Текст книги "Second Life"

Автор книги: S. J. Watson

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

I look at his lips, his dark skin, the faint shadow of stubble that he’s probably never quite without. ‘What—?’ I say, as panic begins to gather within me.

‘Kiss me.’

I begin to shake my head. I try to smile, to look confident, but I can’t, I’m not. I can’t believe what’s happening. Without thinking I reach for the glass of champagne.

Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out.

‘I—’ I begin, but he interrupts me again.

‘Kiss me.’

I turn my head away from him and wrest my hand from his. I start to speak, to protest. We’re in public, I want to say. Leave me alone; but my words tumble and fall. His mouth is inches away from mine; I can smell alcohol, and beneath it is something stale. Garlic, perhaps. Where’s Lukas? I think. I need him. I want him.

I look over my shoulder. The crowd has thinned out even further; the few guests that remain are engrossed in their own conversations. No one has noticed what’s going on, or else they’ve chosen to ignore it.

‘How much?’ he says. I gasp, a little grunt of horror, but he just shrugs. It’s as if the answer to his question concerns him as little as do my protests.

‘How much?’ he says again. ‘That’s all I’m asking. Name your price.’

My price? My mind races. This man thinks I’ll sell myself, we just have to negotiate a price.

‘You’ve got it wrong.’ My voice is unsteady now. Slurred not with alcohol but with dread.

‘Have I?’ He moves his hand further up my thigh; his thumb, his fingers, are underneath the hem of my skirt. Distantly, as if from a great height, I wonder why I haven’t moved away. I imagine the whole room watching; somehow everyone knows what he’s doing, can see that I’m not stopping him. I glance towards the nearest table: the couple sitting at it have halted their conversation to sip their drinks; the man behind them is speaking into his phone. No one has noticed us. No one is looking.

‘Stop it,’ I hiss.

‘I will. If you kiss me. If you promise to come upstairs and then let me fuck you.’ He licks his lips, as if he’s hungry. The action is deliberate, it carries a message; if it’d been Lukas I’d be flattered, excited, but from him it’s more like a threat. ‘Like I know you want me to. Little slag …’

I turn in on myself. There’s a rush, a swell of anger. Lukas is supposed to be here, not this man. I feel myself in balance, a perfect serenity that cannot last, and for a long moment I’m unsure what I’m going to do, which way I’m going to fall.

I steel myself. ‘Look.’ I’ve raised my voice, just slightly. I want to attract attention, though without yet causing alarm. I speak firmly, hoping my voice will have an authority I don’t feel. ‘I’m asking you, politely, just this once. Take your hands off me, right now, or else I’ll break your fucking arm.’

Even as I say it I’m not sure how he’ll react. Hurt perhaps, but surely he’ll get the message? I expect him to turn away, mutter something under his breath, but it’ll make no difference. I’ll stand up, walk out. I’ll hold my head up and walk away and I won’t look back.

But he doesn’t move. He’s perfectly still, then without warning he grabs my wrist. I recoil, try to get away, but his grip is powerful. He digs in tight, twisting as he does. ‘You want to go home? Is that it? Home to your faggot husband? Hasn’t had you in weeks? Is that what you want, Julia?’

I freeze. I know I should cry out, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m paralysed.

He used my real name.

‘What—?’ I begin, but then he speaks again.

‘What’s his name? Your husband? Hugh?’

Fear floods me. I haven’t mentioned being married, much less told him my husband’s name. How does he know? This can’t be right. The room begins to spin; for a moment I feel I might collapse, but then there’s a voice. ‘Is everything okay here?’ I turn and it’s him. Lukas. Relief rushes through me as instantly as if a tourniquet had been released. The sound of the bar rushes back, like blood cells closing in on a wound. I’m safe.

This other man, David, lets go of me. He holds up his hands, palms out, a gesture of submission aimed not at me but at Lukas. It’s as if he’s asking this other man for his forgiveness, saying he’s sorry for touching his property, and it enrages me. What? he seems to say. I was just having a bit of fun. No harm done. At the same time Lukas steps in, putting himself between me and David. I can see his broad back, his hair, curly and unkempt. Finally I understand; the rush of excitement and fear I feel is so vertiginous that for a moment I think I might gasp aloud. I’d asked for this. A stranger, I’d said, during one of our chats. In a bar. Someone who won’t take no for an answer.

