Your blue eyes, behind your huge pupils, the same.
But you don’t look enough like what I want, what I remember.
‘You idiot,’ you murmur, ‘you’ll ruin everything.’
A car goes past the end of the alleyway. Police car. We both notice it.
‘I can make them come after you,’ I say.
The skin around your left eye twitches. You know I could. I like this power I have over you.
‘I’ll say you were talking to another underage girl. Like youdid before, Tyler MacFarlane.’
Your mouth opens at the sound of your full name, which tastes sour in my mouth, but you don’t look like Ty right now—not the Ty inside me—and I can’t bring myself to use that softer name. With your wide darting eyes, you look barely human. Sweat beads below your hairline, runs down to your jaw. It should be enough, knowing I can make you sweat, feeling my new power. I step close to you again, really take you in—the sweet, stale smell, your dirt-brown lashes, the cracked edge of your lip. My whole body is trembling, but I make myself stay.
‘Apologise,’ I say.
You stare at me, your lip curling. ‘You first.’
And then you shove me harder, and you’re running again. I lurch after you, grasp at you, but even with all the swimming, I’m not strong enough to hold you.
‘Just leave me the fuck alone!’ you shout.
But I’m not going to do that. Not after what you did, what you were about to do again. Besides, you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.
‘The hell I will!’
I barrel my body into you, and you stumble into the brick wall, swearing and reeling. As you lift your hand to your head and find blood, I see confusion in your face again, then surprise when you look back at me. Once, you assumed you could do anything to me: you were strong then, and even if you’re wasted now, you could be strong again. I slam you backwards before you’ve got time to react.
‘Come with me and I won’t tell,’ I say quickly.
You just stare at me. Slowly, I reach for your clammy hand and take it in mine. We both watch our hands, as if they aresomething separate from us, strange objects to be observed and marvelled at.
‘Come with me, Ty,’ I say, more gently now, starting to lead you to my car. ‘We’ll work this out.’ I use the voice I reserve for reassuring children and animals. ‘No more prison, or police. Just a little talk, you and me. Trust me.’
You’re shaking your head, but I can also feel the resistance seeping out of your body as you take these steps with me. I open the door and bundle you into the back seat, where you lie sprawling. Leaning over you, I feel your breath on my cheek as I check your jeans pockets—more little bags of white pills and tight bundles of weed, which I immediately toss into the front passenger seat.
‘A druggie now?’ I ask. ‘Want me to go to the police with that, too?’
‘But you said no—?’
I pull the knife out from my pocket again and hold it in front of your face, hoping you can’t see it shaking. ‘You do what I say now.’
We’re as close as we’ve ever been. As you reach for the pills in the front seat, I slap your arm away.
‘No more!’
Again, that surprise in your eyes at my tone of voice. But perhaps this is the real me, my true, strong voice, the one Rhiannon always said I’d find one day. Have I found it? When you see the knife, your eyes roll backwards, before I shake you back to me. I have a junkie in my car, the kind of person my mother turns her nose up at.
I have Tyler MacFarlane. And he’s doing what I say.
‘Gemma,’ you whisper.
Just that.
I inhale sharply. Because my name in your mouth doesn’t feel like an answer after all. You shut your eyes, and I wonder if you’ve passed out, but then you make a sound that could be the beginning of a laugh.
‘Gemma…’ Your voice is soft and slurred. ‘Should’ve known I’d get this kind of luck…not even out a week before you…’