Except now there will be new sounds.
The thought didn’t repel me—it terrified me, and I had no idea why.
I removed my boots and left them beside the door mat. In the kitchen, I wiped down the counter that didn’t need wiping, straightened the stack of unopened mail, and moved a plant two inches to the left and then back again. In the bathroom, I opened the cupboard above the boiler and reached up to grab clean sheets. There were four pillows on my bed, and I only ever used two, so that was a no-brainer. The spare blankets were folded neatly on a high shelf in the wardrobe. A glance at my bedside alarm clock told me there was an hour to go until six.
Enough time to rewrite the rules again, to draw a line in thicker marker, to practice the face that saidwelcome, stay, be safe, and not the one that saidI’ve been thinking about your smile for four years and pretending I wasn’t.
Except I was lying to myself. It was more than Cameron’s smile that had occupied my thoughts.
Those same thoughts that filled me with shame.
In the bathroom, I caught my reflection. Max wasn’t wrong; my face defaulted to emergency. I practiced neutral, but it made me look vaguely constipated. I huffed and leaned closer.
“You are a competent adult,” I told my mirror in a hushed tone. “You are helpful. You are safe.”
Whatever the mirror thought, it wasn’t saying.
Back in the kitchen, I placed a second mug near the kettle, then moved it, then put it back where it had been. I opened the cutlery drawer and realised I’d rearranged the spoons three times in as many minutes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
It wasn’t the size of the flat, although God knew it wasn’t huge. It wasn’t the schedule. It wasn’t even the group, because Cameron wouldn’t be there when we rehearsed.
It was the fact that the drawer markedNot Yourshadn’t stayed shut permanently. I’d prepared for the rattle, for the occasional midnight shudder. I hadnotprepared for opening it myself and saying,Come in. Find a shelf.
I put both hands on the counter, locking my arms, head bowed. I thought of the summer sun on my forearms, the smell of overcooked onions, the wayohhad sounded in my skull like an instrument tuning to itself. I thought of the leather bar, the way Cameron had said,Maybe you just don’t know me yet, and how the line had been both invitation and boundary, and I’d chosen the boundary.
That was the wise decision.
I would choose it again. I could hold two truths close to my heart: desire and discipline. I’d done harder things than this. I’d kept worse secrets from myself.
And yet, when the buzzer sounded downstairs two minutes early at 5:58—Of course he’s early—my heart still knocked the way it did before a performance, not out of fear or excitement, but that precarious, electric space in between.
A second line was about to overlay my life. I could feel where it would fit without seeing it. I wondered if I could hold it. I’d drawn it thick enough, and I would draw it again if I had to. I would be safe, even if that meant making diamonds out of coal with nothing but pressure and time.
I swallowed hard and stepped back, my heart slamming against my ribs.
This is temporary, I reminded myself.Two weeks. No more.
But as I headed down to open the front door, I couldn’t escape the terrible, exhilarating certainty that nothing about this was going to be temporary at all.
Cameron
I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder, trying to breathe around the knot in my chest. I’d rehearsed this in my head all the way across town.
Knock. Smile. Act normal.
I could do normal. I wasgreatat normal. Only, my hands were sweating, my pulse wouldn’t stop tripping, and the closer I got to Theo Sinclair’s front door, the less I believed any of it.
51 Cambridge Grove looked as if it had once been owned by the council, but instead of one wide front door, there were two narrow ones. It was on a quiet little side street, facing a church, with buses trundling along Glenthorne Road. I walked up the red-and-black diamond-shaped tiled path to the doors and pressed the doorbell for Flat 2.
A second later, something buzzed, and Theo’s voice came through the speaker, low and even.
“It’s open.”
Two words, clipped and polite, uttered in the kind of tone that saidyou’re safe hereandI’m already regretting thisall at once.
Then Theo was there, standing at the top of the stairs. He wore dark jeans, a black T-shirt, his forearms bare, his expression carefully neutral, exuding that same aura of control that made me want to ruffle it just to see what would happen.