People are selfish

 

 

THE SOHO basement where I fix phones sometimes never seems to close. The two Chinese guys buy broken phones off eBay, fix them up, and sell them on. They don’t always have work for me, but today, before I even make it down the stairs, I can see from the boxes of parts on every step that they’re inundated.

They’re pleased to see me, and I’m pleased to do anything that will consume me and take my mind off the past few hours.

 

 

AFTERWARD I buy a few supplies from the guy who sells stuff in the underpass—some tins of food, toilet paper, soap, and painkillers—then walk slowly back to my shell. My shoulder aches even though I’ve taken more painkillers. This afternoon it’s worse. Stress makes pain worse.

I think about Micky—I hope Jack’s looking after him. As long as they’re with Donna and Vinny, I tell myself Micky will be okay. But then I remember what Micky said about not being able to deal with Jack’s emotions at all. I remember what happened last time, and I don’t know what to do.

Maybe I’ll call him later. We’re friends—that’s not changed. Nothing’s changed.

The blue sky has given way to grey. No snow, though, it’s just cold. I turn down the dead-end road to the pool, thinking about Dollman and how I’m going to follow him more stealthily tonight. How I’m going to look for other sharks too.

My head is so full of sharks that I’m not concentrating on what’s in front of me, as usual, so when a familiar voice that’s not Milo’s says, “Hey, you,” I nearly drop my bag of shopping.

I look down and find Micky sitting hugging his knees on the ground next to the plywood door. As I step closer, I can see his nose looks sore, or possibly bruised, as though someone’s hit him.

Jack?

I drop the shopping, no longer caring. The cans roll across the frozen ground and away.

“What happened?” I crouch down. I want to reach out, touch him.

With a self-conscious smile, Micky touches his nose. “Fainted again. At Donna’s. Does it look broken? I kinda convinced myself it’s not. It does hurt, though.”

I don’t know if it’s broken. Painkillers will probably help. I pat the cold ground behind me, trying to find the bag.

“Here. These will help with the pain.”

“Thanks.” I watch his throat work as he swallows them, pleased that he didn’t ask me for some water, which I don’t have. “I didn’t hear you go, Danny.”

He gives me a lopsided smile, his eyes bright and sort of sad. He’s so pretty.

“I had to fix some phones.” I try not to stare at his nose, but my eyes are transfixed. Even though it looks sore, it’s still kind of perfect. If it was Jack that hurt him…. I close my eyes and shake my head. We’re not all sharks, I remind myself.

“Jack didn’t hit me or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I really did keel over. Smacked my face on the bedside cabinet, apparently.”

Are my thoughts that obvious?

“You probably didn’t have any energy.” I have a feeling Micky will shut down if I say it more explicitly. “It’s a long walk. Things shut down if they don’t get enough power,” I say, thinking more about batteries and phones than human beings, but it’s the same principle, isn’t it?

Is this why he faints? Because he doesn’t eat much? When does not eating much become not eating enough? I think about what Diana said this morning. I know he doesn’t eat.

As though he really is inside my mind, Micky picks up an apple core off the ground. “Milo’s been feeding me, don’t worry.”

But it’s just an apple.

“How long have you been waiting for me?”

“Since about lunchtime. I didn’t know where you’d gone, but I figured you’d come back here eventually.” His gaze sweeps down, his eyelashes fanning out blackly against his cheek. “Do you mind?” He tilts his head and won’t quite meet my eyes.

Just an apple. That’s all he’s had all day.

“I thought you were with Jack,” I say without really thinking. I’m thinking instead about going back to my shell and making some food for him.

“I only wanted to see if he was okay. And he is. That’s it. What you did the other night—”

“No. Don’t.” I push myself up off the ground. I told him before I don’t want his thanks, his gratitude. If he’s here out of guilt, it’s worse than pity. No more pretending.

Long fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back in place. I like that he’s strong, even though he doesn’t look it. I like feeling his strength, so real and alive. I don’t resist.

“Please, Danny, let me say this. What you did the other night for me, Jack would never have done for someone. What you did on the bridge for Dieter: I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t have thought of themselves first. People are selfish—”

“Stop.” I’m selfish. It’s all I am. I want him. I want him so much.

I try to pull my arm away. Micky immediately lets go, and instead he reaches out and touches my cheek with the palm of his hand and presses a finger to my lips. His touch immobilises me more completely than Dollman managed in his office. I think the whole world can probably hear the thunderous beating of my heart.

Where my skin is scarred, I can’t feel a thing. The nerves are dead, but the skin around the scars is supersensitive.

The whole world has narrowed down to the sensation of his hand on my face—a single blindingly brilliant focus.

“Listen, all I want to say is: what you’ve done for me means something to me. It really fucking means something. More than you’ll ever know. Okay? And you’re going to have to push me away really hard to get me to leave you alone. But if that’s what you want, please do it now, because I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if you do it later on.”

I nod, a little bit mesmerised by the way he’s looking at me. My bright blue sky.

“One more thing,” he whispers. “Do you trust me?”