Page 92 of Never Never

I don’t see him so much as hear him turn around. His features are only half-visible, his expression unknown, his outfit the same black tank top and jeans he seems to wear all day, every day, at least when he’s not shirtless. If I opened his closet, would I just find racks and racks of black, I wonder? Like a cartoon character?

“Okay,” comes his voice. “As alone as it gets.”

Right, so we are. I take in a long breath through my nose.

“You didn’t tell any guys—any of the other guys—what I told you, right?” The words rush out of me in a jumbled, chaotic string. “About what…happened to me?”

My eyes are adjusting. Blue’s brows jump up again, this time from what looks like real surprise.

“No,” he says. “No. Of course not.”

I nod. Nod again. Swallow. Fold my arms around my chest. “Good.”

Behind him, I see his computer. His messages, I think. Instinctively, I tense up, thinking of the video, whoever sent it⁠—

“Nothing new,” Blue says, like he can read my mind. He steps closer to the desk, flicks off a switch, and the screen goes dark. “Since the one you saw.”

“Oh.” I swallow again. “Good.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“Talk about…” I realize I don’t know what it he means.

“That video.” Beat. “Or anything, really.”

“No,” I say automatically. I give my head a shake. “I mean, I don’t think so.” And then, in spite of what I literally just said, I keep talking.

“It made Pan jealous.” Too late, I realize what I’ve said. “Not—I didn’t mean—not jealous. That’s—I didn’t mean that. Made him mad, I mean.” I clear my throat. “Clearly.”

Blue grunts. “Made him something, all right,” he agrees.

He’s still, so still. Not relaxing, settling in, and inviting me to, I don’t know, stay and hang out, but not all impatient and twitchy like he wants me to leave, either. Which, for a guy who keeps a lock on his bedroom and a camera on his front door, feels like it means something.

I look around. His room is the same as it was before. That night. And probably every night. Same as it was, behind him, when I watched that video of his. Same as⁠—

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Tink.”

“What?” I turn around so fast I almost whack an elbow against one of his light stands. There’s no way I heard him correctly.

“I just think you should know.” He breathes out, hard. “I’m not telling you to obligate you or burden you or any passive-aggressive shit. I’m telling you to…to explain, I guess. My behavior. Lately. And because…”

His hand flexes into and out of a fist. It’s the most lost for words I’ve ever seen him.

“Because now that we’ve seen that video of you, I’ve seen that video of you, I need to know what you want. If you’re willing to tell me. If it’s Fox, it’s Fox. If it’s not Fox, but it’s not me, and it’ll never be me, then—then that’s what you want,” he finishes. “But I don’t do games or ambiguity. So I’d just like the truth from you.”

“The…truth,” I all but stammer.

“About who you want. What,” he corrects, “you want. From anyone. With anyone. If,” he adds, “anything at all. Because nothing is also an answer.”

“I…”

What I want? I have no fucking idea. I’ve never had space like this, to think about what I want. It’s only ever been about what I needed, what would get me from Point A to Point B, what the next step would be to keep going.

What someone else wanted.

And now here I am, in the world’s calmest, quietest, darkest, deepest bedroom, with nothing to do but contemplate that question and answer it.

And I have no idea how.