Jon’s shoulder slams into the door when I take a corner too fast. “Do you want me to drive?”
“No.”
I can feel his eyes on me. On my wrists. “He hurt you. Why are we doing this? Why is he worth so much to you?”
“He didn’t do that. It’s not like you think. He’s trying to… He’s…” I blink to stop the flow of tears so I can see the road. Then a flash of brown out of the corner of my eye smashes my foot down on the brakes. The wheels screech, we both hit the dashboard, and I raise my head slowly, terrified of what I’ll see.
I barely pulled up in time.
The silence is a living thing, knowing what I almost did.
An old man glares at me as he hobbles over the zebra crossing. And so he should.
My voice comes out small and pleading. “Can you drive, please?” Jon only nods. He gets out, comes around, so I slide over. “But please drive like you mean it.”
“Fine.” He’s clearly pissed, but his foot goes down hard as soon as we’re clear of the crossing. It’s a smoother ride than I’d have managed, even if he smacks the curb a few times avoiding the sparse traffic.
A lot of people must be at home, either because of the hour, or because it looks like the sky is bleeding.
Jon’s quiet, concentrating but giving me space, and it’s the most respect I think I’ve ever had from him in our entire relationship.
“He’s going to kill himself,” I confide. He glances at me for explanation, so I tell him the whole thing. All of it. The entire ridiculous story, because we have too much time. We have all this time to waste on driving—time that’s the difference between life and death. And it’s so sad to me, so sick, that space-time is this malleable thing, something that could stop this, if only we could learn to control it.
It was a thing he was learning to control.
And in that moment, I really understand him.
What he did was wrong. But it wasn’t a bad intention. He’s not a bad person. I wish he knew that.
When I conclude my story, more or less, Jon offers his judgement. “So basically, your boyfriend’s a supervillain?”
I huff, just a little. “I guess. Technically.”
“Punching up,” he mutters.
“Shut up, Jon.”
He offers a much-needed moment of levity with a snicker, then softens. “We’ll get you there. Are you sure the college is where we’ll find him?”
“No,” I admit. “But I don’t know where else to go. And if I were him, and I am, I guess, I’d go there first. To destroy his research. To stop anyone else figuring out what he can do. To prevent this happening again.”
We drive on, trees flying past, their leaves blowing loose in the increasing wind, sickly green fog rolling in drifts around the car.
Quietly, Jon asks, “Do you love him?”
My answer is both slow and soul-destroying. “I don’t know what else to call it.”
Jon’s pace doesn’t slow. If anything, he goes a little faster, but just as steady, thinking over the words.
I feel bad for him. I feel bad for everyone involved. “I know it’s fast. I know this seems crazy. But you have to understand, he’s me. I know him inside out. Even if he fucked up, I know who he is underneath it all. We’re the exact same person, and maybe I don’t really know him, but I’ve known him my whole life.”
It takes a long time, and for a while I think Jon’s given up talking to me at all. Then finally… “I do understand,” he says softly. “You’re very easy to love, August. I don’t know how anyone could not fall for you.”
It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me. Maybe because it’s the only thing not tinged with jealousy and control.
He keeps going. “I’ve been awful to you. You made that clear last night. And I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done. I don’t want to lose you. That’s why I came over today.” I’m so scared he’s going to tell me he loves me again. That he’ll make another stupid proposal. But he doesn’t say any of it. “I was bringing your key back.”
Gallows humour brings a chuckle to my lips. “I think you’d better keep it.”
