The room was so filled with us, with the gathering clouds of our words, the fog of our thoughts. I lifted my hand off you.

“Think of Giovanni’s Room,” I said, the story returning to me through the fog. “Think of how David leaves Giovanni out of fear. We mustn’t act out of fear.”

You withdrew your hands from your flushed face, staring not at me but through me. “It’s too much.” Your voice was tired. “I can’t do it, Ludzio. I can’t. You’re asking for too much.”

“Is it because of Hania?” I felt my head spin with fear.

You didn’t say anything, looked down, your face still flushed, not moving. “It’s not that easy,” you finally said. Somehow, I believed you.

“Remember how David feels after his decision,” I said, feeling my throat tighten. “He regrets it.”

“Stop comparing us to that book!” Your voice shattered against the walls. Your face was distorted, scrunched up beyond recognition. “You’re the one who wants to run off. You’re the one trying to force me into this. You can’t make people love you the way you want them to.”

I felt life drain out of me, as if a plug had been pulled. I sat down on the bed.

“I’m not cut out for it, Ludwik,” you said, like an apology. “I belong here. And I will make it, one way or another.” You got up from the desk, stepping toward me with new confidence. “I met Hania’s parents. I got on with her dad. He will help me move up. I’m sure of it.” There was hope in your voice. You almost sounded as if you wanted me to be proud of you. I said nothing. You were only a meter away; I could have touched you if I’d reached out. “And maybe it’s not too late for you either,” you went on. “Maybe we can speak to Hania, maybe Maksio will never mention what he saw, and—”

I stood.

“I need to go,” I said, knowing it was true. Your face, your limbs—it was as if your entire being was trying to hold itself together, almost shaking from the effort of it. I couldn’t bear to see it. I averted my eyes and slid to the door like some retreating thief, stopping in my tracks when you called my name.

It sounded like an appeal, a right violated and invoked. My hand on the door handle, my back to you, my heart pulsing in my temples. I could sense the word throbbing in the air. My name, claiming me. It wrapped its fingers around my shoulders and tried to hold me back. With a terrible jolt I thrust open the door and hurried down the dark of the stairs.