Chapter 18 Welcome to the party, Fawzia, Leon, and Sashka
Welcome to the party, Fawzia, Leon, and Sashka
‘What’s so funny?’
‘What a mess this is. My ex is here. Your ex is here. We are stuck. Do you have your phone on you? I don’t. I gave it to you for safekeeping.’ I can’t stop laughing.
The waltz is happening upstairs with dancers teaching the guests basic steps. The waltz is a gendered dance, but today everyone can take whichever role they feel most comfortable in. They are not going to be looking for us for a minute.
Toby smiles, seeing some humour in this, but still tries to input a four-digit number into the lock.
‘John was weirdly confident for someone who had a horrible break-up with you.’ He says it as if curious, but his shoulders are tense.
‘We slept together recently.’
The amusement is now fully gone. Toby snaps his head and glares at me with horror.
Dirty slut.
Why did that suddenly come to mind?
‘Why?’ His mouth is ajar.
‘I... Hm. I don’t know. I just. I don’t feel great about myself. And he is there and keen.’ Now that I have said it aloud, I actually do not think it’s fair on him either. Me being on John’s side... The sun might rise from the west tomorrow.
‘Fuko,’ Toby says with a disappointed sigh.
Dirty slut.
Can you shut up, voice?
‘You deserve better than someone who doesn’t even check the food he brings you for allergens. Or steals your work to win an award in Denmark.’
He also just grabbed my ass at a work event, but I don’t know whether I do deserve anything else. ‘It was the Netherlands. It doesn’t bother me. I’d rather not talk about it with you.’
Because I can hear my heart in my ears. Because despite those horrible trousers he does look shockingly handsome, and my skin tingles down my spine every time our eyes meet.
‘I know you’re angry with me about Alexandra.’
‘I asked you for one thing. Do not be a dick to her. And instead, I had her crying at my front door.’
‘This was me not being a dick, Fuko. I don’t have the time to lead someone on. It would’ve been completely unfair on her if I continued the dates when I have feelings for someone else.’ He steps closer to me.
This is messed up. For a split second, I was happy and hopeful. My heart fluttered and my cheeks filled with colour. And then reality invited itself in.
Sashka. Work. I can’t fail my probation and lose my best friend for a heart flutter. For something that won’t matter in the long run. For more pain and disappointment.
Dirty slut.
‘Toby, please. I don’t need to know about your personal life.’ I take a small step, but my back meets with the windowsill.
‘No, I think you are the only one that does need to know.’ He is now an arm’s length away.
‘Toby. Don’t say anything.’ My hands are pressing against him. Trying desperately to get him to step back.
‘Why didn’t you choose to call Malik, for your luck?’
‘We had more chances in succeeding with direct action,’ I lie. I do a lot of lying around these parts.
I can’t look up. I don’t know what expression he has, as I am worried that if I see the slight pained softness around his eyes, my determination will waver.
His hand is on mine. It’s hot; it burns my skin. His hands always feel like electricity—back at the club, and ballroom dancing, and especially now.
‘If you say it. If you say what I think you might... It will turn me into a bad friend. I might lose my job. You can’t do this to me.
Please don’t do this to me.’ I don’t know whether I am saying it or whether I just think it.
I didn’t hear any words come out of my mouth. How weak could I possibly be?
‘You know what I want to say, and I think you feel the same way, because otherwise you would have said that I have misread our interactions. That you don’t know what I could mean.
You could’ve lied to me, Fuko, but you can’t lie to yourself.
Not when I hear that you haven’t taken a single breath since I started talking. ’
There is only so much torture prisoners of war can take before their psyche collapses.
Psychological torture has been proven to be extremely effective at, causing people to admit to crimes they haven’t committed, getting information out of them, or making them do something against their will.
This situation must have been a form of torture; why else did I pull on Toby’s sleeve?
Why else did I lift my head and accept his lips on mine?
I must have lost my mind completely when I let him pull me in closer, his fingers gripping into my hips, as my arms slid round his neck.
There is nothing left of me to resist when his lips part mine with greed, as if unsatisfied by how separate we still are.
The door swings open, and I finally come to my senses. Three heads bob through the door frame. Fawzia, Leon, and Sashka.
Her horrified look could break glass, that’s how direct and pained it is. She runs out of the building. I rip myself from Toby’s arms and attempt to catch her. Leon’s face is a mixture of crossness and disappointment when I push past him.
Out on the pavement, the rain has turned more brutal than the infrastructure of London can handle. The puddles are not being sucked up by the drains on the roads.
‘Sashka, wait. Sashka!’ How is she so good at running in heels?
‘No, blyad, leave me the fuck alone.’
‘Sashka, please, it’s not what it looked like,’ I shout, hearing how ridiculous I sound.
What else could it have been? I literally planted my lips onto his. Sashka must share my sentiment, because she stops under a lamp post. The rain pours on her in full illumination. She is a spirit, a creature of the night, ready to rip my throat out.
‘How long?’ she asks.
‘How long what?’
‘How long have you liked him?’ Her shout is almost a whisper.
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, Sashka.’
‘It’s Sasha to you. Did you have feelings for him when you danced? When I came to your house and told you that I saw something between you two?’
‘Sashk— Sasha, please. He doesn’t matter. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. Please. He means nothing,’ I beg, my dress and hair now drenched.
‘You can stop lying.’ Her eyes could summon the storm above our heads. ‘Do not talk to me. I do not want to hear from you.’
Leon runs after her with their bags. He gives me a stern look but sighs apologetically without saying a word.
Leon isn’t the only one unimpressed with my display. When I come back, Fawzia, who seems angrier with Toby than with me, hands us our bags and orders me to go home after I change. Toby still has to take the payments from the drunken guests.
His shirt is wet from the rain. He refuses to look at me. He has heard everything.
I suddenly recall that French FM man. It is not my job to fix your pathetic lives. You need to take some responsibility for your actions. His words repeat again and again as I watch Toby leave the premises.
Good. This is for the best. If he hates me, then there is no chance of ever making a mistake like this again.
I’ve just proven that my theories are correct. Sashka has the worst luck—how else could one explain me being such a shitty friend?