AUDREY

L AST NIGHT I DREAMT THAT I WAS SWIMMING THROUGH THE CITY .

The buildings were the same but there was water where the streets should have been, dark and murky. The sky was dark too and Ezra was ahead of me, his head bobbing in the distance – I was trying and failing to catch up with him, calling his name over and over. But my voice wouldn’t carry. He didn’t know that I was there, and when I woke up my face was wet with tears. It felt so real that it took me a few seconds to realise where I actually was.

The where is a hotel. I picked a nice one and asked for the highest room they could give me. I guess I wanted to feel like nothing bad could touch me. It didn’t work, but at least the view is pretty. Last night the evening sun bled through the windows, washing the walls with orange light as I ate room service fries in a fluffy robe, still pink and damp from the bath I took. None of it made me feel any less hollow.

I turned on the TV after it got dark. It was tuned to a classic movie channel, the opening credits of The Apartment starting to roll. The film I watched with Ezra, I realised with a jolt, and instinctively moved to turn it off. But I didn’t. I found myself turning up the volume instead, eyes glued to the screen as I sank down into the cocoon of the wide, white bed that I’m still in now. I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep in a silent room, I reasoned, pretending that was the only reason I kept watching.

I wish I could justify another night here, but I can’t. The room I shared with Marika is empty now. She was in the apartment when I got back from Ezra’s yesterday, sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror and applying mascara. She stilled when she saw me standing in the open doorway, slowly lowering her brush.

‘What did Ezra tell you?’ I asked – any attempt at preamble would have been ridiculous.

‘What he should have told you,’ she said quietly, turning to face me. ‘Audrey …’

‘He didn’t tell me anything. Neither of you did.’

‘I didn’t get a chance. He—’

‘He talked to a journalist about me. Did you know that?’

She blinked at me – apparently not.

‘She’s the one who told him all that stuff about Julian,’ I continued. ‘Then he told you.’

‘Which he shouldn’t have,’ she said curtly. ‘It was fucked up, coming to me before you.’

‘Saying anything was fucked up. And whatever he imagined – whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.’

I was still floating in a strange place of unreality, then. Not numb, exactly, but detached from what was happening. I’d even crafted a more palatable version of events on my way to the apartment – I was going to tell Marika that Julian made a pass at me, yeah, but nothing scary happened. He’s probably just used to girls falling at his feet.

But she had already turned away from me, moving towards the bed. Crouching, she slipped a hand under my bunk, and I felt myself go cold even before she pulled out the crumpled camisole.

‘I found this last night,’ she said. ‘You were wearing it at the test shoot. I saw it in the pictures.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It was from the rail.’

‘You told me he didn’t ask you to wear anything from the rail.’

‘I – I forgot to give it back. I was too embarrassed to mention it.’

‘You’re an awful liar,’ she said softly, naked pity written across her face. And I hated her in that moment, just like I’d hated Ezra. I hated her for seeing right through me, for being smart and strong and perfect when I was so weak, so fucking stupid—

Suddenly I was turning, groping for my bag.

‘Don’t go,’ Marika said. ‘Please, we can talk …’

‘Talk to Ezra,’ I replied, and was startled to hear how cutting it sounded. Then I was gone.

She messaged not long after I’d checked into the hotel to tell me that the room was mine – that she’d be staying with Nicole for as long as I needed space. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that Marika probably would have spent all her time there if it hadn’t been for me. Instead, she slept half her nights on a squeaky bunk in a cold, dank little room, just so I wouldn’t be alone.

I don’t know why I had to be so cruel. Pretending that Marika did anything wrong didn’t make me feel any better, especially seeing as she’s only ever shown me kindness. My feelings about Ezra are a lot murkier, though. He hasn’t called, hasn’t messaged – I don’t think I want him to, but a small part of me wonders if maybe I should have listened to his explanation, at least to offer back a fraction of the patience that he’s heaped upon me. I’ve had time to think now, and I can’t comprehend a scenario in which Ezra did what he did maliciously.

An accident, he said – maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I never wanted him to know, and I hate that he does. I hate that it’s changed everything, because I’ve realised now that I was magic when we met. I wore sparkling dresses. I disappeared in and out of beautiful places. And I didn’t need to leave a shoe or a trail of breadcrumbs for him to find me, because he was magic too. And it never stopped feeling that way. He never stopped looking at me like I was something rare, someone special. Until he knew, and then I was just an object of sympathy. A rabbit who got her foot caught in a trap.

I incline my head towards the window, gazing out at the skyline. I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t think I can stay in this city, but even if I go home, I’m not the same girl that my parents waved off at the airport. I don’t know if I can slip back into her life, and I don’t know that I want to. I’ve felt more like a person these past two months than I have in years. Everything moved too fast for me to self-edit, to curate myself for others. I just … was.

I was, I was, I was. Everything good is in past tense now.

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