Page 153 of Into the Dark

“Promise me.”

His face screws up in a mix of fear and confusion. “How the fuck can I promise you when I don’t know what it is?”

That does sound ridiculous. But I plead harder with my eyes, until finally he shakes his head and lets out an impatient breath. It takes a lot for him to say the words.

“Okay, fine. I promise,” he says.

I lick my lips carefully and nod, swallowing to wet my dry mouth. Please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please forgive me. “I spoke with your mother,” I say finally.

Nothing happens. Not right away. Then slowly, very slowly, the dark cloud of rage rolls across his eyes. It moves down his face, flaring his nostrils and tightening his jaw, before settling over his mouth.

“You did what?” His voice is quiet, cracking a little at the edges. His eyes are screwed up in disbelief now too, as if maybe, just maybe, he heard me incorrectly.

I take a deep breath. “I met with her. After the day she came to see you, I called her. Then we met…and talked.”

There’s betrayal in his eyes, pain too, and it only magnifies my guilt. Naively, perhaps, I decide to go on.

“I wanted to find out what she wanted, why she came… I wanted to…” I trail off as he moves.

He slides his arm out from under me and sits up, which forces me off him. Standing, he reaches for his his clothes, sweatpants first, which he yanks up, then the T-shirt. When he reappears from inside the shirt, his hair looks ruffled and cute, and for some reason this adds to the immense feeling of loss and fear I feel right then. I reach for him, and he pulls out of my touch, going to sit on the floral chair across from the couch. When he starts pulling on his sneakers, the panic rises.

“Jake, where are you going?” I ask, the panic clear in my voice. “It’s after midnight—you can’t leave.”

“Watch me.” He sounds calm as he slides his foot into the other one.

“You promised you’d listen.”

He lifts his head and gives me a look that would flatten any other human I’m sure. “I think it’s better for both of us if I leave now.”

“You can’t just leave every time I say or do something you don’t like, Jake. That’s not how relationships work.”

He gives me another glare. “I need you to stop talking, Alex, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

“No. I can’t. You bloody promised you’d listen to what I have to say before getting angry. You promised.” I sound like a silly child.

“Yeah, well, tough. Because I don’t want to fucking hear this. Not from your mouth. And Alex, if you loved me,”—he lifts his head and looks me dead in the eye—“I mean really loved me, like you’re always telling me you do, then you would understand why.”

“You know I love you, Jake. Don’t do that.”

“Oh, you love me, do you?”

“Yes, I bloody do!”

He throws me a withering stare and stands, dragging a hand over his adorably ruffled hair. Then he turns in a circle and looks about the living room for something.

I can’t let him leave. If he moves toward that bloody door, I’ll throw myself at his feet and hold onto him if I have to. He’ll have to drag me out the front door half-naked with him. In preparation for that event, I sit up fully and perch on the end of the sofa. He’s still looking about the room for something—my sense of loyalty, probably—his breathing erratic and loud.

“Jake, I know you’re angry with me,” I try.

“Oh, you think?!” he flares, whipping around to glare at me again. “What the fuck did you expect, Alex? Seriously?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” I drag my hand through my own hair, desperately trying to remember what I expected. It seems so faraway now. “I’m sorry. I thought I might be able to help. To be some kind of m—”

“Help? You thought going behind my back, doing something you knew I wouldn’t want you to do, would help?” He sounds like he’s never heard anything so stupid in all his days. “I mean, you knew that bit, right? You knew I didn’t want her anywhere near me or you. I mean, you couldn’t have been in any fucking doubt about it because I’m sure I made that crystal fucking clear that day. I mean, I did, didn’t I?”

Honestly, the anger in his voice isn’t even half as bad as the hurt in his eyes. It makes tears spring up into mine, and I drop my head in shame.

“You did make it clear. You did. I knew that and I did it anyway, and I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else I can say. My throat feels thick and hot and useless. Horrendous actions followed by useless words.