Page 92 of Until Now

Last night barrels into me: by the time Chase and I stumbled back to the setup—well, me stumbling, Chase struggling to keep me upright—everyone else was already asleep in their tents. There was no other option but to take Chase’s offer and kip in his spare inner tent—right across from the one he was in.

Vaguely I recall falling asleep imagining him barging in and defiling me. I’m pretty sure I was smiling. But now the thought just makes me nauseous. That I could even think something like that when I’m with someone else—

Archer.

His name lodges in my throat, sinks into my stomach like a rock dropped in a bottomless lake. My gut twists as I scurry back for my bag. My hands shake as I grab my phone and see there’s no messages or calls from him.

Nothing.

Last night I let that girl in the portaloo talk me out of checking on him. Out of reaching out to him. I should have asked if he was okay, no matter what he’d said to me. Because now my heart races and I actually feel like I’m about to shit myself.

He could be dead. He was way over the limit last night, but I didn’t care. Because he’d hurt my feelings and I was waiting forhimto reach out tome, to realise what he’d said stung and to apologise. Instead, I’d left him. Maybe he was waiting for me to return to his tent to do just that, but I’d stayed out with Chase instead.

Maybe, when someone says they need space, what they really mean isdon’t leave, please stay.

I call him, but there’s no answer.

I try him again, and again, and—

‘Frankie?’ comes a sleepy voice behind me.

Chase blinks at me, as if he’s not sure if I’m real. His hair is mussed, wild as if someone has run their fingers through it countless times, and I don’t need to look further than his bare shoulders to know he’s shirtless. Maybe even naked.

Words evaporate on my tongue, but he frowns, and says, ‘Are you alright?’

That voice… Throaty and rough…

My own voice is barely a whisper. ‘Can you call Archer for me?’

The sleep seems to flash from his eyes as they narrow. ‘Why?’

I hate every word as I say, ‘He hasn’t called me and I’m really worried about him.’ I add, ‘And he’s ignoring my calls.’

He stares at me for a long, silent moment before he nods. ‘Give me a minute.’

He releases the flap of the inner tent and shuffles around. A minute later he unzips the inner tent entirely and ties the flap to the side, revealing him sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag in nothing but black joggers. He pats the space beside him, and I try not to look too closely at his bare, muscled chest or the pillow thrown across his lap, at the green and grey paint of the mountain smeared across his cheek, staining his brow.

I sit beside him and try to think past the smell of his cologne and the memories it brings—a starlit sky and the pressure of his hand in mine, the imprint of his fingers around my thighs and his soft smile as he gazes down at me, the flits of light dancing across his face as I watch him.

His eyes meet mine as he presses his phone to his ear, as if he recalls it all, too.

I hold my breath as I hear the faint sound of the phone ringing, and then—a voice.

‘Hey, man,’ Chase says. ‘You all good?’

I can’t hear Archer’s response. His voice is a mere buzz. But I watch Chase’s face for any shift of expression.

‘Sound. Where’d you get off to last night?’ Chase asks casually. ‘Ahh. Fair enough. Was just checking in to see if you were alright—‘ Suddenly his gaze flashes to mine. ‘She’s fine. No, she stayed with Demi. I don’t think so, mate—she wants to stay for the rest—you didn’t have to leave though, man, that was your decision—‘ He grinds his teeth. ‘I’ll bring her home if she wants me to, but it’s her choice, Arch, and she’s choosing to stay—yeah, okay, mate. Got you.’

He ends the call and throws it onto his sleeping bag. He looses a breath as he runs a hand down his face, and when he says nothing, my belly sinks.

‘What?’ I say, cursing the shaking in my voice.

‘He’s fine,’ Chase answers at last. ‘He made it home okay. He wants you to go to his, but I told him it’s your choice. I’ll take you home if you want me to, Frankie.’

So he can yell at me? I think back to all the times I walked slow on my way home from work, stopping off at the kebab house and sitting in the park—all to abstain, for as long as possible, from going home. To avoid the screaming and the crying. And I feel that same need now: I need these two more days before Archer kicks me to the curb.

He’s okay. That’s all that matters right now. I can live with that for another two days. I can see out this festival with that information.

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