He’d planned it. After everything I’d said, he’d planned this.

We go upstairs. The door slams behind me. Vaguely I’m aware that I’m the one who slammed it. Lukas turns to face me. I have the sense I shouldn’t feel safe with him, yet somehow I still do and I realize that the feeling is familiar. It’s the exact same feeling I used to have about heroin; how can something that feels this good ever hurt me?

‘What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck—?’

‘Don’t be—’ he begins, but I interrupt again.

‘Where the hell were you? What the—?’

‘I was late—’ he begins, and I interrupt him, furious.

‘Late! Like you not being on time is the important thing we’re discussing here. Who was that guy? And how the hell do you know my husband’s name?’

‘What?’

‘That guy, he called him Hugh. I’ve never told you my husband’s called Hugh. Harvey. I’ve always called him Harvey …’

‘Yes, why did you do that?’

‘I’ve got every right to. But that’s not the point! How did you—?’

‘Relax. You slipped up. Just once. You called him Hugh. Weeks ago. You were upset, I guess. You called him Hugh, and I remembered.’

I try to think back, to remember, but it’s impossible. I want to believe him, though. I have to. Not to believe him about this might mean I have to not believe him about other things, too. And then everything would come crashing down.

‘Julia …’ He takes another step forward.

‘Don’t come near me!’ To my surprise he stays where he is. After a moment he turns, goes to the mini-bar.

‘More champagne?’

I snort with derision.

‘I don’t drink.’

‘Not with me. But you will with a stranger.’

I’m furious. ‘You ordered that bottle!’

‘And you drank it.’

I look away. I can’t be bothered to argue, there’s no point. I’ve been a fool. I don’t know him at all. I’ve rejected every warning, failed to see what was going on at every turn. He’s taken my deepest desires, the things I ought never to have told anyone, and turned them against me.

He opens a miniature – vodka, I think – and pours it into a glass. ‘You told me your fantasy was being rescued. Or one of them was, at least.’

‘You think that’s what I wanted?’

‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

‘So you told him – that man – to be aggressive? To … to make me think … to behave like that? You shared everything I’d told you?’

‘Not everything. Just enough. I kept some of it to myself.’

‘I said no more games, Lukas! No more. Remember?’

I sit in the chair. He sits on the bed. I realize he’s between me and the door; a fundamental mistake, Hugh would say, though I don’t know why he’s ever had to worry; his patients don’t tend to be the aggressive type. I stand up again.

‘I thought it’d be fun.’ He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Look, you told me. Your fantasy. Being in danger. Being rescued. You did say that?’

‘I said lots of things. That doesn’t mean I want them to happen. Not really. That’s why they’re called fantasies, Lukas.’

Dread hits. I remember the other things I’ve told him I fantasized about. Being taken by force, not quite against my will, but almost. Being tied to the bed, handcuffs, rope. Is he also planning that?

I try to backtrack. ‘Half of the things I said I wanted I only said to please you.’

‘Really? Like how Paddy had forced himself on you?’

He’s sneering. He looks as if he doesn’t care about me at all. I mean nothing to him.

‘Poor Paddy. Accused of all those things he didn’t do. And look where it got him.’

I back away. Every part of me wants to reject what he’s telling me is true. ‘It was you!’

‘It’s what you wanted—’

‘It was you!’ My heart hammers. I tense, as if for escape. ‘It was you, all along!’

‘And the mysterious figure outside your window …’

‘What?’

‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? To be scared?’

I try to work it out. The first time I’d thought I’d seen someone watching me was before I even met Lukas. But the other night? It’d seemed more real, then. Could that have been him?

No. No, he doesn’t know where I live. He’s using my paranoia against me.

‘You’re crazy.’

He looks at me and I return his gaze. Something slips within me, like a lever that’s been thrown. Somehow I see myself through him, reflected in his eyes. I see the clothes I’m wearing, the shoes, even the way I smell. I realize, as if for the first time, the place I’m in and how deep I’ve got.

