Mia sat very still. Her back was rigid. Her hair hung in front of her shoulders like a dark scarf, and her bare feet were resting on the low wooden bar that ran beneath the computer desk. Only her eyes flickered across the screen as she scanned Finn’s email a second time.
Then she blinked, which seemed to release her from the stillness, and suddenly she was moving, pushing back the chair, grabbing her bag, and bursting from the Internet café.
The night was balmy, the street lined with tourists and Balinese stallholders selling their wares. Mia wove through the crowds with her eyes down. A tight wheel of anxiety was beginning to spin deep within her. With every step, Finn’s email rotated in her thoughts, gathering momentum. She did not see the stride of each of her tanned feet, a delicate silver chain dancing on her ankle. All she saw, as if scorched onto the insides of her eyelids, were his words: ‘If you’re not careful, Mia, you could end up alone, wondering what happened to everyone in your life. Just like your father.’
Her breath felt short, harder to grasp. Traffic fumes and the heavy sweetness of rotting fruit filled her throat. A man passed, smoking a clove cigarette, and she swerved away from the cloying smell, the pavement seeming to tilt beneath her. She knocked into a thin boy spinning a yo-yo from a finger, who stared at her through large, curious eyes.
She began to run. The road was uneven, a deep rut jarring her pace. A pair of feline eyes watched suspiciously from the bonnet of a parked car as she raced on, skirting broken pot plants and sagging bin bags. She ducked into a side street leading to the hostel. She flew in through the entrance, past the reception desk, and along the darkened corridor.
She reached her room and stopped. Her stomach was knotted tightly, her pulse skittering with anxiety. She realized that she couldn’t go in; she couldn’t be alone.
She retraced her steps and found herself in front of Noah’s door. It was unlocked and she slunk into the warm darkness, trying to steady her breathing.
His voice, sleepy and questioning, asked, ‘Mia?’
‘Yes,’ she told him, gently pressing the door closed with her fingertips. ‘It’s okay. Go back to sleep,’ she whispered, slipping off her clothes and sliding into bed beside him. Her heart was racing. She wanted to press her body into the warm curve of his and let her heartbeat slow into his rhythm.
But she lay still, her arms tucked at her sides like wings, her ankle lightly touching his leg – just enough to connect them. He murmured something – a question perhaps, or a reservation – but she made no response and simply waited until she heard his breathing shallow as he was drawn back towards the comfortable folds of sleep. She sighed, relieved. Above, the ceiling fan cut through the warm air, and she began counting the strokes to stave off thought.
By the time she’d reached thirty-two, Finn’s email had clawed its way back into her mind and settled there. She imagined him typing the message, the pale light of his computer screen bleeding the warmth from his eyes. He had chosen his words carefully, stripping her down to her bones to reveal what she feared most: ending up like her father.
Mia could taste the bitter truth in his warning. She felt the symmetry of her and Harley’s lives running through her veins like blood. He had been caught in a spiral of self-destruction, driving away the people who loved him – just as she was. She bit down on her lip as she thought of the hurt she’d caused Finn. It was cruel of her to have left him for Noah, but unforgivable to lie that she was coming back. She wanted to put her face next to his, nose to nose, and tell him how sorry she was. But she knew it was too late for that. Through the open window, she could hear traffic and voices, and beyond that she caught the faint rhythm of waves breaking.
She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d drifted into sleep, but she woke to a sharp blow across her chest. She lurched from the bed, winded. Noah was flailing, his powerful body thrashing beneath the sheet like a trapped animal.
‘Noah!’
A string of mumbled, unintelligible words spilt from his mouth as he writhed, caught in the grip of a nightmare.
She backed towards the wall and groped for the light switch. The fluorescent bulb fizzed into life and she shielded her eyes from the glare, blinking.
He seemed to shake himself awake, yanking the sheet from him and staggering to his feet. His body glistened with sweat and he was breathing hard. He spun round, his eyes wide and startled. ‘What did I do?’
She was pressed flat to the wall. ‘You had a nightmare.’
‘Did I … did I hurt you?’
There was a dull ache in her chest where his arm had swung out. ‘No. I’m fine.’
‘What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.’ He turned away from her and moved towards the window. He placed his palms at the edges of the glass, like a prisoner desperate to leave. She saw that the dressing on his upper back had ripped off and his wound looked pink and tender.
She crossed the room slowly and placed her hands on the base of his back, just below the smooth cleft of his buttocks. His skin was burning.
‘Noah?’ she said, but he would not turn and face her. Whatever the nightmare was about, it still clung to him. She thought of his protests that she could never stay the night: ‘This happens often, doesn’t it?’
His jaw tightened and she saw from his reflection in the window that his eyes were screwed shut. There was something desperately vulnerable about the thin trail of blood that was beginning to seep from his wound. Placing her hand on his forearm, she stroked her fingers back and forth, skimming the dark edges of his tattoo. ‘It’s okay,’ she told him softly.
The gesture seemed to undo him. His shoulders started to shake and he hung his head.
‘Oh, Noah,’ she said, threading her arms around his waist. She held him close, felt his sweat cooling against her skin. It scared her to see him like this. ‘What was the nightmare about?’
She felt his body tense.
‘Noah?’
He didn’t answer.
‘It was about Johnny, wasn’t it?’
He pulled away.
‘You can talk to me.’
He said nothing and she saw how similar they were then, each weighed down by their private grief. They could help each other, she believed that. ‘I know you lost your brother. Tell me about him. I want to help.’
‘Please go.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t deal with this.’
‘Noah, I only want—’
But he had already crossed the room and started picking up her clothes.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, anxiety spreading like a dark kiss along her chest. ‘Noah, please—’
‘You’re pushing me, Mia. Trying to get inside my head. I can’t do it. I should never have started this. It was a mistake. I’m sorry, Mia, but it was a mistake.’
He passed her clothes back to her and she put them on, leaden. As she turned, she saw his backpack propped against the desk. It was packed. ‘You’re leaving?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Were you going to tell me?’
He looked at her, the darkness of his gaze concealing so much. Then he opened the door onto the corridor.
She moved through it.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he said.