“It’s not.”
But the sound is so small, the argument so weak, that I talk on. “You don’t know what my life was before. I don’t have any friends, no real ones anyway. Not anymore. I don’t have anything to look forward to. I don’t have a single thing on the horizon. And I’m lonely. And I’m…”
Tears prick at the back of my eyes. I hate how easily I keep getting upset around him. But it’ll be worse if he says what I’m worried he’ll say. That he doesn’t want me here. That I should leave. “Last night was… It was scary. Really. For a while, the whole time even, that we were back in time. But it was also magical. It was beautiful. And I just liked it. And I liked the hot Coke. And I like your jokes. And I like catching the train with you. And if we’re stuck down here for a few hours… I… I really don’t mind. We’re not in danger. We’re just killing time. Why should that bother me?”
His long exhale ghosts across my cheek. He’s so close. Closer than I even realised. I wish I could see his reaction. Maybe he doesn’t actually want to be down here with me. Maybe it’s as simple as that. Maybe he’s used to being around people he candiscuss more than movies and music with. Maybe the thought of hours with me is grating on his nerves.
“We don’t have to talk,” I say, hollow words in the dark. “If you’d rather?—”
“I’d like to talk to you.” Beats of silence heavier than the thrum of my heart. “I like being around you. I like…” That soft brush of skin, his hand finding mine in the dark, sending a shiver of sparks all through me. This time it’s his index finger that links around mine, and I squeeze it before he can escape.
I want to take his whole hand. I want to bring it to my lips, kiss it. What would he do, here in this heated space, if I kissed him? Here, on our own island of time, where maybe it would stay like this. Time stopped, just for us, to explore this, whatever it is, whatever is happening, that feels so much to me like magic.
But he hasn’t said it. The touch of his thumb is tender when he runs it along my index finger. His lips must be so close, because I can feel him breathing. What if I just tilt my head up a little…
Ding!
His arm takes my waist. The room spins, then my back hits the wall, that same index finger I just held now pressed to my lips as light sweeps the room. His body pushes into mine, hiding us against the bricks that line the side of the elevator shaft.
A voice drifts from the elevator. “I’m sure it’s one of the basement levels.”
Another meets it. “No, look, that sign says ‘Keep Out.’ There can’t be anything good down here.”
The clack of a tongue, then, “I guess not.”
The doors close, August steps away, and I’m bereft. Embarrassingly bereft.
The light flicks on, dazzling my eyes. As though our conversation never happened, August’s back is to me, and he’s over at the door. The key’s in, the door’s open, then, “Aha!”Another light, smaller, warmer, illuminates the tiny room he disappears into. “I knew it couldn’t last too long. Looks like we beat it already.”
He continues waffling about time loops in fast and casual sentences as I take in the space.
To think I was worried about showing him my place. This is… grim.
He’s got a blow-up mattress on the floor, one small lamp, a (sturdy) wooden desk which is absolutely covered in papers and scrawls, like a serial killer’s den. There’s a stack of pot noodles in the corner next to a kettle on the floor. There’s an old-fashioned telephone next to it, looking like an antique, connected to the wall by some ancient wiring I wouldn’t trust enough to sleep near. And that’s it. Raw brick walls, a dark concrete ceiling, and over against the wall, a stack of maybe five blackboards, sitting on the floor, a burst of coloured chalk sticks fanning out at the base.
Either I’m keeping a positive game face, or he doesn’t notice how taken aback I am to discover this is where he’s staying. He carries on like it’s nothing. “Can you lock the door?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Yes.” I’m on autopilot doing it, barely aware of his transition to the other side of the room. That is, until he takes the first of those blackboards and turns it around. Top to bottom, from one side to the other, it’s equations. Or one really long equation? I have absolutely no clue, and it might as well be written in an alien language.
“I know it’s not much,” he apologises. Guess he has noticed my reticence. “I use the bathrooms in the student lodgings, so this area is just for sleep and work, really. And I needed somewhere no one would disturb me.”
He lays the board down against the far wall, then returns to his stack. The next one reveals more sums. More letters, brackets, and numbers that are utterly unintelligible to me, andhe settles it next to the last. The next, and the next, and the next again are spread out in a confidence-shredding line until I’m faced with five full boards of hard maths that make my head spin.
How did I ever think I was going to help him with any of this?
It makes me ill to take it all in. My stomach turns molten with rising panic. Now he’s really going to find out how stupid I am. And if I thought for one minute he might have actually liked me back…
Well, there goes that shred of hope.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BAD AUGUST
ACTUALLY LIKES GOOD AUGUST QUITE A BIT
Look at him. He’s so pretty. He’s so sweet. He clearly doesn’t understand a line of these calculations, but he’s here with me, swallowing his pride down to try to help me.
I like him so much.
