name?”
“No,” I say, an unexpected strength rising from somewhere within me. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it was you.”
He stops dead and turns to me.
“You fucking saw me!” he yells, the words cracking with desperation more than fury.
A shiver ripples down my spine as his voice shakes the air.
“It was dark. I didn’t know what I saw.”
I stay rooted to my spot as he resumes pacing nervously.
“What about your boyfriend?” he spits out.
It takes an insurmountable feat of strength to stop a smile from taking over my face at the sound of Marcus being referred to as my boyfriend.
“He didn’t see anything,” I say, keeping my voice steady, trying to sound as convincing as I can.
“Lila, these people I’m in with, they’re no fucking joke.” His voice is shaky and his eyes dart around the room, as though he’s on the verge of breaking down.
And something cracks open inside me – sudden and sharp – like a floodgate bursting open, and in an instant, memories hit me like a punch in the gut. The way he’d been there for me when no one else was after Dad died, the countless evenings spent getting high in that dingy flat, numbing the pain, the grief, the sheer fucked-up-ness of it all. Fumbling with a condom in the back seat of his cousin’s car, losing my virginity in a blur of awkwardness and regret.
And the awful people he hung out with - God, he always had a talent for choosing the worst crowd.
And I remember falling in love with him. Or at least thinking I had. Looking back now, it was nothing more than a desperate, clinging attachment born out of trauma and my father’s betrayal.
A vision flares in my mind of the night he made me try a line of coke, the sick discomfort twisting in my stomach, the hideous burn in my nose.
And I remember the way he looked at me - after I did what he asked. The disgust in his eyes.
And now, standing in front of me, it’s clear that nothing’s changed for him.
He’s pale. Gaunt. Probably riding a cocktail of God-knows-what.
And he’s absolutely terrified.
“I won’t tell,” I say quietly.
He nods as he continues pacing the room. “Good.”
He walks to the door and yanks it open. “I knew I could count on you, Lai,” he says, using the single syllable of my name like he used to, the sound of it that once felt like a comfort now scraping at my ears like sandpaper.
He steps out the door, flipping his hood back up.
He stops, turning back. “And if you do, I know where you live. And Iwillcome back.”
He storms off down the corridor.
I slam the door closed, locking and bolting it before crumbling onto the floor with a loud sob. Tears flow heavily from my eyes and my chest constricts, my lungs gasping for breath.
I muster the strength to force myself off the floor and run to my bedroom, grabbing the phone off the bed. My hands are shaking so much that I can barely open my contacts.
I’m about to dial Marcus, but I stop myself, my finger hovering over his name.