‘You followed me?’ I didn’t realise what I was asking until I asked it; didn’t believe it. My ribs closed around my lungs, squeezed, and whatever it was rolling up and down my spine turned hot, shot through into my eyes and my fingers and my lips.

He didn’t say anything.

‘You followed me.’

It wasn’t a question this time, and he didn’t deny it.

‘No,’ I said, shaking my head, trying to deny it for him. ‘No.’

‘Caitlin.’

Heat prickled along my skin, lifting every hair on my scalp, burning my cheeks, my jaw. ‘Why?’ It was part wail, part whisper, part yell. ‘Why would you do that?’

He hesitated. Took a breath. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to …’

I turned away. ‘No.’

He moved in front of me, reached out to touch me, hold me. ‘Cait.’

I pulled back, dropping my cigarette and watching it roll into the gutter. ‘Fuck.’ I kicked the concrete. ‘Damn it.’

‘What’s going on, Caitlin?’ he asked again. Louder this time. Or maybe it just felt louder. More desperate.

I stepped away, bringing my arms up around myself. My chest hurt so much I couldn’t breathe.

‘What happened? Why are you—’

‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

‘Please.’ Urgent. I hated it, hated the fear in it.

‘Nothing.’ I kicked the ground again, as though I could stop what was happening.

‘Cait.’

‘Please. Stop.’

I was vaguely aware of the bodies on the other side of the street changing. Heads turning, feet shuffling. Hushed comments, not hushed enough before they were drowned out by a passing motorcycle.

I forced my arms down. Tom was still in front of me. Tom. My Tom. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear him breathing. I could see his hands on his hips, shoulders wide and stiff, his jaw twitching. Waiting. I’d never seen him like this. Hurt. Scared.

‘Caitie.’ So much fear. Sickly sweet and ice-cold. ‘Please.’

I thought back to when I’d left his flat, kissing him at the front door and telling him I’d see him tomorrow. He was going to order pizza and watch a movie and have an early night. Everything had been normal. Perfect.

We were just going to get Lina’s textbook and then go back to my house. There was leftover cake in the fridge and Lina had a new manicure kit but we had to study first. Fine.

And then it wasn’t. And maybe it hadn’t ever been.

My mum’s sick.

Is she going to die?

How does it end?

Everybody dies.

Everything had been perfect and now it wasn’t and nothing was ever going to fix it.

‘I can’t fucking believe you followed me,’ I said, a rush of anger the only thing keeping my body from collapsing onto the footpath. ‘How could you? This isn’t about you.’

‘So what is it about?’