Page 9 of My Best Friend Is Broken
Liam’s blue eyes fill with something that looks an awful lot like terror. “Out?” he gasps hoarsely.
I regret my stupid suggestion instantly. “We don’t have to. It was just an idea.”
He shakes his head quickly, like the suggestion itself is dangerous. His hands twist in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Not yet.”
“Okay,” I say, as gently as I can. “Not yet.”
We migrate to the living room, because it feels less like a confrontation there. I switch on the TV and start surfing until I land on a game show. Bright colors, loud buzzers, fake audience laughter.
Liam sits hunched on the sofa like he’s bracing for impact. Every time the host yells, he flinches. When the crowd claps, he startles.
I pretend not to notice.
Half an hour later, we’ve switched to cartoons. Something silly, slapstick, characters slipping on banana peels and smacking each other with frying pans.
Liam’s mouth twitches. Just once. Then again. And finally, after a particularly over-the-top pratfall, a short, startled laugh slips out of him. Quiet and soft.
I nearly miss it. But it’s there.
“See?” I grin, nudging him gently with my shoulder. “Comedy gold.”
He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth is still curved.
We stay like that for hours. I let the remote wander us through cooking shows, reruns of old sitcoms, a wildlife documentary where a posh British guy whispers reverently about lions while dramatic music swells. Liam’s head tilts as he watches the lions hunt. He’s leaning forward without realizing, captivated.
“They work together,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “They’re stronger that way.”
I don’t say anything. I just watch him, the way his eyes soften, the way he seems to forget where he is for a moment.
By late afternoon, the sunlight slants gold through the window. Liam has drifted sideways, his head finding the cushion. My hoodie is too big on him, sleeves covering his hands. His lashes rest against his cheeks, pale and delicate, and for once he looks… peaceful.
I should move. Get up. Let him have space. But my legs won’t work. Instead I sit there, watching over him like some guard dog, until the light fades.
I remember his voice from last night.Don’t ever let me go, Nicky.
And I know I won’t.
Even if he never feels safe again, I’ll be his safety. Even if he never trusts the world again, he can trust me.
It’s a vow I make silently, sitting on my own sofa with my best friend asleep beside me, and it feels bigger than anything I’ve ever promised before.
Chapter four
Nicky
The idea to go outside feels ridiculous when I say it out loud.
“Fresh air,” I tell him, trying to make the words light. “Coffee. A walk. Ten minutes. If it’s too much, we come straight back.”
Liam looks at me as if I’ve suggested we walk through a thunderstorm naked. His fingers worry at the hem of his hoodie. “What if there are too many people?” he asks, voice small.
“There won’t be,” I lie because I don’t know how to say,I’ll push them aside if they get in your way.Instead, I try humor. “It’s still early. The only people out will be runners and those young men with man-buns who shout into their phones about cryptocurrency.”
He manages a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay,” he says finally. It’s a small surrender, but I feel like I’ve won something monumental.
We leave the apartment with ridiculous care. I lock the deadbolt twice, like physical clicks can make the world less precarious and keep it out of our home. It’s not acompletely crazy idea. The apartment is Liam’s home now. It needs to remain his sanctuary. A place of safety.
Especially when I am dragging him out, probably long before he is ready. But part of me is convinced that Liam doesn’t need anymore time inside, locked away from the world.
