Page 92 of We Used To Be Magic

I was still floating in a strange place of unreality, then. Not numb, exactly, but detached from what was happening. I’d even crafted a more palatable version of events on my way to the apartment – I was going to tell Marika thatJulian made a pass at me, yeah, but nothing scary happened. He’s probably just used to girls falling at his feet.

But she had already turned away from me, moving towards the bed. Crouching, she slipped a hand under my bunk, and I felt myself go cold even before she pulled out the crumpled camisole.

‘I found this last night,’ she said. ‘You were wearing it at the test shoot. I saw it in the pictures.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It was from the rail.’

‘You told me he didn’t ask you to wear anything from the rail.’

‘I – I forgot to give it back. I was too embarrassed to mention it.’

‘You’re an awful liar,’ she said softly, naked pity written across her face. And I hated her in that moment, just like I’d hated Ezra. I hated her for seeing right through me, for being smart and strong and perfect when I was so weak, so fucking stupid—

Suddenly I was turning, groping for my bag.

‘Don’t go,’ Marika said. ‘Please, we can talk …’

‘Talk to Ezra,’ I replied, and was startled to hear how cutting it sounded. Then I was gone.

She messaged not long after I’d checked into the hotel to tell me that the room was mine – that she’d be staying with Nicole for as long as I needed space. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that Marika probably would have spent all her time there if it hadn’t been for me. Instead, she slept half her nights on a squeaky bunk in a cold, dank little room, just so I wouldn’t be alone.

I don’t know why I had to be so cruel. Pretending that Marika did anything wrong didn’t make me feel any better, especially seeing as she’s only ever shown me kindness. My feelings about Ezra are a lot murkier, though. He hasn’t called, hasn’t messaged – I don’t think I want him to, but a small part of me wonders if maybe I should have listened to his explanation, at least to offer back a fraction of the patience that he’s heaped upon me. I’ve had time to think now, and I can’t comprehend a scenario in which Ezra did what he did maliciously.

An accident, he said – maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I never wanted him to know, and I hate that he does. I hate that it’s changed everything, because I’ve realised now that I was magic when we met. I wore sparkling dresses. I disappeared in and out of beautiful places. And I didn’t need to leave a shoe or a trail of breadcrumbs for him to find me, because he was magic too. And it never stopped feeling that way. He never stopped looking at me like I was something rare, someone special. Untilhe knew, and then I was just an object of sympathy. A rabbit who got her foot caught in a trap.

I incline my head towards the window, gazing out at the skyline. I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t think I can stay in this city, but even if I go home, I’m not the same girl that my parents waved off at the airport. I don’t know if I can slip back into her life, and I don’t know that I want to. I’ve felt more like a person these past two months than I have in years. Everything moved too fast for me to self-edit, to curate myself for others. I just … was.

I was, I was, I was. Everything good is in past tense now.

EZRA

‘YOU LOOKTERRIBLE,’EDIE SAYS,HOPPING ONTO THEBAR STOOLbeside me and shrugging off her coat.

‘Thanks. I got you rosé,’ I say, pushing the glass towards her. She looks very nice, conversely, in a grey knitted dress and red lipstick, which I mentioned liking once. I doubt she remembers.

I was meant to be working today, but I woke up on the floor of Mac’s bedroom with a hangover of biblical proportions and no discernible will to live. I messaged Romy a half-hearted excuse before heading off to get my go-to dumplings and tea, which I managed to keep down for about twenty minutes before vomiting up in a nearby alley. I practically crawled back to my apartment after that, and snatched a few hours of sleep before that awful, itchy-under-the-skin feeling returned. And now I’m here, in the bar where Edie and I first reunited. I was two drinks deep when I called her. I wasn’t sure that she’d even pick up, but she did – now she’s here too, and I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised by that.

‘So – how are you?’ I ask. ‘How’s work?’

‘Do you care?’

‘I’m interested.’

‘In hearing me talk about collating diaries and ordering flowers?’

‘What kind of flowers?’

‘You’re so full of shit.’ She snorts, taking a sip of her drink. ‘How about we talk about why I’m actually here?’

‘Does there need to be a specific reason for us to hang out?’

‘No. I’m just surprised, is all.’

‘That I wanted to go for a drink?’

‘That you wanted to go with me.’

I falter, trying to remember if I messaged Edie after we had dinner at her place. I don’t even know when that was. A few days ago? Longer?

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