Page 9 of Mayfly

“Living,” he says finally. It’s not an answer, but then again, maybe it is.

Maybe it’s the only answer there is for boys like us.

I just died and went to hell because only the devil could write a narrative this utterly fucked.

Of all people. Of all places. It had to be Jude fucking Clarke that would walk back into my life at its lowest point, and shine like every light in the universe was flicked on at once.

Sitting beside me, his presence is just as blinding as it always was. It’s heavy and warm on my shoulders, like a hug. Like I’m deserving of the world and everything in it, and he’ll go out of his way just to make me smile. But time has proven to me I deserve nothing, and right now, I don’t feel like talking. Jude cansit there in silence for all I care. He can drink his damn drink, then fuck off back into oblivion, because I can handle him there; existing only in my memories. They may be painful, but they’re predictable, and I don’t have to worry about getting hurt all over again.

Shifting in his chair, he takes another sip of whatever the hell is in his glass, and his elbow brushes mine.

I want to scream.

I want to burn this goddamn pub to the ground.

I want him to do it again.

“I haven’t seen you since…” His voice trails off and I know what he’s thinking. What words he's left unsaid.

“Why did you ignore me?”

“What did I do wrong?”

My heart is beating like a steam engine.

I can’t remember when I last took a breath, because all I want to do is drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. I want him to punish me for my neglect and selfishness. For being too scared to help him when he needed me to be his hero. And when he needed me to be his friend.

“Juvie was fucked,” he sighs, tracing circles with his glass in the condensation on the tabletop.

“Yeah, no shit.” It’s where hope goes to die. Where the days are long and the nights are longer. We were just kids. Well, I was when I first arrived. Jude was seventeen by the time he showed up—

Somewhere inside my head, a door slams shut and I’m back there again, encased in the sterile white walls of England’s stellar Young Offenders program. The scent of antiseptic that clung to every surface is a stench that never leaves you. I hear the echo of heavy boots against linoleum floors, the jangle of keys that sound like chains, and I see Jude seeking me out with hope-tinged eyes, only to be met with the back of my head as I walk away.

As if he really has forgotten, he shakes his head beside me and smirks, drawing me back to him in the present like he’s about to reach out, wipe away my tears, and promise me that everything will be alright.

So much of me wants to hate him right now, but just being beside him makes me feel more alive than I have in years.

“Shit, so how long has it been then?”

“Seventeen years,” I speak without thinking.

“Damn, Curren.” Jude pushes me in the biceps with his forearm. “That makes it sound like you’ve been counting the days.”

Nodding, I exhale quickly through my nose and push my lips to one side of my face, because… so what if I have?

“Do you remember Mr. Baker… Like,oldMr. Baker?”

Leaning back in my chair, I hum. As I close my eyes, I let my head fall back, and the muscles that run down my neck to my chest ache from how tight I’ve been clenching my jaw.

When I straighten back out, I glance from the corner of my eye at Jude, and catch him staring. Smug but steely, I lean forward onto the table and cock my head in his direction. His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick gulp, and he stutters, “A—are you happy to see me?”

“I thought we were talking about Mr. Baker?”

“Youweren’t talking about anything. You’ve had me sitting here scared shitless you might snap.”

My fingers seek my glass to save me from slamming my fist down on the table. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you need to calm the fuck down,” Jude states matter-of-factly, but also with a light snicker at the end. “You never could keep your emotions in check. I’m not sure if it’scomforting or concerning to see that time hasn’t changed you in that way.”

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