Текст книги "Forbidden"
Автор книги: Табита Сузума
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
I stare at him, sadness seeping through me. ‘It’s not her new family,’ I attempt at last in desperation. ‘They only stay over at the weekend and they’re Dave’s children, not hers. We’re her children. She just spends lots of time there at the moment because she works so late – it’s dangerous for her to come home in the middle of the night on her own.’
My heart is beating too fast. I wish Lochan were here to say the right thing. I don’t know how to explain it to them. I don’t know how to explain it to myself.
‘Then how come she’s never even here at weekends any more?’ Tiffin asks, his voice suddenly sharp with anger. ‘How come she never takes us to school or picks us up at hometime like she used to on her day off?’
‘Because—’ My voice wavers. I know I’m going to have to lie here. ‘Because she now works at weekends too and doesn’t take days off during the week any more. It’s just so she can earn more money to buy nice things for us.’
Tiffin gives me a long hard look, and with a start I see the teenager he will be in a few years’ time. ‘You’re lying,’ he says in a low voice. ‘All of you are lying.’ He gets up and rushes off upstairs.
I sit there, paralysed with fear, guilt and horror. I know I should go up after him, but what can I possibly say? Willa is pulling at my sleeve, demanding to be played with, the conversation thankfully lost on her. And so I pick up the pieces with an unsteady hand and start to play.
As time passes, the afternoon I fainted begins to feel like a dream, slowly evaporating from the coils of my mind. I don’t try touching Lochan again. I keep telling myself that this is only temporary – just until things calm down with Tiffin and he starts to focus on other things and gets back to his usual cheeky self. It doesn’t take him long, but I know the memory is still there, along with the doubt, and the hurt, and the confusion. And that is enough to keep me from reaching out to Lochan.
The Christmas nightmare begins: Nativity plays, costumes to be made from scratch, a disco for the sixth formers which Lochan is the only pupil not to attend. Then everyone breaks up and Christmas is upon us, the house decorated with streamers and tinsel that Lochan nicks from school. It takes the combined efforts of all five of us to carry the tree home from the high street, and Willa gets a pine needle in her eye, and for a few dreadful moments we think we’ll have to take her to Casualty, but Lochan finally manages to remove it. Tiffin and Willa adorn the tree with home– and school-made decorations, and even though the end result is a great lopsided, glittery mess, it cheers us all up tremendously. Even Kit deigns to join in with the preparations, although he spends most of his time trying to prove to Willa that Santa isn’t real. Mum gives us our Christmas money and I go shopping for Willa while Lochan takes care of Tiffin – a system we devised one unfortunate year when I bought Tiffin a pair of football gloves with a pink stripe down the side. Kit only wants money, but Lochan and I club together to get him the pair of ridiculously expensive designer trainers he’s been banging on about for ages. On Christmas Eve we wait till we hear him softly snoring before placing the wrapped box at the foot of his ladder with the words From Santa written on it for good measure.
Mum makes an appearance late Christmas morning, when the turkey is already in the oven. She has presents too – mostly second-hand stuff that Dave’s children have grown tired of: Lego and toy cars for Tiffin, despite the fact he stopped playing with such things some time ago, a second copy of Bambi on DVD and a grubby Teletubby for Willa, which she gazes at with a mixture of confusion and horror. Kit gets some old video games that don’t work with his console but that he reckons he can sell at school. I get a dress several sizes too big that looks as if it probably once belonged to Dave’s ex-wife, and Lochan is the proud new owner of an encyclopaedia, generously adorned with obscene drawings. We all make the appropriate exclamations of joy and surprise, and Mum sits back on the couch, pours herself a large glass of cheap wine, lights up a cigarette and pulls Willa and Tiffin onto her lap, her face already flushed with alcohol.
Somehow we survive the day. Dave is spending the occasion with his family, and Mum passes out on the couch just before six. Tiffin and Willa are cajoled into bed early by being allowed to take their presents up with them, and Kit disappears upstairs with his video games to start wheeling and dealing. Lochan offers to clean up the kitchen and, to my shame, I let him do it and collapse into bed, thankful that the day is at an end.
It is almost a relief when school starts up again. Lochan and I both have mocks, and keeping Tiffin and Willa amused every day for two weeks has taken its toll. We return to school, exhausted, and admire the new iPods, mobiles, designer clothes and laptops that surround us. At lunch, Lochan walks past my table. ‘Meet me on the stairs,’ he whispers. Francie lets out a loud wolf-whistle as he moves away and I swing round in time to see his face turn crimson.
