Page 18 of My Best Friend Is Broken

Maybe he is.

“That’s nearly the whole time I was inside,” he says quietly. “The whole time I was... you were...”

“I was trying to build something for us,” I say desperately. “This apartment, the money, everything I have… it was supposed to be for when you got out. So we could have a life.”

“A life built on violence.”

The words hit like a physical blow. “Liam…”

“Don’t.” His voice cracks. “Don’t try to make this about me. Don’t make me responsible for your choices.”

He’s right. God, he’s right, and that makes it so much worse.

I stand up, my legs unsteady. “I have to go get ready.”

“What if they catch you?”

The question stops me cold. I turn back to look at him, and for a moment I see a flash of the old Liam, the one who used to worry about me getting detention, who used to wait up when I had to work late at the chip shop.

“They won’t,” I say, but we both know it’s not a promise I can make.

“What if you don’t come back?”

The naked fear in his voice nearly breaks my resolve. I want to crawl back onto that bed, wrap my arms around him, and never let go. I want to call Dante and tell him togo fuck himself. I want to be eighteen again, sitting under that overpass, believing we could be anything.

Instead, I force myself to walk toward the door.

“I’ll be back,” I say. “I swear to you, Liam. I’ll be back.”

But even as I say it, I can feel him slipping away from me, retreating back into that place where I can’t follow.

My hands shake as I lay out my clothes on my bed. Black jeans, black sweater, black jacket. The uniform of someone who needs to disappear into shadows. I’ve done this routine dozens of times, but tonight it feels like putting on a costume for my own funeral.

Down the hall, I can hear nothing from Liam’s room. No crying, no movement. Just silence, which somehow feels worse than the sobbing.

I shower quickly, mechanically, trying not to think about the last time I held him. How he’d whispered, “You smell like home,”against my neck. How desperately he’d clung to me, like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Now I’m the thing he needs protecting from.

When I’m dressed, I check my gun. Clean the barrel, count the bullets, even though I know Dante won’t need me for the actual killing. I’m just the driver. Just the getaway. Just complicit enough to be damned.

My phone buzzes. Dante again.Thirty minutes.

It is not like Dante to repeat himself. Or to pester. It is like him to slide into your mind and know exactly all the doubts you are holding.

I walk back to Liam’s room. The door is still ajar, just like I left it that first night. But when I peer inside, he’s not on the bed anymore.

“Liam?”

I find him in the corner again, but this time he’s not just curled up, he’s pressed against the wall like he’s trying to push through it. His eyes are wide and glassy, staring at nothing.

“Hey.” I kneel down in front of him, careful not to touch. “I’m leaving now.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even seem to see me.

“The door will be locked,” I continue, desperate to get through to him. “No one can get in. You’re safe here.”

Still nothing.