I’ve been here before. In thrall to something that’s destroying me. Unable to escape. I think of Marcus, and of Frosty.

I force myself to say it.

‘I’m leaving now. This is over.’

The room is still. The words have escaped. I can’t unsay them now, even if I wanted to. He closes his eyes then opens them again. His face breaks, he smiles. He doesn’t believe me.

‘You’re not.’ His voice is low and heavy; it sounds like it belongs to someone else. All his pretence has gone, leaving in its place nothing but a heavy malevolence.

My eyes flick to the door. If he wants to stop me there’s no way I can overcome him.

I draw breath, summon as much strength as I can.

‘Get out of my way.’

‘I thought we were having fun?’

‘We were. But we aren’t now. Not any more.’

His mouth hangs, half open, then he speaks.

‘But I love you.’

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. I freeze. I’m disarmed, utterly shocked. My mouth opens, but I have no words.

‘I love you,’ he says again. I want him to stop, yet at the same time I don’t. I want to believe him, yet don’t think I can.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. I thought I was making you happy. All this’ – he gestures around the room – ‘was for you. I thought it’s what you wanted.’

I shake my head. It’s another game. I know it is. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Lukas, no—’

‘Tell me you love me, too?’

I look at him. His eyes are wide, imploring. I want to believe him. Just this once, I want to know he’s telling me the truth.

‘Lukas—’

He reaches out to me. ‘Julia. Tell me, please.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Yes. Yes—’

I freeze. His hands have dropped. He smiles, then starts to laugh.

‘It’s just another one of your fantasies, isn’t it? Me loving you?’

Suddenly I’m empty. Defeated. It’s as if everything has flooded out of me and, right now, I hate him.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Oh, Julia, come on. What’s the big deal? Today? David? You want to be rescued, I want to rescue you. I wanted you to think you really were in danger.’ He looks at me. He’s trying to see if I’m softening, if the anger is burning off. It’s not. Not really. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘All I said was he should try and pick you up. That you might be keen, you might not. Either way, he shouldn’t take no for an answer. Like you wanted.’

I take a step back. ‘You’re crazy.’ I whisper it. To myself as much as to him, but he ignores me.

‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you’re getting cold feet just as it’s starting to get interesting.’ He pretends to reconsider. ‘Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe you’re enjoying yourself a little too much.’ I begin to speak, but he continues. ‘You’re worried that you don’t deserve it.’ He finishes his drink, pours another. ‘Look. It’s a game. You know that. And yet you can’t quite think of it like that. You still think of games as something that children play. Something you’ve outgrown.’

‘No,’ I say. My voice sounds cracked. I draw breath and say it again. ‘No. You’re wrong. It’s not a game.’

He laughs. ‘What is it, then?’ I want to get out. I can think only of escape. ‘Your problem,’ he says, ‘is that you’re still too attached to the old you. You can slip away to hotels, you can dress up in all the gear, but you’re still the little housewife, married to Hugh. You’re still the person that does his shopping and cooks his food and laughs at his jokes, even though you’ve heard them a million times before. You used to despise people whose only ambition in life was a nice rich husband and an adoring son and a house in Islington with a patio and a garden. Yet that’s exactly what you’ve turned into. You’re still someone who thinks there’s only one way to be married, only one way to have an affair.’

I’m enraged, now. Ripped open. I want to scream at him. I want to hurt him. It’s as if he’s seen inside me, then emptied me out.

‘How does it feel to hate yourself?’

‘Get out of my way!’

He moves. He’s between me and the door.

‘You know, I was watching the whole time,’ he says. ‘Today. In the bar.’ He hesitates, then lowers his voice. ‘And you loved it. Didn’t you? The attention.’

He’s right. I know it, deep down. He’s right, and I’m ashamed. I despise him.

‘Please, just let me leave.’

‘Or else …?’

‘Lukas …’ I say. I try to push past him, but he blocks me.

I step back again. I look at him, this almost-stranger. He lowers his voice still further. He’s threatening now. He has the power; he wants me to know it.

‘You enjoyed it. Didn’t you? You liked knowing he wanted you. A stranger.’ He takes another step; this time I stay where I am. ‘No strings … nothing to worry about …’

I try a different tack.

