4SKYLAR
Mal’s hand falls to his side. His fingers twitch, curling slightly. Can’t say why it catches my focus. Or why I want his hand back when I’m touched out from a long night at the hospital.
But I miss the heat of it. The addictive warmth I remember from a few days ago, a state of mind that has to shrivel up and die if we’re going to live in close quarters. But for the long second it takes me to reanimate, it’s all I feel until reality creeps in, a slow, roiling sensation that twists my empty stomach.
I need to eat—it’s no longer a choice. I’ve pushed my body too hard and I’m running out of time to fix it. I’m so fucking cold and my head pounds?—
Too far. You went too far.
I force myself from the doorway and further into the kitchen, side-stepping Mal in the narrow space between the table and cabinets.
He’s still looking my way, those Gallagher-green eyes raking over me, peeling back layers I don’t want him or anyone else to ever see. I won’tlet themsee, and it’s that idiotic tenacity that keeps me upright as I open a cupboard and consider the contents as if it’s perfectly normal for an almost hookup to be a foot away from me, flaying me raw without even trying.
Instant oats.
Microwave rice.
Vanilla protein shakes that wrench my gut all over again.
Pick something.
I grab the oats and shut the cabinet, noticing Oscar for the first time, a sure sign of how detached I am right now, or how utterly distracting Mal is.
Maybe it’s both. Either way, Oscar is half out of his seat before his gaze finds mine and he sits down again. Because it doesn’t matter how formidable my guard became long before I came here, Oscar has seen through me from the start.
I toss the oats in the microwave and move to the fridge, pulling out a yoghurt pot, aware of Jack by the window with his hands in the sink and Mal leaning against the counter, his stare on mestill.
His attention starts to grate. The part of me that likes it loses the war to the ghost I become when I get like this. I need him to stop looking at me. To stopseeing me, for all I am in this moment. I need space, and yet…I don’t. I need my friends. I need Jack, I need Oscar, or I’ll be stuck in this spiral too long to climb out of it by myself.
So I have to face him.
Mal.
But as I turn I find empty space. He’s pushed off from the counter and stepped closer to Jack, as if he’s as over whatever this is between us as I need to be. But the lack of nourishment in my body stifles any relief I feel. Right now, I don’t feel anything, not even concern that if Mal glances away from Jack he might witness the very worst of me.
The microwave pings.
I swivel my head and the movement feels too slow.
I need a bowl.
A spoon.
“Skylar.” Oscar calls my name, low and gentle. He leans back, his big frame poured into his chair all honeyed muscle and ink, and taps a finger to the newspaper. “Can you help me with this? I cannot read it.”
His intervention works. I find my way to the table and take the bench by the wall while he gets up and retrieves what I need. He sits close to me when he comes back, body doubling, even though we’ve never had a single conversation about why I need it on days like this.
I eat the oats while he pretends to be confused about a Brexit article in a week-old newspaper. The yoghurt is harder. It’s as cold as I am as it slides down my throat and it’s the fight of my life to keep it in my stomach.
“You are sure,” Oscar presses, “it does not say anything bad?”
“You have IDL status.”Indefinite leave to remain. “As long as you don’t spend more than two years anywhere else, you can stay as long as you like.”
Oscar knows this. He has a child here, and he’s not the kind of person who leaves life admin to chance. Not like Sol. He’s more like Jack when it all comes together, which makes me wonder about Mal, and my gaze drifts across the kitchen.
He has his back to me, watching the beach while Jack talks, his voice too soft for me to hear. It gives me a glorious and terrible opportunity to study Mal unnoticed, and letting it happen carries me further from the dead weight in my belly.
Mal’s wearing the same shorts he was a few days ago, but a different shirt. A faded red tee skims his rangy build and sets off his sun-drenched skin. The shorts expose his calves and who knew the curves of those lean, tanned muscles could be so hot? That his bare feet would fixate me so much?
