The lights from the meeting room shoot in through the small interstices, one aligning perfectly with Andrew’s eyes.

  I have to take a deep breath but it makes all of it worse because of his odor tingling my nose. “Are you a claustrophobe?” he queries and I laugh, sitting down where I can in the small space we have. My knee bumps his legs as he does the same.

  “I might become one after this.”

  “We are not going to kiss, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Wasn’t planning on kissing you.”

  He chuckles. He could easily reach me, with just a stretch of his arm. “You drank a lot tonight.” He states.

  “What is it with me drinking?” I remember his attitude at the bar, how protective he became. With Claire, I would have understood but me? He knows what I think about him. I’ve made it evidently clear.

  He shrugs. I can barely see his movements. “I don’t like it.”

  “Drinking or me drinking?”

  “Both.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why are you always so defensive? Can’t I be nice to you? For no reason?”

  “There’s always a reason.”

  My discussion with Isabella comes back to mind. The fact that he’s potentially between me and my goals is enough for me to reject him. Offering his help was only a way to have me close, to find an opening through my shell, to let my guard down. This won’t happen. I only trust myself in this world.

  He sighs and moans. “I should have known this would be the punishment.”

  “Because you can read everyone? Because you’re a mentalist?”

  My voice is coated with sarcasm, yet he answers with detachment and calm. Which is even more unnerving. “Because Emily’s a weasel and a gossip. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He boasts.

  The alcohol shackles me to the room. The silence, the muffled sounds from the exterior, the soft light, they all help me resorb to a normal state. Even with him. Even with his scent filling the closet at incredible speed. Do I smell as strongly? Is he struggling too? “She even found my secret for this stupid game.”

  “That you don’t really know what synergology is about?”

  He laughs. “It wasn’t in the proposition, you liar. No. That I went to a libertine house.”

  I freeze. And instantly look toward him. That’s his? When? How? Why?

  “Really?” I restrain myself on the questions.

  “Yes. Just once. I was younger. Experimenting.” Sounds a lot like my own reasons back then. “You look distraught.” He adds and I find his eyes again.

  “Don’t start.”

  “What?”

  “Analyzing.”

  “I’m not,” he laughs, lifting his hand in the air, as if to prove himself telling the truth. “I’m just looking at you.”

  And that would be too much already.

  His eyes are piercing, warm, welcoming in a way I haven’t asked them to be. I don’t want them to make me feel calm and secure because why would they? He’s no one. He’s a guy I’ve met a few weeks ago. What is it that feels so damn familiar about him?

  “Have you talked to Isabella lately?”

  Why would he ask that? I can’t shake the idea that he’s actively playing a part in my demise. And the fact that he’s bringing the subject on the table is even more suspicious. But again, would he be this straightforward if he had something to hide? What kind of idiot would conspire against someone in the shadows and be speaking so—

  “Your face is very entertaining.” He interrupts my relentless rambling with an amused tone. Because of the whisky, I can’t control my expression at the moment. And he only needs a millisecond to decipher my feelings. I could turn my back on him. At least, he wouldn’t see my face. My hands wipe the sweat out of my forehead. “You don’t even need to talk, it’s so obvious watching you.”

  “That’s why I’ve asked you to stop analyzing.” His scent keeps burning my nostrils and my body temperature is dangerously increasing. It’s been how many minutes now? Aren’t we done?

  “Did she tell you anything new?”

  “No. Of course not. Why would there be anything new in my situation?” I spit because I’m angry whenever the subject is brought. Mad at myself for letting this wound gangrene to the point of no-return. Mad at the rest of the team for not supporting me, only Isabella and I against the world. But how could I even ask for support when I’ve been acting like a ghost for the past four years?

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  My fingers cover my eyes and mouth now but it also prevents me from seeing Andrew’s reaction. “Do you know something I should be warned about?”

  It takes a few seconds for him to answer. He shuffles against me, his feet grazing my thigh. “I’m not sure how much you already know.”

  I have to see him. Why would he say something like that? He’s very close, I realize, and the room is even more cramped than when we entered and that’s just impossible? I can’t breathe nor think. My heartbeat rises, I’m sweating more and my breathing becomes erratic. “What does that mean?”

  “You know what, I shouldn’t be the one telling you. If Isabella didn’t come forward on this then—”

  “Andrew.”

  It’s a growl. That escaped my throat. I didn’t want to sound whiny and pleading but instead I’ve changed into an animal. He’s not alarmed, nor scared, but rather… worried? “Alexej, you don’t look good.”

  He’s leaning forward, pushing away some clothes, the sound of the hangers banging against each other deafening to my ears. With the back of his hand, he touches my forehead and the contact alone makes me shiver. I feel wrong. His smell, his eyes, his mouth, his expression, his posture, everything is suddenly too much and I need him far away. I need out. “You’re way too hot, are you alright?”

