Page 56 of Heal Me

Why is it so hard to keep a conversation going? This is going to be a long fucking night. "Sixth course." Kill me.

"I like the way you're dressed," he adds after a short pause.

"Thank you. I like your style too."

I like your style too? What am I talking about?

"Wait," Timur touches the back pocket of his jeans, "I think I left my wallet at home."

Did we come all this way for nothing?

"We can go to my place, I'll pick it up quickly, and we'll go to a coffee shop, my apartment is not far away," he offers.

And I have no choice but to answer:

"Yes, of course."

"I'm renting an apartment with some friends, there's probably some party, but don't worry, we'll not stay long."

Now I notice that Timur is quite nice.

"Do you live with Danylo?" For some reason, I couldn't think of a better question, but Timur doesn't seem to care.

"No, Bondar has an apartment not far from us, he lives with Zlata." Oh, yeah, and how did I not realise that?

I wonder if I can stop thinking about Danylo just for a minute!

We enter and go up to the fourth floor. Loud music is already coming through the thin walls.

Timur opens the door and we go inside. It's hard to tell whether the apartment is spacious or not, because now almost every inch of it is crammed with drunk students.

"I'll be right back," Timur whispers in my ear and disappears into one of the rooms.

I walk a little further. I don't know who I'm looking for here, but maybe there's someone I know?

"Are you hanging out with my friend, Amelia?" someone's low voice penetrates my head.

Danylo's hand falls on my waist. I don't turn around.

"Your friend invited me," I answer without emotion.

"And what do you think about him?" Danylo's scent seeps through me.

He always smells so good.

His hand is still on my waist, but his finger is also drawing a circle on my skin.

"Do you like him?" he whispers directly into my ear, touching my skin with his wet lips.

"What's wrong, Danylo?" I ask him his favourite question.

I turn to face him and can finally see him.

His hair is falling down a little on his face, his sharp cheekbones are tense, his eyes are tired, and he is holding a glass of alcohol.

"Since when do you drink?" I ask angrily.

I don't like his behaviour, the way he is with me, the way his eyes are trying to burn all my clothes to ashes.

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