to say. Luckily Sal jumped in with, ‘So, Nat … Grace tells me you’re going to be a doctor?’
‘Um, yes. That’s the idea anyway.’ And they were off, talking about Nat’s course. But there was something not quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I realized that they were both using that fake voice that you use when you’re talking to someone else’s parents – you know, when you’re utterly polite and on your best behaviour. Sal was suddenly talking like a sober person, and Nat was looking oh-so-earnest. Neither of them seemed comfortable AT ALL. I sat back, puzzled.
The rest of the evening passed – uneventfully, I suppose. Things improved for me with each and every drink. I started to think I had imagined the strangeness of earlier. Maybe I’d just been a bit paranoid, because I was so anxious for the two of them to like each other. I got pretty drunk.
Things I can remember about the rest of that night
1. Kissing Nat while Sal was at the bar. Once again I told myself the weirdness was just my imagination: he WAS as into it as I was. He did NOT pull away from me like he’d just got an electric shock from my lips.
2. Asking Nat if he had any fit friends for Sal. She looked daggers at me, and Nat avoided answering the question.
3. Coming back from the bar with a tray of shots and thinking that Sal and Nat were getting on a lot better.
4. Drinking shots until everything blurred. Someone telling me to slow down. Nat or Sal? I don’t remember.
5. Being sick in the toilets and then feeling much better.
6. Nat putting me in the back of a taxi and handing me a tenner. Did I beg him to come back with me? I think I did, but he said something about having to get up early next day.
7. Er … that’s pretty much it.
Ethan hasn’t had much to say for himself today. Maybe yesterday was just a little bit intense for both of us. I feel empty and hollow. My throat hurts too.
I’m tired of thinking so hard.
I’m tired of remembering.
day 24
Lunch was good today – a perfect sandwich can be a thing of wonder. When Ethan came in to take away my plate, we chatted for a couple of minutes. It was almost like a normal conversation. And then I had to go and ruin it.
‘Ethan, can I ask you something? Something serious. And I don’t want you to answer me with a question, or with some weird cryptic answer. I just want you to be honest with me. Please?’
He weighed that up for a moment or two. ‘I can try.’
I took a deep breath. I was finally ready to ask the question I’d been too afraid (or stupid) to ask before now. ‘Are you ever going to let me go?’
He looked at me curiously. I managed to hold his gaze, even though I wanted to cry. I was scared to hear the answer.
‘That’s not the right question, Grace.’
I snapped. I launched myself towards him, my chair clattering to the floor. I punched him in the mouth, then shoved him back against the wall. He offered no resistance; it was like he wasn’t even there. Or maybe my rage gave me extra strength. I was screaming in his face, my hands clenched into fists, grabbing the material on the front of his shirt. My face was inches away from his, and as I shouted and screamed and ranted and raved, my saliva spotted his face. A trickle of blood emerged from where I’d punched him, just under his nose. I must have caught him with one of my rings – and on the exact same spot as his scar too. The sight of the blood brought me to my senses. I stopped shouting and watched as it trickled down to his top lip, hanging there for a second before continuing its path towards the crease of his closed mouth.
My grip on his shirt loosened, but I made no move to step back. I looked up into Ethan’s eyes, afraid to see the shock and anger that would surely be there. But of course this was Ethan, and there was no such thing. His beautiful eyes were untroubled and met my gaze as calm as you like. Neither of us spoke, but something suddenly dawned on me, something I knew with absolute certainty:
Ethan wasn’t in the