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A shiver runs down my spine, the question reminding me of the reason we’re in this situation in the first place.
My eyes drift nervously to the window. The black car is still there.
“Chris,” I whisper, not wanting to say it too loud in case it manifests him in some ghostly way.
He’s quiet for a moment.
“Did you love him?”
My eyes snap back to his. There’s a cold edge to his voice – something restrained and sharp, like he’s bracing for an answer he doesn’t want to hear. But there’s something softer there too. Sadness, maybe regret. I search his eyes, trying to see past the mask, to figure out what he’s thinking.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Maybe I thought I did when I was younger, but I didn’t know any better back then.”
I hesitate, not sure if I should tell him more, but when he doesn’t respond, I decide to continue.
“When I was in school, he… had a reputation for being the one you went to if… you wanted to… buy… stuff.” I hesitate, watching Marcus’s expression.
Admitting this to him is one of the biggest things I was afraid of, and I’ve barely had a day to think about it. During the drive here, I’d rehearsed in my head how I would tell him when it eventually came up, and in every version, he looked at me like I was damaged. Like Iwas someone he could never want. And the thought of him looking at me like that absolutely destroys me.
From what little I know about him, he seems to be really clean-cut, someone who always does things the right way. And people like that – they usually have a clear line when it comes to drugs. I keep thinking that once he’s heard what I used to be like, he’ll see me differently.
But his expression remains open, watching me, listening, his eyes soft and caring – so I continue.
“After my dad died, I was in a real bad place, so, I found him. We started hanging out, smoking together at first, and it sort of grew from there. I think he felt bad for me, but it was nice to just feel as though someone was on my side, you know? It was like… any attention felt like safety, like I wasn’t alone in a world that was completely falling apart.
He helped me get through Year 11. I mean, I don’t know if I would have dropped out or what, but, just… having someone… helped me keep coming to school.
But then, I somehow got into college, and he didn’t even apply anywhere, so… that was basically it.”
Marcus’s eyes are focused on the table, his hands wrapped around his cup. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t appear angry or disgusted. I search every line of his face, wishing more than anything that I could read his mind, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Desperate to lift the mood, to find something to draw his gaze back up to me, a voice in my head tells me to be honest - to cement that my confession earlier wasn’t just in the heat of the moment.
My chest feels tight, like the words are pressing against my ribs, begging to get out. I can’t tell if I’m about to be brave or stupid.
“To be honest,” I say, speaking slowly, my heart rate ratcheting up to super speed as it tries to stop me saying the next words that are onthe tip of my tongue. “You’re… pretty much the only guy I’ve thought about at all over the last two years.”
I focus my gaze entirely on my coffee cup, swirling the base of it on the table in front of me. I don’t dare look at him, in case I’ve completely freaked him out.
“You’re joking,” he says, and my eyes jump up, hearing the smile in his voice. Seeing his face, my heart fucking soars, doing loop-de-loops in my rib cage as I take in the wide grin lighting up his face, his eyes glimmering with that magical sparkle that I am so completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with.
“No,” I say, my cheeks flushing with a burning heat as I coyly brush a strand of hair off my face. “I’ve had a crush on you ever since the first day I met you.”
He laughs, his face lit up in a bewildered smile. “Damn.”
God, I would literally give my left kidney at the moment to be able to read his mind.
“Sorry,” I say, hoping my confession doesn’t make him uncomfortable.
“What the hell are you sorry for?” he asks, the smile on his face providing some reassurance.
I feel my face grow even redder as my heart thunders in my chest.
“I don’t know.”
“If anything, I’m the one that needs to be sorry,” he says.
I look up at him, truly confused. “What?”