Page 26 of My Best Friend Is Broken
“Good. Anything else you need?”
He considers this seriously, and I love that he’s actually thinking about it instead of just shaking his head reflexively. “Maybe some underwear? And socks?”
Such a simple request, but it hits me like a punch to the chest. Of course he needs underwear and socks. Of coursethe basics of human dignity weren’t provided when he was released. How many other gaps are there in what he needs to feel human again?
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “Let’s get you sorted.”
We make our way to the underwear section, and I let him choose what he wants while I pretend to be interested in a display of discounted scarves. He’s quick and efficient, clearly embarrassed but determined, and when he’s done, we head toward the tills.
The queue is longer now, the afternoon rush beginning as people finish work and duck in for quick purchases. We join the line behind a woman buying children’s clothes and settle in to wait. Liam is holding the basket of his new things, and there’s something almost protective in the way he cradles it against his chest.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, not looking at me.
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do.” He glances up, and his blue eyes are serious. “I know this isn’t... I know I’m not easy to be around right now.”
The words cut through me like a knife. “Liam…”
“I’m trying,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to get better. I want to be... I want to be someone you can stand to live with.”
My heart breaks completely. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. You don’t have to earn the right to exist in my space.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but we’ve reached the front of the queue. The cashier, a bored-looking teenager with purple hair and multiple piercings, starts scanning our items with mechanical efficiency. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Fifty-six pounds, forty-three,” she announces.
I reach for my wallet and pay her while Liam looks away, clearly embarrassed.
I hand him the brown paper bag with his new worldly possessions in, and together we make a beeline for the door.
The security alarm starts blaring.
It’s not the polite chime of the elevator doors or the gentle beep of the till. It’s a harsh, aggressive shriek that cuts through the store’s ambient noise like a siren. Heads turn. Conversations stop. And somewhere behind us, a voice shouts, “Oi! Stop right there!”
I turn to see what’s happening just as a massive security guard, easily six-foot-four and built like a brick shithouse, comes barreling toward the exit. His face is set in the kind of scowl that brooks no argument, and his eyes are fixed on someone.
On Liam.
“You,” the guard barks, pointing a thick finger at Liam’s chest. “Empty your bag. Now.”
The blood drains from Liam’s face so fast I think he might faint. The bag of clothes tumbles from his arms, scattering across the floor around our feet.
“I… what?” Liam stammers, his voice high and thin.
“The alarm went off when you walked through,” the guard continues, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent store. “You tried to walk out with a security tag.”
The security guard’s beady eyes scan the scattered clothes on the floor. “Are you hiding something on you?” he snaps.
I can see the exact moment Liam stops processing words and starts processing threat. His pupils dilate. Hisbreathing becomes rapid and shallow. His whole body goes rigid with the kind of tension that precedes either flight or complete collapse.
“He hasn’t taken anything,” I say quickly, stepping slightly in front of Liam. “We’ve been together the whole time. He’s paid for everything.”
The guard’s attention shifts to me, and his expression doesn’t improve. “And you are?”
“His friend. Look, this is obviously a mistake…”
But before I can finish the sentence, the guard reaches for Liam.
