“Yes, well, about that,” I say, and I look up at Pia, who is still looking like her standing here in just her knickers is completely normal. “If you don’t mind keeping this to yourself, that would be appreciated.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but”–his expression turns serious, and I’m surprised when he then looks at Pia–“you deserve to be treated right, Cassie. I’ve said that to you before, and I’m saying it again now.”
Pia’s smirk wavers a little, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t have a quippy reply for him.
“Noted,” I say, quietly. “Thank you, Clarence.”
“Well, I’ll be going. See you this afternoon,” he says, and then he gives each of us a nod and walks away down the corridor.
“Shit,” I hiss as I close the door and lean back against it. I feel like my stomach has sunk to the very pits of hell.
Pia shrugs. “He won’t tell.”
“I don’t think he will either, but…”
“What?” She crosses her arms.
“Doesn’t it scare you? People finding out?”
Another shrug. “Why would it?”
I stare at her so intently it hurts my eyeballs. “Pia, we can’t … It would ruin everything.”
She rubs a hand over her face. “I need a cigarette,” she mutters before looking at me again.
“Don’t you agree?” I ask.
“Sure, sure. It would ruin everything,” she repeats almost robotically, and then she turns and walks away.
When I find her, she’s in the bedroom again, rummaging through the pockets of her jeans. “Fan, Geert must have stolen my smokes.”
“Pia,” I say with enough edge in my voice that she stops what she’s doing, drops the jeans and looks at me. “Why aren’t you scared?”
She looks at me blankly for a long time. It’s long enough that I think she’s not going to reply. But then she sinks down on the bed and sighs. I sit down next to her.
“You think I’m not scared?” she asks eventually.
“I … You don’t seem to be.”
“Well, that’s because I’m a performer,” she says. “A good one.”
“I’m not disagreeing.”
“But of course, I’m scared. I’ve lived every day of my life scared. Scared of not having enough food in the fridge. Scared of getting a hole in my second—or third—hand snow boots and having to have cold, wet feet for the rest of winter because there was no way Mom could afford to replace them. Scared of being the only Asian kid in my class, in my group music lessons, in every single space I walk into. Scared of never being truly known because I grew up speaking two languages, and with two ethnicities, and I wasn’t Swedish the way everyone else was, and I definitely didn’t feel Thai enough either. Scared that I gave up everything I knew and owned to try and be a musician in not just one but three brand-new countries. Scared that if I stop drinking andgetting high completely then I’ll be boring and no longer the person everyone wants me to be. Scared that I’ll like that person more, but what if she can’t write good music? Scared that that will mean all the success I’ve had will then magically disappear one day and I’ll be left with nothing.” She pauses, and somehow I know there’s more to come. “But do you know what being scared every single day of my life has taught me?”
“What?” I whisper, my next breath dependent on her answer.
“That you have to live with the fear. You have to look it in the face and take it along for the ride, but not the other way around. You can never let fear be the driver.”
My hands itch to reach for her, but there’s something about the hard line of her jaw that stops me. “You really are a good performer,” I say. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’d be boring if you were sober. From what I’ve seen and learned about you, I actually think you’re more interesting when you’re sober.”
“That’s because you’re also sober and boring.” She nudges me with an elbow.
“Oh, is that what you think? Because before we were rudely interrupted, it didn’t exactly seem that way.” I nudge her back.
“As you just said, I’m a good performer,” she says with a knowing smile, but then it slips away as she turns towards me. “But none of that scares me as much as what I feel when I think about you. And I don’t know if I’m a good enough performer to hide that.”
There’s no stopping me grabbing her hand now and holding it tightly with both of mine. “I don’t want you to.”