Riley
One year earlier
He lifts the garage door, rubbing a hand over his sleep-ridden face, when he sees me there and freezes.
“Riley?”
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I don’t breathe.
“What are you doing here so late?” he asks, worried.
“I don’t know.”
He shakes his head and moves aside, inviting me in. He closes the door behind us and I stand like a statue in the middle of his living room.
“Riley,” he sighs and I close my eyes.
He touches my shoulder and I step away from him. I hear his breath getting heavier and the tension swells in the apartment with things unsaid and withheld emotions.
With fear.
With loneliness.
“Has something happened?”
I shake my head.
Another sigh, this time with an air of suffering.
“Come on,” he says, leading me into the kitchen. “I’ll make you some tea, how does that sound?”
I shake my head no.
He stands a few metres away from me, observing me, his muscles tensed. I realise now that he’s wearing jeans but that his chest is bare.
I try to breathe but it gets stuck in my throat.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
“Nothing’s happened,” I lie.
Everything’s happened. It’s all back, I can’t tell him. Not now. I can’t do it.
If I open this door it’ll all be over.
I’ll be over.
“You came to me.”
It’s not a question.
Ian is looking at me. He’s digging.
He comes towards me slowly and takes me in his arms. I close my eyes and feel safe.
At home.
Ian is shaking. He feels it, too.
