The next screen appeared. Sometimes you make me mad.

“The fu…?”

Nataya pressed the next screen. You never pick the wet bathmat up.

“What the…?”

And I know you used my toothbrush that one time, even though you said you didn’t.

“I bought him a new one,” I said, defending my honour. “And it was a different colour, and he is a lying liar who lies.”

But you make me laugh.

I looked at everyone in the room, and they were all smiling at me.

The next screen appeared. And you recommend the best audiobooks.

“I work in a library, genius,” I mumbled. “But that is actually true. He loves audiobooks.”

And there’s a hundred little things…

Nataya pressed the next screens, one after the other.

You give the best foot massages.

You buy the bread I like, even though it’s not your favourite.

You make the bed every day.

I nodded. “That’s true. I don’t think he’s ever made it once.”

Because you’re the last out of it.

I gasped. “I resent that!”

You are the light in my dark, my missing puzzle piece.

Awww. I put my hand to my mouth.

But something’s missing, Jordan.

I blinked a few times. “What?” I looked around the room. My heart rate skyrocketed. “What?”

Breathe, Jordan. Yes it said Breathe, Jordan on the actual fucking screen.

I put my hand to my heart just as Nataya pressed the next screen. There’s something missing from our relationship…

I couldn’t breathe, and I felt sick, and the room was getting smaller and darker, and someone cleared their throat. I turned around, half a second from blind panic setting in.

And there was Hennessy. He was holding his hand out with something in his palm. He smiled at me. “There is something missing, Jordan.”

I shook my head. “No there’s not. Everything is perfect. Unflawed, without fault. No longer upside down, remember? But the right way up.”

He took a step closer and I could see he was holding a book—a small book—and I was scared to take it, but he was giving it to me. “The part that’s missing is inside,” he said quietly.

I looked at the book. It wasn’t a real book. It couldn’t be. It was too small for that particular edition. It had to be a replica. The book was The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. The 1880s New York printed edition. My all-time-favourite cover of my all-time-favourite book.

“Inside this book? It’s poetry, Hennessy. You know this. It’s my favourite. What does that mean?”

“No, inside the book,” Hennessy said.

Merry snorted from near the door. Merry was here? And Jodie. And was that Angus, and Michael and Vee? Merry opened her hands like she was opening a book. “Inside,” she mouthed.

I opened the book, and the pages were hollowed out, and inside lay a black ring.