Up here the wind is almost a gale, cutting right through you like slivers of ice. I have no idea how Lochan can bear it, day after day. He is hugging himself against the cold, his teeth chattering, his lips tinged with blue.
‘Where’s your coat?’ I reproach him.
‘I forgot it in the usual morning rush.’
‘Lochan, you’re going to catch pneumonia and die! Would you at least go read in the library, for God’s sake?’
‘I’m OK.’ He is so cold, he can barely talk. But on a day like this, half the school is crammed into the library.
‘What’s up? I thought you didn’t like me coming up here. Has something happened?’
‘No, no.’ He bites his lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
I frown, confused. ‘What?’
He reaches into his blazer pocket and brings out a small silver box. ‘It’s a late Christmas present. I wasn’t able to get it till now. And I didn’t want to give it to you at home because, you know . . .’ His voice tails off awkwardly.
I take it from him slowly. ‘But we made a pact ages ago,’ I protest. ‘Christmas was for the kids. We weren’t going to waste any more money than we had to, remember?’
‘I wanted to break the pact this year.’ He looks excited, his eyes on the box, willing me to open it.
‘But then you should have told me. I didn’t get you anything!’
‘I didn’t want you to get me anything. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘But—’
He takes me by the shoulders and gives me a gentle shake, laughing. ‘Aargh! Would you just open it?’
I grin. ‘OK, OK! But I still object to this pact-breaking without my consent . . .’ I lift the lid. ‘Oh . . . God . . . Lochie . . .’
‘Do you like it?’ He is practically bouncing on his toes, grinning in delight, a glow of triumph shining from his eyes. ‘It’s solid silver,’ he informs me proudly. ‘It should fit you perfectly. I took the measurement from the mark on your watch strap.’
I continue to stare into the box, aware I haven’t moved or spoken for several moments. The silver bracelet lying there against the black velvet is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen. Made up of intricate loops and swirls, it sparkles as it catches the white light of the winter sun.
‘How did you pay for this?’ My voice is a shocked whisper.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes!’
He hesitates for a moment, the glow fades and he lowers his eyes. ‘I’ve – I’ve been saving. I had a kind of job—’
I look up from the beautiful bracelet, incredulous. ‘A job? What? When?’
‘Well, it wasn’t a real job.’ The light has gone from his eyes and he sounds embarrassed now. ‘I offered to write some essays for a few people and it kind of caught on.’
‘You did people’s homework for money?’
‘Yeah. Well, coursework mostly.’ He looks down sheepishly.
‘Since when?’
‘Beginning of last term.’
‘You’ve been saving for this for four months?’
His shoes scuff at the ground and his eyes refuse to meet mine. ‘At first it was just extra money for – you know – household stuff. But then I thought about Christmas and how you hadn’t had a present for – for ever . . .’
I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. It’s a struggle to take all this in. ‘Lochan, we have to return this immediately and get your money back.’
‘We can’t.’ His voice wavers.
‘What d’you mean?’
He turns the bracelet over. On the inside are the words: Maya, love you for ever. Lochan x
I stare at the engraving, numb with shock, the silence between us punctuated only by distant shouts from the playground.
Lochan says quietly, ‘I thought – it shouldn’t be too loose, so no one will be able to see the engraving. And if you’re worried, you could always just keep it hidden at home. L-like a lucky charm or something – I mean, only – only if you like it of course . . .’ His voice trails off into silence again.
I cannot move.
‘It was probably a silly idea.’ He’s talking very fast now, tripping over his words. ‘It’s – it’s probably not what you’d have picked out for yourself – guys have the worst taste in this kind of thing. I should have waited and asked you. I should have let you choose, or got something more useful like, um, like – like . . .’
I drag my eyes away from the bracelet again. Despite the cold, Lochan’s cheeks look hot with embarrassment, his eyes radiating disappointment. ‘Maya, look, it really doesn’t matter. You don’t need to wear it or anything. You – you could just keep it hidden at home – for the engraving.’ He gives me an unsteady smile, desperate to shrug the whole thing off.
