THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(53)

“What?”

She shook her head, as if she was afraid to say it again. I couldn’t just sit there and let her cry. She let me take her into my arms, and she grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, holding on tight. Then the sobbing started. Great, wracking sobs that shook her whole body.

I held her tight. I had no idea what was going on, no idea what to say that would help. I tried not to panic. I was there with her, she was safe. If that was all I could offer, then that would have to be enough for now.

We sat like that, locked together on the floor, for the longest time.

“What’s happening to me?” she finally whispered into my shirt.

I wish I knew.

“Come on,” I said gently, pulling away and getting to my feet. I reached down for her hand. “Let’s go into the living room.”

No good ever came from sitting on the floor, crying. Especially in that room. I knew that better than anyone.

We walked through to the living room and she sank down onto the couch. She made herself into a small, impenetrable fortress, pulling her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and bowing her head. It felt like she was shutting me out again, but I didn’t know if it was intentional or just a self-preservation thing.

Henry’s voice popped into my head from out of nowhere. Alcohol. She needed a short, sharp shock to her system to bring her round. Maybe then I could find out what the hell was going on.

I walked through into the kitchen and pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, along with a bottle of whisky. I poured a shot into each glass and immediately downed one myself, breathing through the burn as the whisky slid down my throat.

I took her glass back to the couch, hoping that one taste might bring her back to her senses. She had raised her head at least, but she was staring at nothing, her eyes red and swollen. When I sat down and laid a hand on her arm, I could feel her still trembling.

“Do you think you can drink this?”

She blinked, slowly, as if everything was too much of an effort. I stroked her hair and she closed her eyes, leaning into my hand.

“Come on,” I said gently. “Drink up. It might make you feel a bit better.”

She opened her eyes, and it took a few moments for them to find me. I could see the raw desperation shining out of her, begging me for help. It was so obvious, she might as well have screamed at me.

I handed her the glass and she took it. She took a small sip, screwing up her face and coughing violently.

“It’s whisky,” I said.

She handed it back to me, still coughing. Not knowing what else to do, I took it and set it down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on?” I asked carefully. “Talk to me, because I’m getting a really bad feeling here.”

Her eyes slid from mine to the floor. She sat there, huddled in a ball, staring at the floor until I couldn’t bare it any longer.

“Come on, Maia. Please?”

Every second that passed made her seem more and more unreachable. Then, when I was beginning to think I should just give up and leave her alone for a while, she looked over at me. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Her voice was so heartbreakingly small, I found myself holding my breath. I tried to call on the sensible gene, the one I supposedly had and Vinnie had supposedly missed out on. We couldn’t both drown here. One of us needed to stay focused.

“What do you mean?”

A tear slid down her cheek, followed closely by another. She wasn’t sobbing, not this time. These tears were the silent kind. I honestly didn’t know which was worse.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she whispered, as if sharing a secret with me. One she wasn’t sure she should be sharing.

I was overcome with a blinding case of knight-in-shining-armour-complex. I wanted to fight off whatever was hurting her – to grab a sword and stab it, killing it and burying it so it would never hurt her again. Vinnie would’ve had a field day if he knew.

“What makes you think that?”

She sniffed, wiping away the tears that had fallen with the back of her hand. She looked like she was hanging onto a ledge by her fingertips. I was scared to move, to say the wrong thing in case I sent her toppling over.

“Remember when I told you about the near-death experience, or whatever, at the beach the other day?” she asked. “It happened again.”

My heart raced. I had no idea what to do with that. Had I missed something?