Finn rests against the wall near the bus stop, hands buried into the pockets of his grey hoodie. My stomach flips as the bus approaches the stop, and I remember his words about this not being a date. Even though I don’t want this to be a date, I can still be attracted to him, right? Am I attracted to him? Nowhere near as much as Alek, whose weird and unwanted effect on me continues to summon inappropriate thoughts about me and him doing inappropriate things. These thoughts are now finding their way into my dreams. No, I want Finn as a friend and I don’t want Alek as a friend or a lover. Or so I keep telling myself.
Finn appraises me a little too closely as I step off the bus, and I fight off the discomfort. My lack of confidence since the accident has evidently morphed into feeble behaviour around guys, and this pisses me off.
“What do you want to do?” he asks.
“I’m hungry.”
“Okay, there’s a pub that does have good food. I need a beer.”
At least, we’re not doing the ‘who’s going to make the decision?’ dance. Still, he could have asked for my suggestions. “Pub is fine.”
Finn walks alongside me, not too close, as we head across the precinct and toward the part of town frequented by students. I look down at my jeans and hope he is talking about a student place, not somewhere filled with after-work city drinkers.
Round tables with stools are crammed together in the middle of the pub, with wooden booth seats in the corners. The place has a stale beer smell. The current occupants are middle-aged men propped against the bar and a slot machine in the corner. I slide onto the hard wooden seat and push the dirty beermats to one side. I’m definitely okay wearing jeans in this establishment. Finn disappears to order food.
“Healthy diet today,” I comment ten minutes later as a huge plate of chips and burger appear in front of me
“You look like you need to eat more.”
I pick up a chip and bite savagely, hoping he notices my displeasure. Pale, skinny girl in need of protection? I don’t think so. Finn pulls off his hoodie, and I’m fixated by the tattoo circling his forearms and bicep.
“Does your tattoo mean anything?” I ask him.
“Only to me.” He rubs his arm, and I picture myself doing the same. Then I remember the spreading cold from the last time we touched. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Do I look like I would?” I say.
“I don’t know. They’re popular; you might have a fairy or unicorn somewhere.”
I snigger at him. “I’m not a fairy or unicorn girl.”
“Not a believer in myths and legends?”
“Nope.” I don’t mention the near-death experience; that doesn’t count. Right?
Finn tucks into his identical plate of chips and burger and we lapse into silence again. I don’t have the impression he’s nervous around me; he spends his time watching those going into and out of the quiet pub. Surreptitiously, I watch to see if he’s checking out any of the girls who walk in. Or guys; I can’t be too presumptuous.
We turn to small talk about the hospital but apart from that, things get progressively quieter between us as the place fills and gets louder. Finn disappears to the bar for more drinks and I stack our plates, wondering why he asked me to come out with him because he’s barely speaking to me. The extra bodies heat up the room and I’m warm. I decide it’s dim enough to take off my jumper, which I fold across my lap.
When Finn slides back into the seat opposite, his look is instantly drawn to my arm before he shifts his gaze away again.
“I had an accident. I didn’t do it to myself.” Pink scars crisscross the inside of my lower arms from elbow to wrist, the deep pink standing out against my pale skin.
Finn’s concerned eyes meet mine. “But you’re okay now?”
“Mostly.”
“When was the accident?”
I inhale and run my finger down the condensation on the edge of my glass of orange juice. “About five months ago.”
“I thought the scars looked fresh.”
“Broken glass. From the window. Car accident.”
Finn tips his head as if he wants to ask me questions and can’t. I don’t want him to. He finally settles on, “Pretty bad accident, then?”
“Yeah. I don’t feel like talking about it, though, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. You mentioned it.” His attention is now wholly on me; he no longer gazes around the bar.
“I didn’t want you to think I’d tried to kill myself.”
His head jerks back at the words. “I didn’t think that.”
I chew on a nail; it’s too late. Jamie is back in my head again, my best friend, who I should be with instead of Finn. And when memories of my last minutes with Jamie come in, so does the fog.
“Rose?”