Angel Fever

I stared, transfixed. Someone knocked on the door; I looked up blearily. “Yes?”

Liz poked her head in. “Hey,” she said, edging in and shutting the door. “I know you said you wanted to be alone, but…”

I didn’t reply. She hesitated, then sat down beside me on the unmade bed. The last time I’d slept between these sheets, Alex had been here. I’d been planning on washing them; now I knew that nothing on earth could make me wash away whatever essence of him still clung to the fabric.

“Willow?”

I looked up, suddenly aware that several minutes had passed. Liz’s eyes were concerned. She touched my hair. “Why don’t I stay here with you tonight?”

I didn’t want her here – not in the bed I’d shared with Alex. I ran a hand over the shirt in my hands. “No, that’s all right.”

“I don’t like leaving you, though.”

I felt too tired to answer, unable to summon up any interest in whether she liked it or not.

22:15. 22:16. “It never stops,” I murmured. Liz’s eyebrows came together. I gave a dull shrug. “The clock.”

“Oh.” She looked blankly at it, her face wan. Finally she wrapped her arms around herself. “I still just…can’t believe it.”

Me neither. Pain wrenched through me. Trust me, he’d said. And so I had. I hadn’t gone probing in his thoughts, because he’d asked me not to. What if I’d ignored him and done it anyway – could I have stopped this?

My gaze fell on the desk, to the photo of myself as a child peering up through the branches of a willow tree. And I realized that I didn’t have any photos of Alex, not a single one. Why didn’t I?

“He’s really dead,” I said finally. My voice was small, defeated. Liz’s face crumpled; she pressed her head against my shoulder.

I hugged Alex’s shirt as I stared at the photo – my broad smile and sparkling eyes. It was like looking at someone from a different planet.

I couldn’t imagine ever being that happy again.

We held a memorial service a week later.

Liz and I planned it together: some of Alex’s favourite music and people sharing stories about him. I dressed up for it, wearing the black skirt I’d tried on in Liz’s room with a plain black top, and I told the story of how Alex and I had first met. I told it pretty well, I guess. People were smiling through their tears as I described how he’d barked at me, ordering me into his car.

It was so surreal. I felt like an actress playing a role: the grieving girlfriend. I almost started laughing; I kept wanting to say, Why are you all pretending? He can’t really be dead. And then I’d remember the feeling of the explosion thundering through me, and the truth would punch me in the stomach again.

Sam spoke, then Kara, who told a story about when Alex was fourteen. Her bruises were fading, and she’d cut her hair again; it lay sleekly against her head. As our eyes met briefly, I could sense the depth of her sadness. The fact that she’d once kissed Alex seemed so unimportant now. If I could have him back, I wouldn’t care if they had a red-hot affair, as long as I could hold him again.

The one good thing was that it turned out a few of the girls had taken pictures of Alex on their phones when he wasn’t looking. They printed them up on the computer in the office and gave them to me after the service. My gaze went instantly to one of Alex instructing the team: he’d been caught with a grin lighting up his strong- featured face, one eyebrow quirked.

I stared down at it. Alex. His tousled dark hair, his blue-grey eyes. And if I could look under his shirtsleeve, I’d see his AK tattoo…be able to run my hand up the firm warmth of his skin…

The girls looked at each other nervously. “Was it okay…that we did that?” faltered Chloe. “We just thought…”

I came back with a jolt. “Yes, it was okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Very, very okay.”

Soon after, Liz came over and squeezed my arm. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “You look like maybe you’ve had enough.”

She was right; the thought of having to endure one more tearful condolence was torture. “Yeah, I have,” I admitted faintly. “Can we get out of here?”

The corridor was silent as we left the rec room behind. “Back to your room?” Liz asked.

I shuddered, imagining its too-quiet emptiness. “No – not there.”

“Here, then.” She swung open the door to the library. My shoulders relaxed a fraction as I sank down at a table. It was quiet in here too, but that was okay – it was supposed to be quiet in a library.

“Thanks.” I propped myself on my elbows, rubbing my forehead; my brown hair fell forward a little. I’d worn it loose, because Alex had always preferred it that way.

Liz’s face was anxious as she sat across from me. I knew this wasn’t easy for her – she wasn’t exactly a nurturer – but she was trying. “Do you want anything? I could get you some tea.”

“No, I’m fine.” Fine – right. Neither of us said the obvious. “I just want to…not think for a while.”

She started to reply, then broke off as the door opened again. Seb came in and stood awkwardly, wearing trousers and a blue shirt. He’d shaved, I saw. His eyes were fixed on mine; there were dark circles under them.

“Willow, can we talk?” he asked.

I stared at him, wondering what there was to talk about.

“Please,” he added.

Liz glanced at me; finally I shrugged. “Yes, okay.”

She pushed her chair back. “Okay, well – I’ll leave you alone, then.” She picked up the photos of Alex. “I’ll put these in your room for you.”

It’s okay, don’t bother going, I almost said, but she’d already left, closing the door behind her. Seb sank down in her empty chair.

“Willow…oh, dios mio, I am so sorry.” He scraped his hair back; I could see the tension in his fingers. “I wasn’t sure if – if you wanted me, so I’ve stayed away, but I’ve been thinking about you every second, querida.”

And I hadn’t thought about him at all. It was almost funny. I let out a breath. “Thanks. I know you’re sorry.”

Seb swallowed. “Tell me how I can help you.” He started to stretch a hand towards me, then seemed to think better of it. “Willow, I know things have been strange between us, but – please let me be your brother again.”

“Let you?” I stared at him in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Seb, I wasn’t the one who drew away and started ignoring you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said. “I was stupid, and wrong. I just…couldn’t deal with being around you.”

His hand lay clenched on the table. Looking at it, the night of the party came hurtling back: the way he’d buried his hands in Meghan’s hair and kissed her. And when he had, a brief, sharp emotion had stirred. I’d told myself that I’d just been surprised…but that hadn’t been it, had it?

The sudden guilt felt like it might cripple me.

“I see,” I said, my voice emotionless. “But now that Alex is gone, you can deal with being around me?”

He flinched. “That’s not what I meant,” he said softly. “He was my friend, Willow.”

I crossed my arms tight over my chest. “So…what? You want to look out for your friend’s girlfriend, now that he’s dead? That’s nice of you. I’m sure Alex would appreciate it.”

“Why are you—” Seb broke off in frustration. “I want to look out for you, yes. It’s nothing to do with Alex; it’s just what we are to each other – the link we share. Nothing ever changes that, Willow.” His mouth twisted. “Not for me, at least.”

“Right. And what does Meghan think about that?”

“It’s not her business.”

“She’s your girlfriend. I think maybe it is.”