The words force my gaze back to you.
‘I’m this person now,’ you say. ‘Can you live with it?’
I swallow. ‘Can you live with me?’
Can we be past and present versions of ourselves at the same time? Is that how our future could work? I focus on the scar on your cheek.
‘But I lied about this,’ you say, touching it in response to my stare. ‘I didn’t get the scar because I was running from a net, or whatever shit I told you.’
I shake my head. ‘You were a kid. You were running from police or social workers, or…’
You snort. ‘I was probably just drunk, Gem. Can’t even remember how it happened, to be honest. It’s just a scar.’
‘No.’ I sit up, stare down at you. ‘You ran, there was a net and someone beat you up. You made me feel sorry for you.’
You smile at my words. ‘Sounds good that way, doesn’t it?’
‘Why’d you say it if it wasn’t true?’
You shrug. ‘Ah, fuck, I dunno. Maybe I thought you might like me more. Maybe it’d worked with all the other girls.’
You’re smiling wider now, laughing at me, at the belief I once had in you.
‘All the other girls?’ There’s that jolt of fear—could you have taken others? Did you want to?
‘Jeez, Gem, it’s a manner of speech!’
I turn back to the dust motes. ‘You’re nothing but a fake,’ I say. ‘You made me believe you.’
‘We’re all fake, Gem baby. All just made up.’ And you turn and promptly fall asleep, as if none of this conversation matters.