I shake my head slowly, swallow hard and force myself to speak. ‘No, Lochie, no. It’s – it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. It’s the most incredible present I’ve ever been given. And the engraving . . . I’m going to wear it all my life. I just can’t believe you did this. Just for me. All that work, night after night. I thought you were going crazy about exams or something. But it was all just to – just to give me—’ I can’t finish the sentence and, holding tightly onto the box, lean towards him, my face pressed against his chest.
I hear him exhale in relief. ‘Hey, you know, the polite thing to do is smile and say thank you!’
‘Thank you,’ I whisper against him, but the words mean nothing compared to what I feel.
He takes the box and lifts my arm from my side. I feel him reach round me and push up the sleeve of my coat. After a few moments of fumbling, I feel the cool silver against my skin.
‘Hey, how’s that? Take a look at it,’ he says proudly.
I take a deep breath, blinking back tears. The intricate silver round my wrist gleams. Against my pulse point rest the words Love you for ever. Yet I already know that he will.
I wear the bracelet all the time. I only ever take it off in the safety of my own room, resting it in the palm of my hand and gazing, enraptured, at the engraving. At night I sleep with the curtains partially opened so the moonlight catches against the metal, making it sparkle. In the dark I feel its indentations with my lips, as if kissing it brings me closer to Lochan.
On Saturday evening Mum surprises us by slamming into the house, her make-up running, hair wet with rain. ‘Oh, you’re all here,’ she sighs, making no attempt to hide her disappointment, standing in the doorway of the front room in an oversized man’s anorak, fishnet stockings and tottery heels. Tiffin is practising head-stands on the couch, Willa is sprawled out on the carpet gazing dully at the TV and I’m attempting to finish my history homework on the coffee table. Kit is already out with his mates and Lochan is upstairs, revising.
‘Mummy!’ Willa leaps up and runs over, holding up her arms for a hug. Mum pats her on the head without looking down, and Willa settles for hugging her legs instead.
‘Mum, Mum, look what I can do!’ Tiffin shouts triumphantly, launching himself into an aerial somersault and knocking my pile of books to the floor.
‘How come you’re not at Dave’s?’ I ask her acerbically.
‘He had to go and rescue his ex-wife,’ she replies, her lip curling in disgust. ‘Apparently she’s now an agoraphobic or something. More like a chronic attention-seeker, if you ask me.’
‘Mummy, let’s go out somewhere. Please!’ Willa begs, hanging onto her leg.
‘Not now, sweetie pie. It’s raining and Mummy’s very tired.’
‘You could take them to the cinema,’ I suggest quickly. ‘Superheroes starts in fifteen minutes. I was going to take them, but since they haven’t seen you in over two weeks . . .’
‘Yeah, Mum! Superheroes sounds well cool – you’ll love it! Everyone in my class has seen it.’ Tiffin’s face lights up.
‘And popcorn!’ Willa begs, jumping up and down. ‘I love popcorn! And Coke!’
Mum manages a tight smile. ‘Kids, I’ve got a splitting headache and I’ve only just got in.’
‘But you’ve been at Dave’s for two whole weeks!’ Tiffin suddenly shouts, his face puce.
She flinches slightly. ‘OK, OK. Fine.’ She shoots me an angry look. ‘You do realize I’ve been working for the past two weeks, right?’
I stare back at her coldly. ‘So have we.’
She turns on her heel, and after an argument over an umbrella, furious yells about a missing coat and anguished wails about someone’s foot being stepped on, the front door bangs shut. I drop my head back against the edge of the couch and close my eyes. After a moment I open them again and smile. They’ve gone. They’ve all gone. This is too good to be true. We finally have the house to ourselves.
I tiptoe upstairs, my heart-rate picking up. I’m going to surprise him. Creep up behind him, slide onto his lap and announce our unexpected window of freedom with a long, deep kiss. Poised outside his bedroom door, I hold my breath and gently turn the handle.
Slowly I push the door ajar. Then I stop. He is not at his desk, head bent over his book as I expected. Instead he’s by the window: one hand fiddling intently with the broken mobile he still thinks he can salvage, the other trying to pull off a sock as he wobbles precariously on one leg. He is half turned away from me so he hasn’t noticed me behind the door and I watch him in amusement as he struggles to remove his other sock, eyes still fixed on the phone’s cracked screen. Then, with a sigh of annoyance, he chucks it onto his bed and, grabbing his T-shirt, pulls it swiftly over his head, his hair emerging comically tousled. Spotting the towel slung over the back of his chair, I realize he is about to take a shower and start to draw back, when something stops me. I’m suddenly struck by how much his body has changed. Always on the skinny side, he has now become more muscular. A slight curve of the biceps, his chest smooth and hairless, not exactly a six-pack but the hint of definition in his stomach . . .
