“You should be at the carnival party,” I say gruffly, feeling guilty that she’s missing it.
Maddie’s head snaps around. ‘No, I shouldn’t. I should be right here with you.’
Maddie explained everything to me, that Mum needs rest and there’s not much we can do but wait.
“Kids,” my Dad slips out of Mum’s room and approaches us. “You two should head home. I’ll ring with any updates.” He turns to me. “Can you bring your mum’s stuff in tomorrow, just some clothes and her toiletries and things, and my toothbrush?”
“Yeah, of course.” I stand up and turn to Maddie as she stands, too. “let’s get you home first.”
“I’m staying with you,” she says, her face set in stubborn lines, warning me not to argue.
The taxi ride back to my parent’s house is quiet. Maddie sits and fidgets with the ribbons of her mask, and I watch her as the light from the streetlamps rhythmically illuminates her. I can’t take my eyes off her as flashes of the kiss replay in my head. She’s here now, supporting me when I need her the most.
As a friend, my mind reminds me.
She’s always been with me in times of crisis, been my calm in a storm, and grounded me when the lightning strikes. Our friendship will be ruined if she finds out I was behind that mask at the Carnival. I’ll lose her.
Fuck, I love her so much. The line between friendship and love blurred a long time ago for me, but the same can’t be said for Maddie.
Unlocking the door to my parent’s house, we’re faced with the paraphernalia from the paramedics strewn all over the floor.
Maddie quickly takes control, picking it all up, scrunching it in her hands as she goes.
“Maddie, stop.”
She looks up at me from her half bending position, a quizzical look in her eyes.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“Let me do this. I feel useless, otherwise,” she replies, her blue eyes soft on my face.
I nod, rubbing a weary hand across my face. Maddie finishes scooping up the empty packets and little bits of white plastic and takes them through to the kitchen, where I hear her put the kettle on.
I watch her move around my parent’s kitchen with ease, her dress floating around her legs as she walks from the sink to the countertop. She reaches the high cupboards to grab a couple of mugs, her arms slender and long.
Before I know it, I’m being propelled forward by a force unknown to me. I wrap an arm around her waist as she turns, leaning back, wondering what I’m doing. But I can’t stop myself. The urge to hold her is too strong. Like a planet being pulled towards its star. I can’t live without her.
I look down into her eyes and watch as realisation flickers to life in those azure pools.
“It was you,” she breathes, just as I claim her lips for the second time tonight.