‘So what if I did? What about if I’d decided I liked him? I was going to have him? This David? What then?’

‘Then things might have turned out differently,’ he says. ‘Were you tempted?’

I don’t hesitate. I want to see him hurt. More than anything, I want to see him feel some of the pain that he’s inflicting on me.

‘Maybe.’

He doesn’t move. I don’t know what he’s going to do.

‘Before he started to threaten you? Or after?’

‘Hard to say.’ I don’t move.

‘The fear added something. Admit it. That’s what turned you on.’ He’s whispering now, murmuring. When I’m silent he moves forward, towards me. His mouth is inches from my ear. His hand goes to my waist, I feel it on me. I pull away, but he’s strong. His flesh touches mine. ‘Would you have gone upstairs with him?’ He pulls me to him, I feel the warmth of his body, his hands on me, searching for my skin, moving firmly, grasping, kneading. It triggers something, a muscle memory, and without me wanting it to my body begins to respond. ‘Alone? Or with me?’

I don’t reply. Somewhere, deep within me, I know I should be crying out. I should be fighting, kicking. I should be screaming for help.

But I’m not. I don’t do any of those things. It’s as if my body has mutinied. It will no longer react to anything but his touch.

‘Please,’ I say. ‘Lukas …’

He tries to kiss me. I begin to respond, my body’s final betrayal. I gather my energy and force myself to speak.

‘Stop! Lukas. This has to stop.’

He does nothing. He continues to push himself against me. Harder now. ‘Stop me, if you want. If you really want.’

I feel his hands. They’re everywhere. At the back of my neck, in my hair, at my crotch. He’s pushing and grabbing, with more and more urgency. He tries to push me backwards, or turn me round. I flash on the time we’d had sex, in the cubicle, his hands around my neck; it’d been a game then, but it isn’t now. I have to get away from him.

I lash out, aiming at his face, his eyes. It’s only a glancing blow, but my nails draw blood. He wipes his hand across his face, wide-eyed and furious. He looks like he’s about to hit me and I try to step away.

We square up against each other. I open my mouth to speak but just then I hear the sound of the lock sliding open. Relief floods me. It’ll be a maid, perhaps, someone with room service. They’ll see what’s going on, Lukas will have to stop. I can dust myself down, make an excuse, leave. He won’t follow me. I won’t let him.

We both look to the door. Too late I see that Lukas is smiling. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’

Fear hits me, full in the gut. It’s David.

I grab my bag. I run. I slam past David, out into the corridor. Tears are coming, I close my eyes, crash into the walls as I run towards the stairs, but I carry on running. I see myself as if from a great height. It looks like me, but it isn’t me. She’s not wearing the clothes I wear. She’s not doing the things I do.

I run and run and run, and all at once I’m back in Berlin. I’m shivering, at an airport, not knowing how I’m going to get home. I’m phoning Hugh from a phone box in the departure lounge, then I’m waiting. Waiting to be rescued by the man I’ll soon marry while the one I’d thought was my whole life lies dead in a squat on the other side of the city.

PART FOUR

Chapter Twenty-Three

I made it out of the hotel. My legs shook, I was sweating, my heart was hammering so hard I thought my chest might burst, yet still I managed to pretend to be calm as I walked through the lobby, on to the street. Once outside I walked and walked, and it wasn’t until I was sure I was out of sight of the hotel that I stopped to check what direction I’d gone in. I hailed a cab, got in. ‘Where to?’ the driver said, and I said, ‘Anywhere,’ and then, ‘The river,’ and then, ‘The South Bank.’ We began to drive, and he asked me if I was all right. ‘Yes,’ I said, even though I wasn’t, and when we reached the South Bank I found a bench overlooking the Thames and, because I knew Adrienne would say ‘I told you so,’ and I didn’t know who else to call, who there was that I hadn’t pushed away, I phoned Anna.

‘How’re you?’

I told her everything, blasting it out in a mess of non-sequiturs that must have been largely incomprehensible, and she first listened then calmed me down and asked me to try again. When I finished she said, ‘You must go to the police.’

She sounded steely, determined. Absolutely sure.

‘The police?’ It was as if it were the first time I’d considered it.

‘Yes! You’ve been attacked, Julia.’

