Falling (18 page)

I know Angus feels no fear lying here with me, but I can tell he senses mine.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice a little croaky, concern evident in his gray gaze.

I nod, unable to speak. There is a pressure building inside me, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I run my fingers down his cheek, tracing the shape of his lips, his nose. He’s so utterly beautiful. How can he be here with me? I don’t deserve this. How can it ever work? It’s too fragile. Everything is so fragile.

“What time is your exam?” I ask eventually. Perhaps bringing normality into this will make it easier to accept.

“Not until two thirty this afternoon.” He pulls a stricken face. “Tell me it’s not this afternoon!”

I smile. Or at least try to. “It’s just before seven,” I say without looking at a clock.

Angus quirks his lips, puzzled. “You’re guessing.”

“I watch the light, where it is in the room. I always wake up about the same time, though I still set an alarm. It goes off at seven.”

As if on cue, the alarm starts bleeping. I reach across Angus to stop it, pausing longer than I need to, my whole body pressed against his.

Still the pressure builds in my chest, my throat. I feel choked. Overwhelmed.

“I’ve got work at nine,” I say, disentangling myself and getting up.

I don’t want Angus to notice I’m losing it.

I’ve never felt so close to being complete and yet so close to completely breaking apart. I don’t know how to deal with it.
If
I can deal with it even.

I take my clothes into the bathroom to get dressed. I refuse to break down in front of Angus, but something inside me is definitely breaking.

A
NGUS
IS
dressed by the time I vacate the bathroom, though his T-shirt is inside out and his confidence is wavering.

“Good luck for later,” I say before kissing his cheek and giving him a quick hug.

He seems reluctant, but he takes the hint and makes for the front door. Once he’s reached it, he stops, and I can see him building up the courage to say something. I’m willing him with everything in me to just go. I need him to just go.

But of course he doesn’t.

“You sure you’re okay…? Because… because you don’t seem yourself and this is kind of momentous for me too and I’d understand if you feel overwhelmed but I’m so scared right now. I’m scared that once you shut this door you’re never going to open it to me again,” he finishes, sounding breathless.

His hands are shaking.

I should be honest. If only because I’ll hurt him if I’m not. And I care about him deeply. I can’t deny that. This is hard.

“I’m not pushing you away.”

“Okay. But you are,” he says, his head down.

This is no good.

And he’s right, last night was momentous. I will never forget it.

I tilt his head back up, stroking my thumb against the soft hair of his cheek, dark and unshaven. I move in close to lean my forehead against his. The scent of his skin is sexy, reminding me of everything we did last night, how well explored we are, the taste of him still on my tongue.

I want to tell him I just need to get my head around this, around my feelings for him, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I want to tell him I’m scared, that there is a part of me that’s screaming I can’t trust this—my feelings, his feelings, any of it—and it is so hard to ignore. But I can’t say those words.

Instead I kiss him, softly, tenderly, wishing again to show him what I mean without words. It is a far more eloquent form of communication.

Angus’s response is to tangle his fingers in my hair and squeeze his eyes shut tight, returning my kiss in earnest. If this were just about sex, it would be so damn easy.

“Call me or text me and let me know how your exam goes,” I say as he makes his way downstairs.

I hear him make some sound of assent before I close my door and lean against it.

Trust was never going to come easy for me. After everything, it is perhaps the hardest thing of all. I look up at the ceiling, at the vast emptiness of space described there—the reality of our insignificance is mind-blowing.

But a voice that sounds so much like Angus tells me how that only makes it all the more amazing that we are here, that we have found each other as we’re spinning through the darkness.

I’
M
DEALING
with a customer when Oskar hobbles into the shop on crutches. He sits down on one of the solid leather stools in the middle and waits to be served. The jeans and top he’s wearing are a little loose on his skinny frame, and it occurs to me they must belong to Angus.

I’m not sure why Oskar is here, but I’m pretty certain he’s not come in to buy a pair of overpriced shoes.

Soren is fucking around out the back trying to get one of the electronic foot scanners to work, and I’m glad he’s not out here. He’d work out in no time that this is the Oskar whose foot I ran over, and he’d think he had free rein to ask all manner of invasive questions.

