If I Were You

Chapter 53 Amy

I slide the lock across the moment I reach our room, my whole body fizzing with righteous anger, repeating Flynn’s words, shocked at the things he said on the roof.

‘We’re all done.’

What did he mean by that? Is it over? Why does that thought make me catch my breath now I know the truth about him?

It has to be over now I’ve learnt the kind of man he truly is. Yet a small voice somewhere is confused, tugging at me. This doesn’t feel right. Flynn has always seemed so open – telling perfect strangers they look well, telling me he loved me after about three dates, his eyes so earnest that I knew he really believed it even if it was absurdly fast.

The revelation about Charlie has rocked my reality.

I’ve been frustrated in the last few weeks, wanting to know him better, noticing how often he ducked and swerved questions about the past. But I have never considered my version of him, as an honest and decent person, could be wrong.

Everything is topsy-turvy.

To leave his own child! It makes me shiver.

The rattle of the door handle is entirely predictable, my high, angry voice in the corridor outside when Flynn realizes he can’t get in.

‘Amy, come on. Open the door.’

Will we ever be back in our own bodies? Will this start to become normal? Me listening to my own voice, staring at my own body with someone else’s mind.

I move across to the door. ‘I really don’t want to talk to you right now.’

‘You need to,’ Flynn says, his fist pounding on the door. Why does he get to be upset?

‘Just go away, I’m not interested.’

‘This is so unfair,’ he says, his voice travelling through the door. ‘Of course you’ve immediately trusted someone you met two seconds ago over me, that is so typical.’

Fury fires up within me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re always quick to think the worst of me. I don’t take life seriously, I don’t worry about anything, I can’t be trusted …’

It is strangely disconcerting hearing my own voice level these things at Flynn. I can even recall times where I’ve said exactly what he is parroting back at me, the inflections the same.

‘It’s not like this stuff with Tanya has proved me wrong, is it?’ My voice is defensive, sulky.

His voice is louder through the door, ‘Amy, I’m not the awful person you want to believe.’

‘Try telling that to your child,’ I say, spittle landing on the wood.

I wait for his retort, breathing faster. Nothing comes. There’s a noise in the corridor and I strain to make out what it is. Staring at the door I hold my breath and press an ear up to the wood.

Quietly I slide the lock across, and inch the door open.

He’s not in the corridor. Looking left and right down the empty space, I realize he’s left. I don’t know why I feel such a twist in my gut that he’s disappeared. I’m right about him; I should be relieved. I’d seen the photo.

As I close the door, however, the doubt sneaks in. Do I assume things about him that aren’t true? And if I have this time, it’s justified, surely?

I’m not wrong about him … am I?