I flashed on his hands on me, all over me, grabbing my flesh, tearing at my clothes.

‘But—’ I said.

‘Julia. You have to.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, they didn’t … he didn’t … and Hugh …’

I imagined telling Hugh, making the call to the police. What would I say?

I’ve heard the stories. Even if I had been raped, they almost certainly wouldn’t take me seriously, and if they did it’d be me who’d be on trial, not David, not Lukas. ‘And you went there for sex?’ they’d say, and I’d have to say yes. ‘Dressed in clothes that he sent you?’ Yes. ‘Having told him, more or less, that rape was a fantasy of yours?’

Yes.

And what would my defence be? I didn’t want it to happen, though. Not like that!

I felt myself crumple. I began to cry again as I imagined what might have happened, what Lukas might’ve done and got away with.

I thought of Hugh, and Connor. I imagined them finding out where I’d been, how I’d ended up. I’d have to tell them, there’s no way I’d be able to lie; I’ve done enough of that already.

‘I don’t even know where he lives.’

She paused. ‘Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?’

There’s nothing anyone can do, I thought. I just have to leave him, to walk away, to make the severance that, just a few hours earlier, I’d been dreading.

‘No.’

I went home. I knew what I had to do. Let Lukas recede into the past, do my best to forget him. Not log on. Not check my messages. Not raise my hopes that there’ll be flowers, apologies, explanations. Move on.

Mostly, I’ve succeeded. I’ve carried on working. I told Hugh I’d decided to stop seeing the counsellor but to start going back to my meetings. I’ve done so, and kept busy in other ways. I’ve called Ali and Dee and the rest of my friends, and spoken to Anna every day. I’ve spent more time with Connor, even tried to talk to him about Evie, to reassure him that he can tell me about his girlfriend, if he wants. ‘I’d like to meet her, one day,’ I said. His shrug was predictable, but at least I’d made the effort.

I’ve met up with Adrienne, too. Finally. She invited me to a concert and we had dinner afterwards. We chatted; the argument we’d had outside the house felt all but forgotten. Before we said goodbye she turned to me.

‘Julia,’ she said. ‘You know I love you. Unconditionally.’ I nodded, waiting. ‘And so I’m not going to ask you what’s going on. But I need to know. Are you all right? Is there anything I need to worry about?’

I shook my head. ‘No. Not any more.’

She smiled. It was the nearest I’d come to a confession, and she knew I’d tell her, one day.

I’ve only been weak once, one Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. I’d fought with Hugh, Connor was being impossible. I couldn’t help myself. I logged on to encountrz, ignored the couple of new messages I’d accumulated, then searched for his username.

Nothing. Username not found. He’d vanished.

I couldn’t help it. I called him.

His number was unavailable. It didn’t even go to voicemail. I tried again – in case there’d been a problem, he was out of the country, there was an issue with the connection – and then again, and again, and again. Each time, nothing.

And then I realized where I was, what I was doing. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d promised myself complete cut-off; I’d told myself it would be easier, the best way.

And here it was. The severance I craved. I should be grateful.

I get in late. I’ve been out, taking photos, first portraits of a family that had been in touch through the website, then on the way home I’d stopped off to get some shots of people as they stood outside the bars of Soho – trying to get back to the subjects who really interest me, I guess – but now Hugh is already home. He asks me to come with him, he has something to tell me.

It sounds ominous. I think of the time I got home from the gallery, the police in the kitchen, the news that Kate was dead. I know Connor is fine, his light is on upstairs, it’s always the first thing I ask when I arrive home and I’ve already done so tonight, but still I’m nervous. Tell me now, I want to say, whatever it is, but I don’t. I follow him into the kitchen. I dump my bag on the floor, my camera on the table.

‘What is it?’ He looks serious. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘Roger called. From the Foreign Office. They think they know what happened to Kate.’

I feel myself collapse. Questions tumble out – What? Who? – and he explains. ‘There’s a man, this guy who they arrested on something totally unrelated. Roger isn’t allowed to tell us what, exactly, but he hinted it was something to do with drugs. A dealer, I guess. Anyway, apparently he’s known in the area; they even questioned him about Kate but he said he’d seen nothing.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘When they searched his place they found Kate’s earring.’

