· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

    People either believe in psychics or they don't; someone who can either talk to the dead or predict the future is something controversial. I don't know what I believe – all I know for sure is that dead is dead. There's no coming back from that, no do-overs, no reincarnation – though that would be a nice thing – and no communication beyond.

I've always wondered why people are so infatuated with psychics, but then, if someone claims to know the future, why wouldn't you be? Surely you'd be excited to know whether you win the lottery, become successful, rich and famous or find the love of your life. But on the flip side, you could also be nervous. Would you lose all your money, your home, will your relationship go down the drain? The whole point of a psychic is that they're selling an idea of someone wanting to know the scientifically impossible, right?

The anticipation is the thing you're paying for, the looking forward to whatever is going to happen – or not if they're wrong. Anticipation is a classic feeling humans just buy into for anything. Christmas is one day, but it starts earlier each year. The decorations go up, music plays for a month beforehand because of the anticipation it's going to be a lovely day. Companies must make millions on that kind of feeling.

I hate anticipating something. Personally, I'd like to just coast along and take each day as it comes. Well, that's what my life has been like between moving to London and meeting Courtney. I thrived in the day-to-day normality my mind wanted. Then Courtney changed me; I didn't mind the excitement of Christmas, birthdays, and holidays.

Right now, though, as Cameron and I sit and plate up our takeout that was delivered to our lodge – he's got a chicken tikka masala with rice and naan bread, while I have the korma with naan bread and rice – and a beer for him, a glass of white wine for me, I hate this feeling. A pit in my stomach is forming, swirling, and expanding like a spider's web. My throat is almost closing up as I mix the sauce with rice. 

The food smells aromatic, nutty and so gorgeous I just want to gorge on it all, but the thought of what's coming is making me feel sick to my stomach, almost. This isn't normal, but I know it's because all my secrets and demons will be laid out in front of me like a map to my darkest depths and haunts, and I usually keep it locked away in a chest.

He sips his beer after his mouthful of food. "This is amazing, oh my God."

I follow suit and take a mouthful, and it almost immediately drowns out the nerves with the creamy, smooth sauce. The coconut in it is just right, and the nuttiness is insanely good. It's genuinely one of the best curries I've ever had.

"That is good fucking curry," I admit.

He takes another mouthful before sighing and sitting back. "I guess this is a sort of situationship, isn't it? We had that night and then never really dissected what it was or what it meant, but I assume it died out the moment you fled, so to me, whatever we had was over." He tears a piece of bread and dips it into his food. "And now we're kinda just dancing around the subject, unsure of what this is or what we are. So... what are we, Kenna? Friends? Acquaintances? Something more? What do you want? You just got out of this long-term thing, too."

"Okay, that's a lot at once."

"Sorry, I just... get it out, I suppose."

I eat some of my food. "When we were younger, you were... I don't know, just Cameron. My brother's best friend. I had Elliott, so I never looked at anyone else in that way, and then I guess we bonded after he died. It was different, you know? During that time, I was grieving, but in that moment, when you saved me, in the hospital cubicle, it sort of hit me."

He cocks his head. "What did?"

"You were telling me how you didn't want to lose me, just before the nurse came in. It hit me that deep down, we'd created a sort of... deep bond. Was it more than friends? I don't know, but had I not been so selfish, maybe it could've been. I don't know. The grief was fresh for everyone. There was no way I was thinking straight. Maybe it was a trauma bond, you know?"

He finishes his mouthful. "A trauma bond? You think after all that time of knowing each other, it was just a trauma bond?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," I defend. "What I mean is... we got closer because of the traumas we experienced. It led to an emotional outburst – us sleeping together – and then I just fled. Was I stupid to have fled? Yeah, but I did because I was embarrassed and ashamed. Later on, I realised I had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. By then, it was too little too late, you know?"

We take a break to digest that knowledge and eat more of our food.

"So you're saying you don't regret what we did after all this time?" Cameron asks.

I shrug. "No, I don't. It is what it is. Emotions are... fickle things. I regret the timing. I regret not talking to you about it afterwards. What I don't regret is fleeing; I just wish I'd left after clearing the air with you first. Deep down, I think I knew what would have happened if I had, so I didn't."

"What would've happened?"

I take a mouthful of food instead of saying anything. We both know the truth here. I don't need to say it. He just wants me to air it so it's out there.

He meets my gaze when I swallow the mouthful of curry. "Kenna, what would've happened?"

A flush of warm embarrassment washes over my cheeks and chest. I hate this. I fucking hate this. "Well, I don't know, but the one thing that crossed my mind was that somewhere, somehow, we'd created something between us and if we'd discussed what happened that night, I would've stayed. For you. Us."

He puts his cutlery down. "You think there would've been an us?"

I shrug. "Maybe. The thing is, though, grief has tainted it on both our parts. Would we have lasted? Was there an element of trauma bonding? If so, whatever we would've made wouldn't have lasted, Cameron. We needed space and time. I needed space and time. Away from you because I was tempted, away from the places Elliott was, away from prying eyes and people wanting to know the secrets."

He finishes his meal and nods. "The years you were gone made me realise that, yeah, I felt like I needed to know the reason Elliott did what he did, but eventually, I got it. It's no one's story but his to tell. If he told you, that's his lookout. In a way, I'm just pissed that I don't know because his suicide doesn't just affect him, or his family, or you. It affects everyone else around him. Your parents, Luke, me, Lily, everyone who ever knew him, also hurt because of it."

