Page 51 of My Best Friend Is Broken
Before I can react, he’s grabbing my arm and steering me toward a fire exit. The door opens with a crash, setting off an alarm that wails through the stairwell, but Wayne doesn’t seem to care. He pushes me through into an alleyway behind the building, and suddenly we’re alone with nothing but brick walls and the distant sound of traffic.
“There we go,” he says, backing me against the wall. “Much more private. Just like old times.”
I’m shaking now, my whole body trembling with a fear so profound it’s made me stupid. I should run. Should scream. Should do something other than stand here like a deer in headlights while my worst nightmare comes to life in broad daylight.
“You know,” Wayne continues conversationally, “I used to wonder how you’d cope on the outside. But looking at you now...” His eyes travel over mein a way that makes my skin crawl. “Seems you are doing alright. Still getting by with that boy pussy of yours?”
“Please,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m begging for.
“Please what?” He leans closer, and I can feel his breath on my face. “Please leave you alone? Please pretend we don’t have history? Please forget all those nights when you were so grateful for my protection?”
The word ‘protection’ hits me like acid. Protection. That’s what he called it when he hurt me, when he used me, when he made it clear that the choice was between him and the even worse things that could happen to an eighteen-year-old in a place like Brixton.
I’m shutting down. I can feel it happening, that familiar disconnection from my body, my mind retreating to someplace safe while whatever’s about to happen happens to someone else. It’s a survival mechanism I learned early in my sentence, and it’s served me well.
But I don’t want to disappear. Not now, not when I’ve finally found something worth staying present for.
“You remember, don’t you?” Wayne whispers. “How good you were at taking care of me? How much you liked it when I was gentle with you?”
I close my eyes, trying to block out his voice, his presence, the memories he’s dragging up from the darkest corners of my mind.
Then I hear something that doesn’t fit. The soft sound of footsteps on concrete.
“Step away from him.”
The voice is cold, controlled, and absolutely lethal. I open my eyes to see Nicky standing at the mouth of the alley, and for a moment I don’t recognize him.
This isn’t the gentle man who made me coffee this morning or kissed me like I was something precious. This is someone else entirely, someone whose presence fills the narrow space with the kind of danger that makes smart people cross to the other side of the street.
Wayne turns, his hand still gripping my arm, and his grin falters slightly when he sees Nicky.
“Well, well,” he says, but there’s less confidence in his voice now. “This must be the sugar daddy. Can’t say I’m surprised, I always knew Pretty Boy liked cock. Nice to meet you, mate. We were just catching up, weren’t we, Liam?”
Nicky doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even acknowledge Wayne directly. Instead, he looks at me, and I see something flicker in his expression when he takes in my face. Whatever he sees there makes his jaw tighten.
“Liam,” he says quietly. “Come here.”
But I can’t move. Wayne’s hand is still on my arm, and even if it wasn’t, my legs feel like water.
“Actually,” Wayne says, his grip tightening, “we’re not quite finished here. See, Liam and I have some unfinished business from our time inside. Don’t we, Pretty Boy?” He turns back to me, ignoring Nicky.
His beady eyes gleam. “You still owe me, and I’ve missed that pretty mouth of yours.”
That’s when Nicky moves.
I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. One moment he’s standing at the mouth of the alley, the next he’s behind Wayne with something dark and heavy in his hand. There’s a wet thud, like a hammer hitting meat, and Wayne crumples to the ground without another word.
The sudden silence is deafening.
I stare down at Wayne’s unconscious form, at the blood trickling from his scalp, at the way his body lies twisted on the dirty concrete. Part of me wants to kick him while he’s down, to take back some small measure of what he stole from me. But mostly I just feel numb.
“Liam.” Nicky’s voice is gentle now, all that cold danger tucked away as quickly as it appeared. Tucked away like the gun he returns to his hostler. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, though I’m not sure it’s true. I don’t think Wayne actually touched me, not in any way that would leave marks. But I feel hurt anyway, dirty, in ways that don’t show on the surface.
“Can you speak?”
I nod, then realize that’s not actually speaking. “I’m okay,” I whisper, and the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