Sneaking up behind him, I slide my arms around his waist and feel him tense.
‘She’s taken them out,’ I whisper in his ear.
He turns in my arms and suddenly we are kissing hard, frantically – no one to stop us, no limit on our time. But instead of making us languorous, it adds a new element of excitement and urgency to the situation. Lochan’s hands shake as he cups my face in them. Between kisses, he pants gently against my cheek and the pain of longing pulses through my whole body. He kisses every part of my face, my ears, my neck. I run my hands up and down the warmth of his bare chest, his arms, his shoulders. I want to feel every part of his body. I want to inhale him. I want him so much, it hurts. He is kissing me so fiercely now he hardly gives me time to draw breath. His hands are in my hair, against my neck, beneath my collar. His bare skin tingles beneath my touch. But there are still too many clothes, too many obstacles between our two bodies. I slip my hand under the top of his jeans. ‘Wait . . .’ I whisper.
His breath shudders against my ear and he tries to kiss my neck but I push him gently away. ‘Wait,’ I tell him. ‘Stop for a second. I have to concentrate.’
As I lower my head, I feel his body tauten in frustration and surprise. I force myself to focus on what I’m doing, careful not to rush. I don’t want to get this wrong, make a mistake, make a fool of myself, hurt him . . .
Undoing the button is easy. Sliding down the zip is less so – on the first try it sticks and I have to draw it back up before sliding it down all the way. But suddenly Lochan is grabbing me by the wrists, wrenching back my hands.
‘What are you doing?’ He sounds incredulous, almost angry.
‘Shh . . .’ I return to his open trousers.
‘Maya, no!’ He is panting hard, a frantic edge to his voice. His hands are between mine now, trying to zip himself up again, but his fingers are fumbling, shaking in shock.
Pulling back the waistband of his boxers, I slide my fingers inside, and feel a rush of elation as I make contact. It feels surprisingly warm and hard. With a small gasp, Lochan buckles forward, sucking in his breath, tensing and staring at me with a look of complete astonishment, as if he has forgotten who I am, the colour flooding his cheeks, his breathing fast and shallow. Then, with a small cry, he grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me backwards.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
I recoil, speechless, as he grapples with his flies. He is yelling at the top of his voice, literally shaking with rage. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? What the hell were you trying to do? You know we can never ever—’
‘I’m sorry,’ I gasp. ‘I – I only – I only wanted to touch—’
‘This whole thing’s completely out of hand!’ he screams at me, the cords standing out in his neck. ‘You’re just sick, you know that? This whole thing’s just sick!’ He pushes past me, his face puce, and slams into the bathroom. Moments later I hear the shower running.
Downstairs in the front room, I pace the floor, breathing hard, anger and guilt coursing through me in equal measures. Anger at the way he just screamed at me. Guilt at not having stopped when he first told me to. Still, I don’t understand, I just don’t understand. I thought we’d decided not to bother with what other people thought. I thought we’d decided we would be together no matter what. I hadn’t been trying to trick him into anything. I’d just suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to touch him everywhere, even there – especially there. But fear now tugs at my throat, my shoulders, my chest. Fear that I’ve ruined what I thought we had.
The sound of his feet pounding on the stairs makes me back into the furthest corner of the room. But from the hall I hear only the jangle of keys, the squeak of trainers, the zip of a jacket. And then the front door bangs.
I stand there, stunned. Appalled. I was expecting a confrontation of some sort, the chance to offer an explanation at the very least. Instead he has just gone off and left me. I won’t accept this, I won’t. It’s not like I’ve done anything so terrible.
I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my school coat. Without even bothering to stop for my keys, I run out of the house. I can just make out his figure disappearing into the wet darkness at the end of our street. I break into a run.
When the sound of my footsteps reaches him, he veers off across the road, lengthening his stride still further. Even as I draw level with him, straining for breath, he raises his arm and knocks away my outstretched hand.
‘Just leave it, will you? Just go back and leave me the hell alone!’
‘Why?’ I shout back, gasping in icy air as the rain lances my hair and face with sharp, wet needles. ‘What on earth have I done that’s so awful? I crept up to surprise you. I wanted to tell you that Mum had come back and I’d cornered her into taking the kids to the cinema. When we started kissing, I just wanted to touch—’
‘D’you realize how fucking stupid that was? How dangerous? You can’t just suddenly do stuff like that!’
