Jake:Ours. Theirs. Regardless, don’t throw our hard work at the walls
Viktor:Whose hard work? I do not see you here tending the trees
Jake:No. But I see you, brother. Take a breath
I hadn’t noticed the air caged in my lungs. The searing burn in my chest. How Jake saw from wherever on earth he was right now, I did not want to know.
Lida shifted closer to me, and my chest expanded of its own accord. I raised a middle finger to the one camera I could see. Jake replied with a photograph of a pile of dirt. I assumed it meant something, but I didn’t care.
Viktor:You cannot have it both ways
Jake:Meaning?
Viktor:It is your choice to be alone in the mud where you stand
Jake:Who says I’m alone?
Viktor:You would not be talking to me if you had other options
Who would? And Jake didn’t argue. He went dark and I missed him, though I knew I’d want to drown him in the sea if he were here, if only to distract me from the maddening pain in my hip.
I stood, massaging the tight muscles in my abdomen and groin, flexing my leg. Wishing I hadn’t as the burning thrum hooked deeper into the frayed nerves in the irrevocably damaged joint. It made no sense to me that my mobility had been unaffected by something that hurt so much, but here I was,climbing the walls of an empty garden, longing for a hit of just about anything to gift me oblivion.
Sleep. I knew I needed to, like I knew I’d feel better in the morning when the sun returned. But for all my mind was slow these days, it came to life every night as I lay alone in the dark, the ceiling my only friend. A cruel combination of ruminating and razor-sharp pain made sleep impossible, and I had grown bored of trying.
Drink.
Tempting, but no. I had already promised Jake I wouldn’t, and that left me at the mercy of every thought and feeling bombarding me as I moved through the cool house with Lida in tow, ironically missing my loft in northern England. The fake fire. The central heating.
The company.
Blyad.I brought my fist down on the marble kitchen counter, the impact travelling from my knuckles to my shoulder, a sweeter pain than the agony in my hip. But it solved nothing. Ranger invaded my thoughts again and I was powerless to stop him.
His silky hair.
Those coal-dark eyes.
The harsh bite of his voice.
His soft lips.
I bowed my head, remembering. Gritted my teeth, fighting to forget, but it was a half-hearted struggle. Thinking about Ranger was the only thing that warmed my blood and made my heart beat for a reason beyond merely keeping me alive. That it hurt as much as anything else was a price I could pay. For a little while, at least, until the thought of his bare hands on my skin became as disturbing as fantasising about getting high with no consequence. Though, thinking about knocking myself out with opiates held the same convenient blinkers. As if the sickness andrelentless ache in my gut had never happened. As if those hazy hours on my living room floor had been the only time we’d spent together.
As if I’d never seen him again after.
“You want to talk about how you left me to wake up to a cold pizza?”
“Do you want to?”
Ranger had a cigarette between his teeth and a gun in his hand, aimed at a target we’d stalked all night. “Not if you don’t. I had a good time, Vik. I’m not fussed about nowt else.”
It had taken me a few days to discover the wordnowtwas northern fornothing. By then, life had moved on, and we’d relaxed into an easy camaraderie that was as compelling as everything else about him. I did not even mind him constantly laughing at me. I came to enjoy it. I enjoyedhim, and it was hard not to wish for more people to kill so I could spend more time on secluded stake-outs with my caustic friend.
You’re not friends.
Not anymore. I had not seen Ranger sincebefore, I had made sure of that, and convincing myself that he would not—that hedid not—care wasn’t difficult. And even if I was wrong and Ranger possessed the inclination to search me out, he would never find me. I had made sure of that too.
My phone buzzed again.
