Music drifted out from the living room and down the hall, but I couldn’t name the tune.
Partygoers switched between rooms, none of them paying us much mind. They were probably too drunk, or too into their own weekend state of mind to bother with two guys standing by the front door, one glaring at the other, his expression written all over with annoyance.
“I’m staying.”
“You’re what?”
“Until you listen to me. Then I’ll…” I looked up, just like Steven had earlier, seeking that divine inspiration which had eluded him. “Then I’ll leave.” And I looked down again, and I saw Steven, and I didn’t want to leave.
“You have something to say, do you?”
“Um…” I rolled my shoulders, one after the other, before muttering, “Shit, I really hadn’t planned any of this.”
“No, I got that impression when you let me know you’d been tricked into coming here.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me here.”
“And you clearly don’t want to be—”
“Why are you?”
“—because you—what? Why am I here?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, and gulped back the huge knot of nerves threatening to close my throat completely. “Imagine I’m an idiot.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard.”
“And explain it to me like I’m stupid.”
Steven lifted his damn eyebrow again and, Jesus fucking Christ, I wanted to kiss him.
“I mean, why did you…” I glanced up the hallway as the foot traffic between the front room and others became a little too invasive when it came to our little confrontational bubble. “Why did you move out?”
“At the risk of sounding like the kind of whiner I don’t want to be…” Steven crossed his arms and leaned a little, just a little, closer. Made the conversation conspiratorial. He still hated me, or the way I’d treated him, but this thing was a little less ‘you and me’, a little more ‘us’. “I’m more than a little surprised you even noticed I’d gone.”
“You left when I was—” Again, we were disturbed—or I was—by people, people, bloody people. They paid us hardly any attention but I was so fucking jumpy I couldn’t let myself rest. I didn’t want to do this with people looking on, possibly listening or hearing at least, eavesdropping on something that should remain private and—
“At work?” Steven had never sneered at me but he came very close to it then. “I wanted to make it clean. Kit, we’d been avoiding each other for days. I was just drawing a line under something that was already gone.”
Don’t say that, don’t say that, please don’t say that.
His jaw clenched as he stood back again, leaning against the opposite wall. But he hadn’t told me again to get the fuck out of his house, so I was good. For the moment. “But you…”
“You’re not very good at finishing sentences are you?”
“But you never even said anything.”
A sharp bark of laughter which stabbed me, though it hardly made a dent in the noise and chatter coming from the living room. “I left you a note.”
“Yeah. The note.” I’d read it more times than I cared to acknowledge and I’d even fucking kept it, in a drawer in my room. “Nice touch.”
“I think it said everything about why I left.”
“You think…” Another pause, and I didn’t want to leave this sentence unfinished. Hell, I didn’t want to leave the conversation unfinished. The only way out is through, Blackman. “You think I ran away?”
“Ran away, pushed me away, what’s the difference? Kit.” He eased his weight off the wall and I wondered if he was about to show me to the door. “Everything you said was all well and good, but everything you did pretty much insulted me. I mean, I know you’re out, so that’s not the problem, but…” He bit his lip, drawing my attention to his mouth, something that was so easy to do with lips like those, and our eyes met. He’d noticed me noticing. “I told you I wouldn’t let you turn your back on me again. But you did.”
I couldn’t say anything to that. I wanted to cross my arms, or wrap them around myself, but I’d had enough of closing myself off. It still didn’t stop me wanting to turn tail and run away home, though. Just like always. And for so long I hadn’t been able to run away from Steven because he lived at the same address and even home wasn’t safe from the threat of—
“Fuck.” My heart thudded, hurting my ribcage. “Fuck, I’ve really messed up.”
This time when his eyes widened it was in genuine shock, I could tell. “That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Yeah, well, I did, and I wish I hadn’t.”
“Not badly enough to do anything about it, though.”
“I’m here now.”
“Under duress. You were tricked into it.”
“And I stayed, even when you told me to get the fuck—” I stopped when yet another partygoer, reveller, drunkard, interloper, whatever, hovered in the living room doorway and staggered to what I could just see from this angle was the kitchen. A steady hum of voices drifted out of that room, punctuated by the clink of bottles and glasses. All the cool people gathered in the kitchen at parties. There was some law about it, or unwritten rule. “I stayed, when you told me to leave.”
“Now you know what it feels like.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Steven rolled his shoulders, not shrugging exactly, more working out a kink. “You’re still here.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of the accusation, whether he expected me to reply or vacate the premises, and he said nothing further to enlighten me. Right. Okay. I bit my lip. Come on, Blackman. Make a move.
“Jesus,” Steven muttered, shaking his head and looking down at the laminate flooring.
Whether it was that, or my hearing becoming extra sensitive in his presence, the tap-tap-tap of his impatient foot was louder than usual. “You’re such a fucking pussy about this.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to—”
“Let me get this straight. You refuse to leave my home, then you tell me to shut—”
“Look, will you just—”
“Make me.”
“What?”
“If