‘Lochie, I’m sorry. I thought we could at least touch each other. It doesn’t mean we would have gone any further—’
‘Oh, really? Well, you can forget your fucking fairy tale! Welcome to the real world!’ He turns briefly – long enough for me to make out a face mottled with fury. ‘If I hadn’t stopped it, d’you realize what would have happened? It’s not just disgusting, Maya, it’s fucking illegal!’
‘Lochie, that’s crazy! Just because we can’t have sex doesn’t mean we can’t touch each other and—’ I reach out for him but he shoves my arm away again. Abruptly he turns down the alley towards the cemetery, only to find a padlocked fence at the end. With nowhere to go, he still refuses to turn back towards me. Standing in the middle of the rain-soaked road, my hair whipping against my face, I watch him grab the wire-mesh fence, shake it dementedly, punch it with both hands, kick at it wildly.
‘You’re crazy, you know that?’ I scream at him, my fear suddenly replaced with anger. ‘Why would this have been such a big deal? How would this have been any different to what happened that time on the bed?’
He whirls round, crashing violently back into the fence. ‘Well, maybe that was a fucking mistake too! But at least – at least then one of us wasn’t half undressed! And I’d have never – I’d have never let it go any further—’
‘I wasn’t planning to this time!’ I exclaim in astonishment.
He sags back against the netting suddenly, the fury dissipating into the night like the white breath from our mouths.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ he says, his voice hoarse and broken, and abruptly my anger is joined by a cold rush of fear. ‘It’s too painful, it’s too dangerous. I’m terrified – I’m just terrified of what we might end up doing.’
His despair feels almost tangible, draining the frozen air around us of every last shred of hope. I wrap my arms around myself and begin to shiver.
‘So what are you saying?’ My voice begins to rise. ‘If we can’t have sex, you’d rather we did nothing at all?’
‘I guess so.’ He stares at me, his green eyes suddenly hard in the lamplight. ‘Let’s face it, this is all pretty sick. Maybe the rest of the world’s right. Maybe we’re just a couple of fucked-up, emotionally disturbed teenagers who just—’
He breaks off, pushing himself away from the fence as I slowly back away from him, pain and horror rushing through me like liquid ice.
‘Maya, wait – I didn’t mean that.’ His expression changes abruptly and he approaches me cautiously with his arm outstretched as if I’m a wild animal, ready to flee. ‘I – I didn’t mean that. I – I’m not thinking straight. I got carried away. I need to calm down. Let’s just go somewhere and talk. Please . . .’
I shake my head and move in a wide arc around him, suddenly breaking away and hurling myself through a gap at the edge of the mesh.
Once inside, I turn into the bitter wind, heading up the darkened, cracked path, littered with the usual beer bottles, cigarette stubs and syringes. The glow of the streetlamps reaches me from a great distance, the sound of traffic fading to a distant murmur, the outlines of abandoned, broken gravestones nothing more than amorphous shapes in the dark. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t. I trusted him. I try to make sense of what just happened, to process Lochan’s words without completely falling apart. To somehow accept that the magic of that one night when we first kissed and the afternoon in my room was, to him, simply a dreadful, perverted mistake, to be filed away at the back of our minds until we can eventually kid ourselves it never happened. I need to try to absorb Lochan’s true feelings about the situation – the feelings he has been hiding from me since this first started. And I need to work out how to survive this sudden revelation. But how can anything hurt so much? How can just those few words make me want to curl up and die?
‘Maya, come on.’ I hear his feet thudding on the path behind me and a scream begins to build in my throat. I have to be alone right now or I will lose my mind, I will.
‘You know I didn’t mean any of that stuff! I was just embarrassed that I – that I nearly . . . you know. I was just scared of my own feelings, of what we might have done!’ He looks frantic and wild. ‘Please, just come back to the house. The others will be back in a minute and they’ll be worried.’
The fact that he thinks he can appeal to my sense of duty shows how little he understands the effect of his earlier words, the violence of the emotions coursing through me.
He tries to grab my arm.
‘Get off me!’ I scream, my voice magnified in the silence of the cemetery.