My customer leaves, and I try and school my wary expression into a more welcoming one.

“Want me to measure you up?” I ask.

Oskar gives me a strange look and shakes his head. “I just came to talk to you about Angus.”

“Can’t it wait? I’m at work.” I don’t mean to be so offhand with him—it just comes out.

“I don’t really want him to know I came to see you. I can wait until you’ve finished.”

He seems so uncertain of me. I think he perhaps believes me to be as harsh as I sound.

“Are you here to warn me off?” I ask.

“Why would you think that?” He practically shrinks.

I shrug and sit down on the stool next to him. “I lied to you about not having any feelings for Angus.” The words just come out. It’s not as hard as I imagined.

“I kind of didn’t believe you anyway.”

I sigh, nudging him with my shoulder, mostly amiably, because even if Oskar didn’t believe me about my feelings, he still kissed Angus and offered to suck him off. And yeah, it hurts, even if Angus tells me it means nothing.

“So, if you’re not here to warn me off, what is it?”

With a cautious air, Oskar looks around the tiny shop as if he expects there to be people listening in on our conversation. Actually, there probably are people listening with all the hidden speakers and security cameras in this shopping center, though I don’t expect there is anyone
actively
listening to what we are saying, although looking as furtive as Oskar is right now probably doesn’t help.

“You do care about him, right?”

I nod, watching him expectantly, wondering exactly how much
he
cares about Angus, but finding I’m not jealous of that. I think Angus should have friends who care about him. Even if that’s Oskar.

“He’s
really
into you, so I don’t know, I figure he must have said something about it.”

“About what?” I frown at Oskar, perplexed. I’ve thought about nothing but Angus all day. I’ve exhausted all topics concerning him, and I have no idea what Oskar is going on about.

Oskar fixes his brown eyes on mine. “Angus told me all about the burglary.” He shakes his head and looks at me pointedly as if I’m missing something. “When I said I wasn’t having the greatest time sleeping on someone’s floor with a fucking Doberman wandering round the house, he practically jumped at the chance of having me stay with him. Josh, you must realize he’s fucking terrified in that flat. Even when I’m there, he’s still fucking terrified.”

“What…? What’s he terrified of?”

Though of course the realization hits me like a brick glancing off my jaw as soon as I open my mouth.

I’m so fucking stupid. Angus has told me he doesn’t feel safe in that flat. He’s worried someone is watching him, that the burglars will return. The dark rings around his eyes and his exhaustive tiredness suddenly make so much more sense. Perhaps he’s been using studying as an escape, or perhaps he’s just not sleeping well at all anymore.

“Have you seen anyone, anything?” I ask, trying to keep the urgency surging through me out of my voice.

Oskar shakes his head. “He told me about his mum getting taken into the psych ward, though. I guess it’s normal to be anxious after you’ve been through something like that, but I’m just… I’m just worried about him.” He shrugs, then leans forward, his shoulders slumping.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say, though I feel awful and not sure what to do.

It doesn’t matter whether I think Angus’s anxiety is anything to do with Eleanor’s. I agree with Oskar. Angus’s reaction has got to be pretty normal given what has happened. I just wish I’d listened to him more closely, perhaps even said all those stupid words I think are pointless—that it will be okay, that I would look out for him, be there. I hate to think of him worrying or scared.

I need to talk to him. To make this okay. I’m filled with the urge to do it now.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the time. It’s half four. Angus’s exam should have finished ages ago. My heart sinks when I see there is a missed call from him forty minutes ago. I didn’t hear it. I feel a bit sick as I think back to this morning, to how I needed to be on my own, not thinking that maybe Angus needed a bit of reassurance from me. About everything.

I’ve been so fucking selfish.

Soren chooses just that moment to appear, fixed foot scanner in hand. I mouth that I need to make a call and point to my phone before disappearing into the stockroom.

