I run. The door isn’t locked. As I sprint down the corridor to the back exit, through the staffroom, I feel bone-cold with the fear that he’s locked up the school, but he hasn’t. He wasn’t afraid I’d run. He knew I wanted it, he’d said.
I run all the way home. At least ten kilometres. My feet bleed. When I take my shoes off inside the flat I flinch when I see them. I’m shaking so hard I can’t use my fingers properly. I sit on the floor and weep like I’ll never stop crying. I claw at my skin. I dig my fingernails into my arms. I remember all the times I smiled at him when he smiled at me.
Dylan
I get there just as Etienne is coming out of the building; he turns, carefully locking up behind him.
‘That’s him,’ Marcus says, suddenly at my shoulder. ‘There. That’s him.’
I know. I saw the photo. That split second of the image on the screen was more than enough for me to memorise every line of that bastard’s face.
I run at him. Marcus calls to me – he sounds surprised. He’s been drinking, and he isn’t fast enough to catch me. My fist hits Etienne’s jaw just as he turns. There’s a hot pain in my knuckle, a jarring shock in my elbow. He doubles over.
‘What the—’
‘What the fuck were you doing with my girlfriend?’ I say, realising with shame that I’m crying.
Etienne looks up at me, eyes wide. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he says.
‘No? Looked pretty cosy to me,’ Marcus says.
Etienne looks at him quickly, eyes narrowing. He stays low, crouched. I keep my fists bunched at my sides and wish I wasn’t sniffling and shaking like a child.
‘She’s . . . intense,’ Etienne says. ‘She’s been coming on to me all term, finding reasons to spend time alone with me, staying late just to try and . . .’
‘Shut up,’ I say, wiping my face hard. ‘Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up.’
‘No, go on,’ Marcus says. He steps forward. ‘Go on.’
‘Look, I tried to be a good guy. But she’s – I had a moment of weakness. She said how badly she wanted me and . . .’
He darts backwards as I move towards him again, but Marcus puts his hand out to stop me.
‘I’m sorry,’ Etienne says. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘What happened?’ Marcus asks. ‘Where is she now?’
‘I stopped her as soon as I realised what was happening,’ Etienne says, eyes flicking between me and Marcus. ‘She got mad and left. I didn’t mean for anything to happen with her. She just . . . got in my head. I can’t think straight around her.’
Marcus is nodding. ‘Yeah,’ he says. His voice slurs. ‘Yeah. That sounds just like Addie.’
Addie
I call my sister. I will never be grateful enough for Deb. I barely have words to say it, but she never says, I thought you fancied him. She never says, You wanted that. She turns up at the flat and she undresses me like I’m made of something precious, then gets me in the shower. After I’m clean, she wraps me in my old threadbare dressing gown and holds me very tightly. It isn’t a hug – she’s holding me together.
The guilt sets in after the shock. It’s all very predictable. When I’m no longer running from him, when the horror isn’t right in front of me, I’m totally sure it’s my fault. I fancied him. I drank his wine and I replied to his texts.
Deb says, ‘What would you tell me? If I said those things?’
And I see the truth of it for a moment. I know what I would tell my sister. I know how fiercely I’d protest that consent is an ongoing process. That no means no whatever you’ve said before it. But then the clarity’s gone again. There’s just horror and shame.
Dylan
Marcus makes me go to the pub with him before I go back to the flat to see Addie.
‘You need to clear your head,’ he says, then he proceeds to buy me four pints, as if that will fucking help.
I cry into my drink. I don’t tell Marcus what Luke told me because, quite honestly, I’m barely thinking about it. All I can think about is the pain in my chest, like it’s cracking, like someone’s pried my ribs apart and left them gaping.
‘Don’t get sad, get mad,’ Marcus tells me, pushing another drink towards me. ‘Addie’s been screwing around with the teacher and God knows who else, pretending she’s all sweetness and light. I knew there was something about her. Didn’t I say? Didn’t I say?’