  “I’m going to—”

  The door gets opened and I get up at the same time, rushing to the toilets. They are right beside the entrance and right in front of everyone but I couldn’t care less. I don’t even close the door and hurl my guts, the fresh air of the outside already calming my senses. I take one breath, two, three more. My arms locked against the ceramic and my knees onto the floor barely support me. I’m a disheveled mess because I hate vomiting. I usually never drink to the point where I feel sick, and honestly, I blame the suffocating closet and Andrew’s more suffocating presence.

  “Alex.” He says, my name floating flawlessly out of his mouth like we’ve been friends for a decade. He kneels next to me, pushing the strands of sticky hair out of my eyes. His fingers are soft, protective. He reaches under my chin and I understand a second too late that he’s unbuttoning my Henley. Only, my strength has flown so high in the sky, I might have no chance of recovering it.

  “What happened?” Emily’s voice rises up behind us and this is just my personal nightmare. I had to finish with my head buried in the toilet for my first ever party with my colleagues that I avoided since the beginning. Great. Now they won’t be inviting me any time soon, that’s for sure. Exactly what I wanted. Right?

  “You’re that bad at kissing?” Sarah jokes but nobody really follows. And I swear to myself that this is my last public apparition.

  “He drank too much.” Andrew explains with a tone that leaves no room for discussion. “Do you want water?” he continues like there’s no one else and stands up before I even get the chance to respond. I don’t want to move. I can’t. I’m crippled by shame and embarrassment. Let me just disappear into the toilet.

  When he comes back and stretches the cold glass into my hands, I whisper to him. “I’ll go home.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I almost choke on my water. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not taking the wheel.”

  This again. That supposed altruism. With the last sip of the water, I rinse my mouth and flush the toilet. The mirror next to the sink shows a pitiful picture. I’m looking terrible but I don’t feel like it. Now that my stomach is empty and that I’m out of this damn closet, I’m totally capable of driving to my apartment. And that’s exactly what I’ll do. “You won’t stop me.”

  The others let me pass through with leering eyes and whispers. I grab my stuff and search for my car keys inside but they aren’t there. I only put them in a specific pocket. Always. Andrew comes out of the toilet as well and watches me with a ‘told you so’ look.

  Caroline, beside him, slides the keys into his hand and offers me a sad smile. She’s not happy to be a part of his scheme but she thinks that’s what is best for me. Because she’s so convinced his intentions are all clear. Despite what I’ve explained to her. What I’ve shown her.

  I’m tired. And stressed. And they are starting to make me mad.

  As if they could immediately tell, they both approach so the others can’t hear. Caroline drops her hand on my shoulder. “Just follow Andrew. He lives not too far away. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  Should I be with him though? I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that question. But tonight, I can’t fight. I’m drenched. I need to sleep. My head is definitely spinning. And my body already craves another full glass of cold water. “Fuck,” I sigh and Caroline taps on my shoulder, “okay, whatever.”

  They both look at each other and I reach for the exit without a glance to the others. Russel comes before I can cross the door and I catch a glimpse of Andrew speaking to Emily. I guess he’s explaining why we are both leaving. “Take care.”

  “Thanks. Careful on the whisky.” I respond and he huffs. Andrew joins us a few seconds later. He waves goodbye and I follow with my head facing the floor.

  We start walking toward the double front doors in silence. Before Andrew checks on me over his shoulder and I welcome him with a death stare. He still smiles. “Can you walk or should I lift you?”

  “You couldn’t. And don’t touch me.”

  “What a feisty creature you are.” He’s received with a grunt. Which amuses him. “Like a feisty cat. Should I call you kitty?”

  “You’re taking advantage of the situation. Be careful. I have a very good memory.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Keep calling me kitty and you’ll find out.”

  His laugh resonates inside my head and ribcage. It’s a heartful laugh. Sincere. This moment is truly comical for him. He likes seeing me vulnerable and defenseless. “It is funny observing you without all that armor you cover yourself with.” He adds like he’s in my head.

  “Just drive me home, Andrew.” He continues along the pavement, his hands buried inside his pockets. I would have appreciated my coat. The sun has disappeared and the evenings are cold.

  “I can’t drive.”

  What?

  “I can’t drive,” he repeats. Did I speak out loud? “I’m not comfortable learning. Probably because my father died behind the wheel when I was sixteen, after a drunk driver lost control of his truck.”

  I almost stop walking. That’s why he doesn’t drink. And doesn’t like for others to drink too much. He’s afraid I would harm myself or others. I know the dangers of abusive drinking and I avoid being that kind of person, but tonight has been a lot emotionally and I refuged myself within the range of what I’m comfortable with, which is a nice glass of whisky.

  Andrew is not my friend and this means nothing but I know what it is to lose someone close. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His sad smile finds the corners of his eyes. Warm chocolate eyes against earthy tints. He turns around and buttons my shirt to the top.

  “Thank you. Now, be a good kitty and let me take care of you.”