Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(67)

‘Well, yeah, you kind of do,’ Toby replied, his voice suddenly tense. ‘Maybe if you’d let me earlier, you’d never—’

‘Don’t.’ One word, sharp and violent. But then on the next word her voice cracked, her face crumpled momentarily. ‘Please.’

For whatever reason, my brain decided this was the time to remind them both I was there. It chose to do this by making me get up, abruptly, from the sofa, and then just stand there.

‘Um,’ Toby said after a moment. He was looking at me, but still he directed his words at Suzanne. ‘Is your friend OK?’

‘She’s just drunk,’ Suzanne said. She sounded tired. ‘Come on, Cads.’

‘Did you two have sex?’ I asked.

Toby let out a noise that could have been a laugh or a snort. Suzanne rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

‘I like your friend,’ Toby said to her, a grin back on his face. ‘She’s good value.’

‘She has sex with everyone,’ I said, by way of explanation.

‘Shut up, Caddy,’ Suzanne ordered through gritted teeth. ‘Can you sober up, like, now, please?’

‘I didn’t mean that in a bad way,’ I told her. ‘I mean, I would too, if I looked like you.’

She was looking at me like she’d never seen me before. ‘Is this what your head sounds like all those times you don’t say anything?’

‘You’re very pretty,’ I said, confused that she didn’t look more pleased. ‘Like, not even real, you know?’

Suzanne looked at Toby. ‘You should go.’

‘Don’t you think?’ I asked Toby. ‘You know what I mean, right?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Suzanne said before he could speak. ‘Just go.’

When he finally did leave, after hugging us both three times and returning twice for his coat and his phone, I’d drained a glass of water on Suzanne’s command and was leaning against the hallway wall, counting my split ends.

‘So did you?’ I asked her, almost as soon as she’d closed the door.

‘Did I what?’

‘Have sex. With Toby.’

‘No, Caddy. God.’ She looked horrified. ‘Why would you even think that?’

‘Because he clearly loves you,’ I said. ‘And I know you like it when boys are like that.’

‘Like what?’

The sober me would have noticed the dangerous note in her voice. The drunk me did not. ‘You know, being nice to you.’ When she didn’t say anything, I added helpfully, ‘Like Dylan. You went back with him even though he was so shitty to you, just ’cause he smiled at you.’

‘God.’ Suzanne’s voice was flat. ‘You really think I’m pathetic, don’t you?’

‘No,’ I said, surprised. I really didn’t.

‘When who was it, out of the two of us, on her back with some guy she doesn’t even know?’

Far, far too late, I finally picked up on that dangerous note. My stomach lurched, violently.

‘What’s his surname, Caddy?’ She’d rounded on me, sparks all but coming out of her eyes. ‘How old is he?’

‘Don’t yell at me,’ I protested. ‘I thought you’d be proud of me.’

‘Proud of you? Why?!’

‘For living in the moment. For, you know, doing something fun. You’re meant to be encouraging me to do fun stuff.’

‘Yeah, fun stuff, not idiot stoner guys. Do you even know how out of his league you are? You’d be totally wasted on him.’ Her eyes went wide. ‘Oh my God, please don’t tell me you were going to lose your virginity to him.’

It could have been the tone of her voice or the incredulous look on her face. It could have been the vodka, or the weed, or the fact that I was somehow in Reading with this girl who was suddenly a stranger again. Whatever it was, the tears had spilled before I’d even realized they were coming.

‘Oh, Cads,’ Suzanne said, instantly softer. ‘Don’t cry.’

I hiccuped, a humiliating, double-gasped hitch of a noise that made me think of a toddler mid-tantrum. ‘Sorry,’ I choked out, sinking down on to the floor and pressing my forehead into my knees.

I felt rather than saw her slide down beside me, her arm curling around my shoulders and squeezing me in close to her. There was a softness to being hugged by Suzanne, I thought through the drugged, drunken fog of my mind. At arm’s length she was jagged edges and fire, but in her close affection she was cosy and warm. Which one is real? my fuzzy brain asked. Which one is you?

‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. Squeeze. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed her head momentarily against mine. ‘I’m being a bitch. It’s not you. Blame me.’

‘I just wanted to have fun,’ I said. The words were meaningless. ‘I wanted to know what it was like.’

‘Sex?’

‘Well, yeah, but I mean not being so . . . quiet and crap. I wish I was more like you.’

Her smile was sad. ‘You really don’t.’

‘I do,’ I insisted, my voice coming out petulant and ever so slightly slurred. ‘You’re confident and like . . .’ I tried to find the word, sure it was somewhere there in my mind. ‘Like . . . more.’