I dial Angus’s number, but his phone just rings and rings. It doesn’t even go to voice mail. I close my eyes and lean against the unstable wall of shoe boxes, listening to the empty tone go on and on. Eventually I put the phone down, deciding I’m going to run his battery down if I don’t. He probably just can’t hear it ringing. Frustrated with myself, I check my voice mail. There is a message from Angus, but when I listen, it’s just garbled and cuts off after a few seconds.

Back on the shop floor, Soren is crouched in front of Oskar. From the angle I am approaching them, his position looks a little inappropriate, unless he really is measuring Oskar’s feet. I clear my throat.

When I get closer, I can see he has a pen in his hand and is drawing a potentially quite explicit picture of what at first glance looks like genitalia on Oskar’s mostly blank cast. I’ve seen Soren draw before, and although I would never tell him as much, he has a certain brash flair for it.

“Emergency?” Soren asks glancing up from his drawing. Thankfully he’s not being sarcastic.

“No.” I sink down onto one of the leather stools and lean forward, resting my head in my hands.

“Why are you letting him draw a penis chasing a vagina on your cast?” I mutter to Oskar.

Oskar shrugs.

Soren sits back and starts speaking in the informative, deadpan tone he reserves for saying something scandalous. “I saw it on YouTube. It’s a French advert for condoms. The vagina is not interested until the penis has a condom on.”

I roll my eyes.

“I am a social warrior in the battle against STDs,” he carries on, smirking. “One blank cast at a time.”

“What Soren actually means is that his arrogance knows no bounds,” I mock whisper.

“Ouch,” Soren winces. “Your words are like a knife to my heart.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

“Only because I gave it to you, remember?”

He smiles sweetly. It has a kind of devastating effect on Oskar, which I doubt Soren is blind to, but thankfully he chooses to ignore it.

“Josh rejected me,” he tells Oskar with an overexaggerated shrug, then fixes his devastating gaze back on me. “Oskar has told me all about how you crippled him, by the way.”

“I’d probably be up for a repeat performance, if you’re interested?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Oskar tell you it was down that stupid road I have to give you a lift to sometimes?”

“Yep.” Soren frowns, concentrating on his drawing. “But you don’t have to give me a lift there anymore. That part of my life is in the past.”

“What? You’ve stopped smoking? Just like that?” I ask incredulously.

Soren’s weed habit was no small thing.

And I know I’m probably being a little indiscreet with Oskar sitting there, but he must know what goes on at that house
—
he was knocking at the house next door the day I ran over his foot, after all.

“Not just like that. But I’m not going to bitch and moan about how hard it is. Anyway, it’s for a good cause.”

A good cause? I have no idea what Soren is going on about, but I don’t press him further. I remind myself
I am not Soren
.

There are no more customers, and we sit on the stools talking about nothing in particular until closing time. Well, Soren and Oskar talk. I’m distracted for much of the conversation, thinking about Angus. I know Soren notices I keep checking my phone, but he doesn’t say anything. As we close up, I offer Oskar a lift back to the flat, but he is meeting someone he knows in town at six, so I leave him standing by the doors of the shopping center, sheltering from the rain.

A
S
I
drive home, the knot in my stomach just gets tighter and tighter. When I pull up outside, I know Angus isn’t home yet. His flat is dark, and there is no answer when I knock. I have his spare key—its weight heavy as a river stone in my back pocket. But I don’t use it. Instead I text him again as I walk slowly upstairs.

In my flat I stare at the screen of my phone and sink down into one of the kitchen chairs, feeling consumed by thoughts of him—no longer by my need to talk to him, now I just need to know he’s all right.

It’s nearly half six. He’s not replied to any of my texts.
Where the fuck is he?

Worry begins to unfurl its dark wings in my chest.

I’
M
SITTING
and staring out the kitchen window when Oskar returns at eight. The world is blurred by rain—the black streets brightened by starbursts of orange streetlights that only make the darkness seem darker, the sky beyond them an unfathomable void. Someone driving a clapped-out Mini with smoke pouring out of its exhaust drops Oskar off, and he hobbles up the path to the door. Angus still hasn’t returned or answered any of my texts or calls. And I’ve made a few.