Inferno(16)

I knew I shouldn’t. That was a no-brainer. But it’s hard to avoid something when it’s right in front of you …

‘Stop weighing it up, Sophie. Just come down, I have to talk to you.’

His expression, steeped in moonlight, held a level of anxiety I hadn’t come to associate with Nic. He was rattled. Something had happened.

‘Fine,’ I conceded, curiosity and something else – something mutinous – pushing me from the window. ‘But only to see that you’re all right.’

I grabbed the switchblade and shoved it in the pocket of my sweatpants. It settled me, and as I descended the stairs with light footfall I relaxed in the feeling of it thumping against my leg.

The night was surprisingly cold. Now that I was close to Nic I could see just how jumpy he really was. There were rims of darkness underneath his eyes, and he shuffled uncomfortably on his feet as we stood apart from one another.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘I miss you,’ he said in one long, heavy sigh. ‘I hate not knowing what you’re doing or if you’re OK … after everything that happened. It doesn’t feel right.’

The more I studied him, the more dishevelled he appeared. His hair was more messy than tousled, curling strands brushing across his forehead and dipping into his eyes. There were days of stubble shadowing his jawline. ‘This is what we agreed,’ I said softly. ‘This is the right thing.’

The only thing.

‘I don’t like it, Sophie,’ he repeated. ‘There should be another way.’

How easily he could compartmentalize everything – separate the girl he wanted from the family she came from. For me, everything came in one big jumble. ‘There isn’t another way,’ I told him. ‘And if there was, it probably wouldn’t be the right one. You can’t just come around here, Nic. It makes it harder for both of us.’

He was scrutinizing me. Eventually he dropped his shoulders and his fists went limp at his sides. ‘So this is really what you want?’

I knew I should say ‘yes’, but somehow I couldn’t. ‘I don’t know,’ I told him truthfully. ‘I just know I don’t want to be afraid any more. I don’t want my mother to be afraid either …’

He nodded, a frown twisting on his lips. ‘But you’re not afraid of me.’

‘Maybe not of you,’ I said, feeling out my answer. ‘But I’m afraid of what you’ve done. Where you come from. You know that.’

He raked his hands through his hair. He seemed so out of it, so tired.

‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ I said, pulling back.

‘Stress,’ he said, exhaustion softening his voice. ‘I’m stressed.’

‘Stress?’ I repeated, studying him.

He raised his face towards the sky, to the blanket of stars that stretched overhead. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Family stuff.’

‘And you never think about leaving it behind? For college? For normality?’ For good?

He simply shook his head. I remembered his mother’s words: He would never choose you over his family. It was true, and I knew it. Nic would never leave the family, not for me, not for him, not for anything. The only way out was in a coffin.

When he spoke again, his gaze was no longer on the stars and his voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘Do you remember the last time we were here together?’

‘Everything was different then.’

‘You let me kiss you,’ he said, his gaze unwavering.

‘Even though you shouldn’t have.’

I felt the warmth of his breath in his response. ‘I never could follow the rules when it came to you, Sophie.’

‘We should have followed them, Nic.’

He shut his eyes tight, inhaling sharply. ‘Don’t say that. Please.’

‘It’s the truth.’

He fell silent, and I felt compelled to fill up the space.

‘You moved house,’ I said, changing the subject. I was trying to ignore the intimacy that still lingered between us, trying to remind myself why I should be upstairs in bed, away from him.

‘Did it surprise you?’

‘No, it’s not that. It’s just strange to think of the Priestly mansion empty again after it was so … full of life.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, clearing his throat. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and in a flicker he was boyish again, a grin pushing against his cheekbones. ‘Do you miss me, Sophie?’

I looked away from him, at the new flowerbeds blooming in the darkness – my mother’s anchor to her sanity. An anchor she needed because of this boy and his family. ‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ I said quietly. ‘Please, Nic.’