Page 56 of The Secret Of Us

“I won’t say anything,” he assures me, and I believe him. “But I want you to come to me if anything else happens.”

I nod, grateful that he can understand this is something I’m still trying to come to terms with myself. He turns back to Izzy.

“You need to tell Isaac before I do. What’s he going to think if you go home with a broken ankle and he finds out I knew?”

“It’s not broken. The nurse said it’s only sprained. I’ll call him later and let him know.”

“Good. Go back to your room and get some rest. Do you want any help?” he asks, glancing down at her ankle and the bandages on her knees.

“Noah’s got me. Right?”

Our eyes lock, and I can see everything that’s happened in this room reflected in her eyes, playing out as a cruel reminder to me that none of it was meant to be.

“I’ve got you.”

I walk over to her, passing the crutches and helping her to settle her arms on them. Once she’s got a good grip on them, I move to her side, bending my knees to wrap my arm around her waist and help her stand up.

My heart starts beating faster at holding her like this, but then she wobbles for a second before righting herself, and it brings me back to my senses. I keep hold of her until she’s steady, my fingers resting lightly over a strip of exposed skin from where her shirt has risen up.

“Text me later,” Luke says, and I remember we’re not alone. He leaves the room and immediately I hear the muffled chatter between him and the nurse outside.

“All good?” I ask Izzy, as she hops on her good foot to balance her weight. She nods and I remove my arm from her—it feels like it’s on fire.

I follow behind her as she slowly moves toward the door. It takes her a few steps to get her bearings, but once she does, she manages to keep up a good pace. We say thanks and goodbyes to Luke and the nurse as we leave the office heading toward her room.

The walk back is slow, and although I can feel the weighted stares of everyone around us, I’m only focused on her. My hand hovers over the small of her back, ready to catch her if she falters. We walk in silence, making our way through the bustle of students, and I want to put a bubble around us, so Izzy won’t notice the hushed whispers and pointed glances.

By the time we make it outside and halfway across the field to the dorms, Izzy’s slowed down. Walking on crutches is tiring, but she looks exhausted. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last, like every ounce of energy is being depleted with each one. Our earlier conversation runs through my mind, and I wonder how long she’s had to pretend to be strong just because she doesn’t want to bother anyone.

“Do you want me to carry you?” I ask her quietly, breaking the silence between us.

Izzy simply nods, taking her arms from the crutches and moving them next to each other as she bounces on one foot. She reaches her free hand toward me, and I scoop her up, taking care to make sure I don’t move her too much. Izzy keeps one arm around my neck as the other holds the crutches, and I walk us to her building.

When we reach the main door, she uses one of the crutches to open it. She angles it to poke through the handle and yanks it backward with more force than I expected. I almost topple backward, but manage to steady myself. I’m more worried about dropping her than getting hurt myself.

“Sorry,” she says quietly.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, manoeuvring us through the door.

A couple of girls are standing around the common room, and even though they give us some strange looks, they don't say anything once they see the crutches in Izzy’s hands. I’m not technically supposed to be here, but no one stops me. I don’t think I’d let them.

Izzy directs me to her room, and when we reach her door, she squeezes my shoulder to let her down. I hold on to her until she adjusts the crutches and finds her balance.

“It’s not locked,” Izzy tells me and I take the cue to open the door for her.

I step into her room so I can hold the door open, and she brushes past me, making it to her desk and throwing herself down onto the chair.

I’m frozen by the door as I realise that I’m actually in her room. It’s the same layout as mine, but hers is way more lived in. The pinboard above her desk is filled with pictures and scraps of paper, and the shelves above are lined with books, although there’s a stack on the floor, too. There’s clutter all over the desk, notebooks, pens, and revision cards, but the main thing that sticks out to me is the star-shaped lamp. I remember the day we looked at the stars together so clearly. It formed itself as one of my favourite memories even as it was happening. My hoodie hangs from a peg on her wall.

“You can come in,” Izzy says, and I have to drag my eyes away from looking at this piece of me that lives in her room.

I close the door behind me, stepping further into the room. The only other place to sit is on her bed, but that feels like crossing a line, so I stand, leaning against the desk next to her.

“Thanks for all your help,” she says quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what a boyfriend would do, right?” I try to make it into a joke, an attempt to break the tension that feels like a physical shroud over us, but it doesn’t work.

Izzy doesn’t laugh, and neither do I. Instead, I feel another crack in my heart forming because I’ll never be that person for her. She’ll find someone else who can help her, someone she isn’t forced to be with because of some arrangement made out of pity.

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