Page 74 of Glitterland
“I mean, I can kind of see why. If an insane person tells you they’re sane, how are you supposed to tell it’s not further evidence of their insanity? And that would be really dangerous, wouldn’t it?”
I felt the weight of all those expectant stares.
“We do walk amongst you,” I said, at last.
Pity. I was drowning in pity, as slick as oil.
I felt sick. Small and sick and utterly, utterly lost. I wanted—I needed—Somebody to save me. But how could you be rescued from yourself?
Hugh’s voice pricked my skin like a thousand tiny needles. “And the orange chap in the feathers is your boyfriend now?”
Again, that stomach-churning surge of interest from the others. I could see what they saw: the madman and his fool. And now they would have us caper. Their scrutiny had been unpleasant enough when it touched upon my past, but now their eyes were burrowing into my present. A better man would have owned his truths. But, at the moment, the vulnerability of mere madness seemed nothing to the vulnerability of showing that I cared.
I managed to meet the stares and gave what I hoped was an insouciant smile. “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s more of a-a fuckee, really.”
“A fuckee? Is that like a fuck buddy?”
“Yes, like a fuck buddy, but without the tiresome buddy requirement.”
Someone chuckled. Finally, it wasn’t pity. “So, sort of the late-night drive-through of sex. For when you get that craving for something cheap and filthy, like a Big Mac.”
“Precisely,” I said. “None of the hassle of a relationship and cheaper than a whore. And, now I think about it, cheaper than a Big Mac too.”
I waited for the laugh that never came.
Nobody was looking at me, except Hugh. He put a hand to his lips, as if to conceal whatever lay beneath it. I thought, perhaps, a smile.
And then, I knew. I knew what I had done.
In that endless, awful second, I would have gladly destroyed the world, myself, and everyone in it, to avoid turning round. I’d plumbed the depths of my own shame and disappointment so many times it barely mattered anymore, but how could I face Darian? Knowing he had finally seen the truth of me?
He was standing behind me. Of course he was. His eyes had that shiny look of someone on the brink of tears. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he said finally, “Mate, that’s…that’s bang aht of order.” His voice broke on the final word. “I fought you liked me.”
And then he turned and walked away.
Everyone was staring at me. I should have been running after Darian, apologising, throwing myself at his feet, even, but I was pinned by eyes, like a moth in a glass case. Besides, there was little value in the remorse of a creature like me. I was sorry, of course I was sorry, but it was the regret of the thief who got caught, not the regret of the truly penitent. The scene was already replaying in my head, and I could not imagine a version of events in which I did not sacrifice Darian to save myself a little humiliation. I was too weak, too selfish, and I simply did not deserve to apologise to him.
“Man, that was cold,” whispered someone, in a voice that hovered on the brink of awe.
“Ouch,” said Hugh. Spite glinted in his eyes. “Bit of a mismatch in expectations there, I fear.”
I shrugged. “Plenty of cocks in the sea. Anybody got a cigarette?”
Blindly, I took the whole packet and a box of matches from Hugh and went into the quad. My hands were shaking so much that I could barely hold the flame to the tip of the first cigarette. But, finally, I lit up.
I smoked cigarette after cigarette, littering the flagstones at my feet with fag ends and burnt out matches, breathing smoky poison into the still night air. My eyes stung, moisture gathering at the corners. It must have been the cold. Or the cigarette ash.
“I don’t understand.” Niall stepped through the doorway. “Why would you go to all that trouble for him, and then do that?”
I gave a startled, sobbing hiccough, and dropped my last cigarette. I cursed, extinguished it with my foot, and tried surreptitiously to dash away my tears with the heel of a hand. I’d meant it when I’d told Niall that I never wanted to see him again, but right now I couldn’t find the energy to argue about it. In some strange way, it was almost nice to see him. At least I wasn’t alone in the dark, with nothing but an empty packet of cigarettes. “I don’t know either.”
“You should go after him.”
I scraped out a mirthless laugh. “I don’t know where he is and this isn’t a fucking rom-com. I’m not going to catch up with him just as he’s getting onto a plane, kiss him in front of a crowd of applauding strangers, and live happily ever after. Besides, what am I going to say to him? I’m just a manic depressive standing in front of a moron, asking him to love me?”
“Well, no,” said Niall, “but you could say you’re sorry for being a prick.”
“Oh, fuck off, Jiminy Cricket.”
