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17

Kier

Devon, July 2018

‘What’s that?’ Zeph sits up, squinting, and then roughly rubs his eyes. Creases from the pillow mark his face like scars.

‘One of your knife things. It came off the shelf. Something fell out of it.’

‘Okay.’ His face is expressionless, a yeah, and . It throws me.

‘This necklace.’ I hold it up, my heart thudding, the broken strand swinging uselessly in the air. I can still see the faint marks on the stone.

My eyes lock on the pattern. Four dots near the bottom, three above.

Zeph’s eyes follow the back and forth of the necklace. ‘Yeah, I forgot that was there. It’s Romy’s.’ He looks embarrassed. ‘Sounds stupid saying it now, but after we broke up, I wanted something of hers. She’d left it in the apartment, and I kept it.’

In the half dark his face shifts and wobbles.

‘I thought—’ My voice wavers. It feels like something solid has lodged in my throat.

‘Hey,’ he says quickly. ‘ I’m sorry, doesn’t mean anything, not any more. If we broke up, I’d do the same. Fucking sentimental, despite telling everyone the contrary.’ Zeph scrutinises my face. ‘Look, I can throw it. Something I was clinging to for no other good reason than after we split, it was the last thing I had of hers.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Fingers trembling, I gather up the broken strands, slip the necklace back inside the knife sheath, put it back onto the shelf.

‘Sure?’ Reaching up, he pulls me back into bed.

I nod. I can’t tell him that it’s not jealousy that was on my mind when I looked at the necklace. I was thinking about his hissed fuck you and the pressure of his foot on mine.

I curl up on my side, and Zeph wraps himself around me, chin resting against the crook of my neck. Within minutes, his breathing slows and softens.

Mine doesn’t.

A strange thing happens as I lay there. Zeph’s arm, slung over me, something I barely usually register, seems to be getting heavier. So heavy I can feel the precise outline of it weighing against my flesh.

I try to focus my mind on something else, but it feels like he’s crushing me.

I’m hot suddenly. Burning hot. I reach my hand up, scrabble around to find a cooler spot on the sheet.

It doesn’t work.

In the end, I have to move his arm away, shuffle myself to the edge of the bed. As I settle back, close my eyes, I realise I’ve been holding my breath, high in my chest. Only now, away from him, does it come out.

One long exhalation.