Page 91 of We Used To Be Magic

‘What happened?’ he asks. ‘Your hand is busted, you look like shit – no offence—’

‘None taken.’

‘—and you’re obviously wasted. Did something happen with Audrey?’

Audrey. I could drink every ounce of alcohol in this apartment and it still wouldn’t be enough to blot out the memory of her face when she realised what I’d done.

‘No,’ I say, sobered by his sudden clairvoyance. ‘Nothing like that.’

‘Then what?’

‘Nothing. I got drunk and punched a fridge. It happens.’

‘ “It happens,” ’ he echoes. ‘Fine. I won’t push you.’

But he cares enough to want to, and I wish I could explain to him why I don’t deserve it – his concern, his kindness, his time. But I need his company more. I neednoise.

‘Fuck this party,’ he says. ‘Let’s go get a pizza and hole up in here. WatchGilmore Girlstogether. You’ll hate it. It’ll be fun.’

‘People will say we’re in love.’

Mac laughs, and it’s nice. So is what he’s offering – if I were a functional human being then I’d probably take him up on it. But I didn’t come here for a quiet evening of pizza andTV, and as soon as we’re out of this room I’m going to let Courtney and her cohorts drag me away. They can parrot my accent, clamber all over me – I don’t give a shit, so long as I can get obliterated while they do it. And eventually I’ll pass out somewhere – anywhere, so long as I don’t have to go back to my apartment tonight. Back to the dark and the quiet and sheets that smell like Audrey.

I think I might have loved her, as ridiculous as that sounds. And I tried to hide from that, just like I tried to pretend that the connection between us wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Our ‘chance’ meetings, all those little threads of synchronicity – I didn’t want to acknowledge them as anything other than coincidence, because that would have meant acknowledging fate as something other than a reassuring fairy tale that people use to make themselves feel better about their shitty lives. Any worldview that might frame losing Mum as inevitable has always been entirely fucking unacceptable to me, but what if it wasnever as big as that? What if it was as small and simple and utterly miraculous as a single piece of string?

Not that it matters now. The things Audrey said before she left – worse still, the look in her eyes. Forget the hurt, the anger – it was that painful, palpablebewildermentthat killed me. It was like she was seeing –reallyseeing – me for the first time, and she fucking hated it.

She saw me and she hated me and she left. And God, do I ever hate myself for being stupid enough to think that wasn’t inevitable.

AUDREY

LAST NIGHTIDREAMT THATIWAS SWIMMINGTHROUGH THECITY.

The buildings were the same but there was water where the streets should have been, dark and murky. The sky was dark too and Ezra was ahead of me, his head bobbing in the distance – I was trying and failing to catch up with him, calling his name over and over. But my voice wouldn’t carry. He didn’t know that I was there, and when I woke up my face was wet with tears. It felt so real that it took me a few seconds to realise where I actually was.

The where is a hotel. I picked a nice one and asked for the highest room they could give me. I guess I wanted to feel like nothing bad could touch me. It didn’t work, but at least the view is pretty. Last night the evening sun bled through the windows, washing the walls with orange light as I ate room service fries in a fluffy robe, still pink and damp from the bath I took. None of it made me feel any less hollow.

I turned on theTVafter it got dark. It was tuned to a classic movie channel, the opening credits ofThe Apartmentstarting to roll. The film I watched with Ezra, I realised with a jolt, and instinctively moved to turn it off. But I didn’t. I found myself turning up the volume instead, eyes glued to the screen as I sank down into the cocoon of the wide, white bed that I’m still in now. I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep in a silent room, I reasoned, pretending that was the only reason I kept watching.

I wish I could justify another night here, but I can’t. The room I shared with Marika is empty now. She was in the apartment when I got back from Ezra’s yesterday, sitting cross-legged infront of the mirror and applying mascara. She stilled when she saw me standing in the open doorway, slowly lowering her brush.

‘What did Ezra tell you?’ I asked – any attempt at preamble would have been ridiculous.

‘What he should have told you,’ she said quietly, turning to face me. ‘Audrey …’

‘He didn’t tell me anything. Neither of you did.’

‘I didn’t get a chance. He—’

‘He talked to a journalist about me. Did you know that?’

She blinked at me – apparently not.

‘She’s the one who told him all that stuff about Julian,’ I continued. ‘Then he told you.’

‘Which he shouldn’t have,’ she said curtly. ‘It was fucked up, coming to me before you.’

‘Saying anything was fucked up. And whatever he imagined – whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.’

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