He recoils as if he’s been shot, shielding his face from the hysteria in my voice. ‘Maya, just try to calm down,’ he begs me, his voice shaking. ‘If anyone hears us, they’ll—’
‘They’ll what?’ I interrupt aggressively, whipping round to face him.
‘They’ll think—’
‘Think what?’
‘They might think I’m attacking—’
‘Oh, it’s all about you!’ I scream at him, sobs threatening to explode in my throat. ‘This whole thing – it’s always been about you! What will people think? How will I look? How might I be judged? Whatever feelings once existed between us clearly mean nothing to you compared to your pathetic fear of other people’s narrow-minded, bigoted, parochial prejudices that you once despised but now adopt as your own!’
‘No!’ he yells desperately, launching himself after me as I start striding off again. ‘It’s not like that – it’s got nothing to do with that! Maya, please listen to me. You don’t understand! I just said those things because I feel like I’m going crazy: seeing you every day but never being able to – to hold you, to touch you when anyone else is around. I just want to take your hand, kiss you, hug you, without having to hide it all the time. All those little things every other couple just takes for granted! I want to be free to do them without being terrified that someone will catch us and force us apart, call the police, take the kids away, destroy everything. I can’t bear it, don’t you understand? I want you to be my girlfriend, I want us to be free—’
‘Fine!’ I scream, tears springing from my eyes. ‘If it’s all so sick and twisted, if it’s causing you so much grief, then you’re right, we should just end it, right here, right now! That way at least you won’t have to walk around with some awful guilty conscience, thinking how disgusting we are for having these feelings for each other!’ Frantic now to get away, I break into a stumbling run.
‘For chrissakes!’ he yells after me. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? That’s the last thing I want!’
He tries to grab me again, tries to force me to slow down, but I can’t – I’m going to fall apart, break down in tears, and I refuse to have him or anyone else as my witness.
Spinning round, I slam my hands against his chest and push him as hard as I can. ‘Just get away from me!’ I scream. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone for five minutes? Please go home! You’re right, we should never have started this! So get away from me! Just give me some space and time to think!’
His eyes are frantic, his expression stricken. ‘But I was wrong! Why won’t you listen to me? What I said was bullshit – I just lashed out in frustration, this is not what I want!’
‘Well, it’s what I want!’ I shriek. ‘God forbid you should stay with me out of pity! Everything you said is true: we’re sick, we’re twisted, we’re deranged, and we have to end this now! So what the hell are you still doing here? Go home to your normal, socially acceptable life and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened!’
I’ve completely lost it. Hammers pound against my skull and red lights zigzag in the darkness. But I’m afraid that if I don’t keep screaming at him in blind fury, I’m going to collapse in tears. And I don’t want him to see that: the last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me, to feel he has to pretend to be in love with me, to realize I can’t live without him.
With a desperate cry, he moves towards me, reaching out for me again. I take a step back. ‘I mean it, Lochan! Go home! Don’t touch me or I’ll shout for help!’
He withdraws his outstretched arm and steps back in defeat. Tears fill his eyes. ‘Maya, what the hell d’you want me to do?’
I take an uneven breath. ‘Just go,’ I say softly.
‘But don’t you understand?’ he says in quiet despair. ‘I want to be with you, no matter what. I love you—’
‘But not enough.’
We stare at each other. His hair is ruffled by the wind, his green eyes luminous in the darkness, the zip of his black jacket broken, revealing his grey T-shirt beneath. He shakes his head, his eyes scanning the dark cemetery around us as if searching for help. He looks back at me and a harsh sob escapes him. ‘Maya, that’s not true!’
‘You just called our love sick and disgusting, Lochan,’ I remind him quietly.
He claws at the sides of his face. ‘But I didn’t mean it!’ His chin starts to tremble.
A sharp pain rises through me, filling my lungs, my throat, my head – so sharp I think I might collapse. ‘Then why would you say it? You meant it, and now so do I. You’re right, Lochan. You’ve made me see this whole sordid mess for what it is. Just a terrible mistake. We were both just bored, disturbed, lonely, frustrated – whatever. We were never in love—’
‘But we were!’ His voice cracks. He screws up his eyes and presses his fist against his mouth to muffle a sob. ‘We are!’
I look at him, numb. ‘Then how come it’s gone?’
He stares at me, aghast, tears wet on his cheeks. ‘W-what are you talking about?’
I take a steadying breath, bracing myself against an onslaught of tears. ‘I mean, Lochan, how come I don’t love you any more?’
