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He pulls back and his voice is thick when he says, ‘Look at me.’
Heavy lids part to find his eyes, the echoes of a laugh forever etched into the skin around them. Briefly, my ecstasy-addled brain wonders what it would be like to see this face on a pillow next to mine every morning. But the heavy feeling beneath my stomach is building to a crescendo, threatening to launch me out into the atmosphere, and the thought drifts away.
‘Supernova!’someone shouts from the other room.
‘Asteroid!’
Finn’s mouth takes over at the last second, his tongue bringing me over the finish line, and then I’m floating up, up and out, vainly grabbing at anything to tether me to this spot, to keep me from disappearing. I’m grateful when, from the depths of oblivion, I feel strong hands holding me, his steady presence bringing me down to Earth.
‘Meteor!’
That’s me, I think. A shooting star burning up in the atmosphere, scorching a trail through the sky. At least if I make impact, I’ll go out with a bang.
I lean against Finn, breathing heavily, one hand on his shoulder and the other knotted into his hair, until I hear Josie’s voice call out from the other room and it shocks me back to the very real, very inappropriatepresent. ‘Ava, it’s our turn next, are you coming?’
Finn looks up at me and I notice red crescent-shaped marks on his skin where the neckline of his shirt has shifted. He whispers, ‘Are you coming, Ava? Or did you alre—’
‘Shutup,’ I hiss. I push off against the bookcase as he gets to his feet, handing me the t-shirt I discarded a few minutes ago. I shove it over my head and open my door a crack to yell, ‘I’ll be one minute!’
I close it and when I turn back around I catch Finn twirling the toy in his hand with a grin. I grab it from him with a quiet squawk and hide it under my duvet, brain too much of a puddle to deal with it right now.
‘I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I just remembered I got up to pee forever ago.’ He pushes his sleeves further up his arms, entirely too pleased with himself. ‘Got sidetracked.’
I make the mistake of looking down. By the time my eyes find their way back up to his face, he’s looking at me with one of those obscene half smiles of his. I swallow hard and ask, ‘You don’t want, uh, any help with that?’
‘Pissing? I can probably manage.’ I try to glare at him but my mind is still fuzzy and, infuriatingly, it probably comes out more like heart-eyes instead. I step into new shorts that are a perfectly adequate length, and then Finn catches me by the arm, sliding a scrunchie from my dresser onto my wrist. ‘Because I have no doubt your brain is gonna be going a million miles an hour and you’ll be spending the rest of tonight relentlessly tying and untying your ponytail.’
It suddenly occurs to me how much of a mess I must look, so I step away, craning my neck to look in the mirror. While I’m smoothing my hair, I catch his eye in the reflection to say, ‘I’m sorry this was, you know, one-sided.’
‘I’m not.’ He folds his arms as he leans against my chest of drawersand I don’t know if it’s his smug expression, the smouldering heat in his eyes, or the way his biceps push against his sleeves in this position, but I have to tamp down every urge that’s begging me to go for round two. ‘You can help next time.’
‘What makes you so sure there’s going to be a next time?’
‘The same reason I knew there would be a first time.’
The self-satisfied smirk on his face makes me want to scream, so I stand up straight and leave him in my bedroom without another look. When I settle back into my seat on the living room floor after downing a glass of water in the kitchen and then giving in and pouring myself a rosé, Josie whispers something in Alina’s ear. I pretend not to notice.
‘Have you seen Finn?’ Rory asks. ‘Did he go downstairs to smoke with the others?’
‘Dunno. There’s a light on in the bathroom, though.’ For some reason I don’t want people to suspect anything, so I add, ‘Maybe he’s taking a shit.’
33
and just like that, the universe makes its opinion clear
A V A
Blazing sunlight fills myroom thanks to the curtains I accidentally left open last night, waking me far earlier than I’d hoped. My heart feels simultaneously lethargic and supersonic, like it’s preparing for something I’m as yet unaware of. But then, it’s probably just hangxiety. After ten silent minutes staring at the ceiling, I conclude that I am in dire need of a tea.
Max is wrapped in his duvet so tightly on the sofa bed I can’t tell which end his head’s at. When we were kids I’d always wake to see him swaddled like this, so I take a photo and send it to Mum, who replies almost immediately. I can see her now; sitting in her armchair by the window, glasses perched on the end of her nose but somehow not actually using them when she peers at her screen, typing out her message exclusively with her index finger.
Lovely, so glad he’s resting. But isn’t it too warm for a duvet? And why is he on the sofa bed? He should have the proper mattress. Xxx
I’d do anything for the boy, but I draw a line at letting him claim my mattress with his giant, sweaty man-child body. While the kettle boils—I’m hoping Max’s ability to sleep through a hurricane hasn’t changed—I think over the events of last night. With Finn.
Finn, Finn, Finn.
My head spins, and I don’t think it’s because of our neighbour’s budget alcohol.
