“Hmm. He saved me in a lot of ways. Pulled me off the streets.”
Owen stops and sits back, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Can we maybe have this heart to heart when I haven’t got a needle sticking out my arm? Besides, we don’t need to talk about me. We need to talk about the shit storm you’re involved in.”
“Let’s finish this first.” He leans forward again and gets back to work. Silence fills the space. I watch him stitch the skin back together, his tongue poking out in concentration.
I bite back a smile.
He did the exact same thing when we were kids.
Owen stops for a second, reaching behind him to take the scissors and cuts the thread. From there, he grabs some gauze and cleans the cut. “Can you sit up whilst I wrap it?”
I do as he asks, lifting my arm. His finger deftly wraps the white material and strokes the tape, securing it into position.
“All done. Another scar to add to your collection.” He sighs as he falls onto his arse, rubbing his hand down his face.
He looks beat.
I spin my legs around and lean forward on my elbows, Owen still on the floor.
“You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“We need to go to my flat.”
“Jesus Christ, Owen, stop deflecting and tell me what the hell is going on,” I snap, irritated with his constant misdirection.
“I’m not deflecting, Lucy. I’m terrified. What if something happens to you?”
“To me?” I ask, surprised at the admission. I reach out and grab his hands. “Owen, you don’t need to protect me. I don’t need protecting. Not anymore. Let me help you.”
“But Juliette.” His voice is gruff, clogged against the emotion.
“I know. You’re still in shock. Your adrenaline is gone and you’re exhausted.” I squeeze his hand. “Now tell me what’s going on so I can help you, and I can make a plan.”
“I can’t run, Kara.” He uses my new name, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it felt weird.
“You can call me Lucy.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and I stand, pulling him up. “Let me get you a Mars Bar. You need some sugar.”
I lead him to the kitchen and he follows like a lost puppy. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and instead pulls me into his strong arms, hugging me. He drops his head to my neck and breathes me in.
“I’m so fucking scared,” he admits, and I hold on to him tightly. “You have no idea what you have got yourself involved with.”
“Then tell me,” I whisper, pulling back. My hand touches his cheek. “You tell me, and we face it together. Just like when we were kids. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I am so sorry.”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat.
Because he isn’t sorry about tonight. He’s sorry about leaving me, and the monster got in.
14
Owen - Age 10
“Owen,canyoustaybehind a moment, please?” my teacher asks as a piece of paper hits the side of my head. Miss Martins throws a look at Billy, who mumblessorry.