I close my eyes. I picture him ripping it off her, or her being forced to give it to him, thinking that cooperation might save her life when in fact it did no such thing.

A dealer. Was it drugs, after all? Not sex?

Suddenly I’m there, again. Me and Marcus. We’d go together, but I’d wait for him. At the end of the street, on the corner, outside the station. He’d meet our dealer, hand over the cash. He’d come back with what we both wanted. Smiling.

But Kate saw none of that. I made sure of it, even the one time she visited us, during the school holidays. She hadn’t wanted to go home and be alone with Dad, she begged me to let her come for a visit. ‘Just for a few days,’ she said, and I relented. I scraped some money together to pay for her ticket, and our father put up the rest. She came for a long weekend and slept on the bed in our room while we slept on the couch, but I’m certain she saw nothing. It was a few weeks before Marcus died, and neither of us was using. I took her to the galleries, we walked the length of Unter den Linden, drank hot chocolate at the top of the Fernsehturm. I photographed her on the streets of Mitte – pictures that are lost, now – and we wandered around Tiergarten. I left her with Marcus only once, when I went to buy groceries, but he knew how much I wanted to keep her from drugs and I trusted him completely. When I got home they were playing cards with Frosty, the TV on in the background, showing cartoons. She saw nothing.

Still, shouldn’t I have set a better example?

I begin to sob, a sound that turns into a howl of pain. Hugh holds my hands in his. I’d thought it might make me feel better. Knowing who’d killed my sister. Knowing he’d been arrested, would be punished. It should draw a line under everything. It should open up a future, allow me to move on.

But it doesn’t. It feels so meaningless. So banal. If anything, it’s worse.

‘Julia. Julia. It’s all right.’

I look at him.

‘I can’t bear it.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s definitely him?’

‘They think so.’ I begin to cry properly, tears run in thick streams. My sister dead, her son devastated, over drugs?

‘Why?’ I say, over and over. Hugh holds me until I calm down.

I want my son.

‘Have you told Connor?’

He shakes his head.

‘We need to tell him.’

He nods, then stands up. He goes to the stairs as I go into the kitchen. I grab some kitchen roll and wipe the tears from my face, then pour myself a drink of water. When I go back into the living room Connor is sitting opposite his father. He looks up. ‘Mum?’

I sit down on the sofa and take Connor’s hand.

‘Darling …’ I begin. I’m not sure what to say. I look at Hugh, then back at our son. I dig as deep as I can, searching for the last reserves of strength. ‘Darling, they’ve caught the man who killed Auntie Kate.’

He sits, for a moment. The room is perfectly still.

‘Darling?’

‘Who?’

What to say? This isn’t the movies, there’s no big plot, no satisfying resolution to the story, tied with a bow at the end. Just a senseless waste of life.

‘Just a man,’ I say.

‘Who?’

I look again at Hugh. He opens his mouth to speak. Don’t say it, I think. Don’t tell him it was someone selling drugs. Don’t put that idea into his head.

‘Auntie Kate was in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he says. ‘That’s all. She ran into an evil man. We don’t know why, or what happened. But he’s been caught now, and he’ll go to prison and pay for what he’s done.’

Connor nods. He’s trying to understand, trying to come to terms with the lack of an explanation.

After a moment he lets go of my hand. ‘Can I go back to my room now?’

I say yes. There’s an urge to follow him, but I know I mustn’t. I leave him for ten minutes, fifteen. I ring Adrienne, then Anna. She’s shocked. ‘Drugs?’ she says.

‘Yes. Did she—?’

‘No! No. Well, I mean, she partied, you know? We all did. But nothing hard core.’

As far as you know, I think. I’m only too well aware how easy it can be to keep these things hidden. ‘Maybe you just didn’t know?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’

We talk for a while longer, but I want to see my son. I tell Anna I’m looking forward to seeing her in a couple of weeks and she tells me she can’t wait. We say goodbye, and then I tell Hugh I’m going up to see Connor.

I knock, he tells me to come in. He’s playing music, lying on the bed, facing the ceiling. His eyes are red.

I say nothing. I go in. I hold him, and together we cry.