Page 82 of We Used To Be Magic

Demi

It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself sharply. There must be a hundred reasons why someone would be writing an article about Julian – I just need to figure out why they’d contact a no-name model who doesn’t even live in New York, because right now I can’t think of anything I could have to say that would be of interest. Nothing, except for the fact that he—

A wave of nausea grips me, then, and I stumble down the hallway towards the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet. I retch, chest heaving – nothing comes up but bile. I slump back against the wall when it’s over, my face streaked with tears and snot, willing myself towake upbecause I don’t know how else this could be happening. I never told anyone. I never said anything, and although pretending to be okay wasn’t the same as actuallybeingokay, I was in control. But now …

I cough, wiping the back of my mouth with my T-shirt. All I know now is I can’t be here when Marika gets back to the apartment. I got this weird, long message from her when I was still at the gallery, saying that she’d been called to a last-minute shoot but was I free tonight, and would I be at the apartment? There was even a kiss at the end, which was as bafflingly out-of-character as the level of detail. She must have heard from the journalist before I did, I realise now. She’ll show up here and she’ll want to talk about it – maybe she already suspects something, and I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t talk about it. I can’t, I can’t—

I can’t stay.

I’m still trembling when I press the intercom button for Ezra’s apartment. I know there’s every chance he’s not home – he told me he’s busy tonight, and I didn’t message to ask if I could come over, but—

‘Hello?’

The speaker is crackly, a lilt of uncertainty in his tone. But it’s him – it’s Ezra, and just the sound of his voice feels like a reprieve.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Uh – it’s Audrey. I know this is crazy and I know you said you’re busy …’

‘Come up,’ he says, and the intercom buzzes, lock snapping open. I slip inside, heart pounding as I head upwards. When I finally reach Ezra’s floor, he’s pacing the lobby in a coat and boots, the door to his apartment slightly ajar. Either he’s only just gotten home or he’s on his way out.

‘Good timing,’ he says, smiling strangely. ‘Two minutes earlier and we would have missed each other.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I can leave … ’

‘No, you’re good,’ he says, gently ushering me through the door. He shuts it behind me, kicking off his boots, dropping his coat to the floor. I follow suit, abandoning my phone in my jacket pocket. Marika knows where I am. I messaged her a half-baked excuse about the apartment being too cold, though ironically, it’s even colder in here. All of the windows are open, and it looks like every dish Ezra owns is piled up in his sink. The coffee table is littered with half-empty glasses and takeout cartons, and the only light is theTV, blaring into the darkness. It’s a relief, strangely – my mess matches his.

‘Sorry about all this,’ he says mildly. ‘Can I make you a tea, or … ?’

‘Can I have some of that?’ I ask, pointing towards a small bottle of vodka on the floor. ‘Please?’

It’s all I want, suddenly – to taste something awful and feel better for it.

‘Yeah,’ Ezra says after a pause. ‘I don’t know if I have anything you can mix it with, though.’

I don’t reply, picking it up and knocking back a mouthful. It’s horrible, obviously, but I force myself to swallow. Once, twice, until Ezra starts forward like he’s going to take it from me, eyes alight with such palpable concern that I lower the bottle, lips stinging.

‘I needed to get out of my apartment,’ I blurt out before he can say anything. ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.’

‘What happened?’ he asks, looking stricken. ‘I mean – are you – ?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Just – Marika was on her way and she wanted to talk about something that I don’t, so …’ I trail off, quickly swigging from the bottle again before offering it to Ezra.

He takes it from me, but it hangs limply from his hand. ‘Does she know where you are?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, not really liking this sudden shift in atmosphere. He seemed so relaxed a moment ago – sleepy, or drunk, or both. But me careening in here has sobered matters, apparently, which isn’t what I wanted at all.

‘Right,’ he says after a beat. ‘Okay. I’ll make up the bed, then.’

‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ I say, realising too late how petulant that sounds. ‘I just want this.’

He blinks at me, eyes dark and uncomprehending.

‘This?’ he echoes uncertainly.

‘That,’ I say, gesturing to the bottle in his hand, around the room. ‘This.’

‘Getting drunk in my disgusting apartment?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

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