I finish my food and nod. Of course, I know that now, but back then? I just thought it was me and the closer circle to Elliott. Selfishly, I didn't care about Cameron, Luke, or Lily because Elliott was my best friend and my boyfriend. He wasn't theirs, and they didn't know the truth, so I didn't care. It was my secret after he died to keep or tell, and respecting his wishes was something I chose to do.

When someone dies, they don't care about life on earth anymore. Secrets, money, work, none of it is theirs anymore. So, who gets to decide what happens to their lies and secrets once they're not there to keep them anymore? Is it the same as assets where an executor gets to choose or fulfil the dead person's wishes? Surely that fell to me being the only person who knew, and who had a letter from Elliott saying what he wanted?

"Me keeping his secret was, in my head, about Elliott. He left me a letter, well, a few. One which everyone knows about with the business plan. The second one was a personal one about how much he loved me. The third one... that went into everything. In that letter, he asked me specifically not to tell anyone. He didn't want people to think less of him, and I get it. He didn't tell me the truth until a little while after, and when he told me – when he was alive – it was because he didn't want me to judge him. Of course, he knew I wouldn't, but in his head, everyone judged him."

I sip my wine. It's a nice bottle, a sweet white wine, but the way I'm talking about this is making it like ash in my mouth.

"This is going to sound harsh, but he's dead, Kenna. Do you not think his parents—"

I shake my head. "No. It's genuinely better they don't know. Not now. They never knew, and Elliott wanted it that way. He and I tried to... we tried to make it right, but as always, the police do nothing."

Cameron pushes his plate back and sips the last of his beer. "So whatever happened was a crime?"

I nod. It's getting to that time, I guess.

"You know what, in the spirit of being honest... those days between Elliott dying and that day, I felt bonded to you. Maybe you're right and it was a trauma bond. Some days, I felt like I was grieving so hard. I wasn't even that close to Elliott, but he was a friend—"

"Just because you weren't best friends doesn't mean you can't grieve for someone. It doesn't work that way. Your feelings are valid," I mention. "I know you were grieving as well. That's why I felt comfortable in your presence. You weren't constantly hounding me for information or throwing pity my way. You asked me three times before I left about the reason, but you didn't continuously ask; I found comfort in grieving around you. We were both just there, grieving together. Everyone else always wanted something and forgot about that. Yes, he had parents and family, but I was there. I was his girlfriend. We were planning a life together, even if he clearly didn't want that. I was the forgotten one despite being his best friend and girlfriend, but you didn't forget me."

His glassy eyes find mine across the table. Watching Cameron cry used to be the norm for me as we were grieving, and that night just before we slept with each other. We were yelling at each other, arguing and crying in our sadness.

"I'd never forget you, Kenna. Holy fuck, I would never forget you in a million years."

There's a reason he's saying this, and part of me wants to shut him up. The other part of me wants us to forget the dark turn this evening is about to take, so he can say it and we can take this the way it should've been all along.

"Everyone gets multiple people in their lives, you know," he mentions. "Like soulmates, but I don't quite believe in that."

I arch an eyebrow. "You don't believe in soulmates?"

"No, but I think there are people in life you sort of have chemistry with more than anyone else. I guess I don't believe in the paranormal side of soulmates, but I believe in chemistry. A man of science, I guess."

"Fair. I don't know what I believe in. Life hasn't been kind in that regard." I smirk it off and top up my wine glass.

Cameron gets up and grabs himself another beer. "Six months after you left, I had a girlfriend. Kerry, her name was. She worked in the pharmacy I used to frequent, so she likely knew what medications I was on, but I didn't care. Found out she liked lemon sponges, so I whipped up some cupcakes for her – took them in, and asked her out. We got together. It was a whirlwind romance. Had fun, fell hard, but it didn't feel right. Something kept pulling me back, and I wasn't sure what."

I sip my wine as a little hot lump forms in my throat and chest. He had Clara when I was sixteen and he was twenty-one, and I remember feeling this weird, hot lump then too, even though I was with Elliott. I just pushed it down; at the time, I assumed it was just annoyance at another girl being in our little group, but apparently not. Is this fucking jealousy? I'm not a week from finding out my girlfriend and sister fucked. What the hell is wrong with me?

Yet here I am, staring at him through annoyed eyes that burn green with envy, so much so I have to sip hard to wash it down. Doesn't work, though, even though I know he's single now.

"What happened?" I ask tactfully.

"We were together for two months. I ended it because she was falling hard, talking about moving in and weddings and whatever. For me, I think it was a rebound."

I cock my head. "Rebound?"

"Kenna..." He sighs as his voice trails off. He runs a hand through his dark hair. "Been trying to hint at it, but I guess... I'll just be honest. I love you. Fuck, call it a trauma bond or a situationship if you want to, but I had this major fucking crush on you since you were eighteen. You were with Elliott. Luke's my fucking best friend. Then he died, and it was... awful. But those days after he died, and we bonded, I realised it wasn't a crush anymore."

Holy shit.

"Then I saved you and we were in the hospital and I couldn't bear it if you'd died, and I was going to tell you because I couldn't take it. Then your parents arrived and I didn't get to admit it. I guess I assumed the way we slept together would've admitted it, but then you left. I assumed you knew."

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·