Now We're Even (#Wattys2017)

v) break

Ali stared at the hard wood of the door, a wave of confusion running through his head. He reached out, almost knocked, but his hand froze midair.

Different emotions were competing in his mind, a shout, a scream.

James is still alive.

He's here.

Nobody hurt him.

Ali felt a smile start to slip onto his face, even though his cheeks felt numb. He shuffled slightly to the left and sat down, leaning against the wall. A million ideas were trying to take over.

He's alive.

Why did he slam the door?

He's alive. 

Why wouldn't he let me in?

Has his hair always been that red?

He's alive, oh god, he's alive.

Waves of confusion, sadness and joy flooded through Ali, drowning out the surrounding noises. He didn't hear the door's lock click one, two, three times as James made sure he couldn't get in. 

He didn't hear the footsteps beating against the apartment's wooden floor as James frantically packed his things and prepared to run.

James had an advantage- his apartment was only on the first floor. The jump wouldn't kill him, and likely wouldn't injure him if he didn't try to land on his feet. He pulled his backpack over his shoulder, wincing as it rubbed up against his back. He made his way to the window, yanked it open, and pulled out the fly screen.

He had one disadvantage- he was afraid of heights.

He stared down at the drop, looking down at the grass in somebody's back garden. It's only a three-metre drop, he thought. Nothing major. You've gotta get out. His heart was screaming in his chest, a rushing feeling in his ears. His hands were numb and shaking with fear.

You've gotta get out.

Before he gets in.

With a soft whimper, James rested his hand against the window frame. He pushed himself forward, pulling himself to his feet. He was now standing entirely outside, holding onto the frame for dear life. Come on, he thought, his teeth gritted. Just drop down.

"James!" he heard, and turned towards the noise. 

His hand slipped off. He scrabbled desperately at the window, open above him, but the smooth glass offered no traction. He tried to fall backwards, tried to throw himself backwards, but his balance was already far too weak.

He fell.

He heard a scream, and wasn't sure if it was someone else's or his own. All he could see was the ground hurtling towards him. He had entirely missed the grass, having twisted around to see who had called him. He was heading straight towards a red brick path. 

Fuck. This is how I'm gonna die.

No.

That's what he wants. 

And James hit the ground.

The immediate impact stung and shocked on arrival, sending flickers of pain up through his body. For a moment, the air was knocked out of him, and he forgot how to breathe. He coughed and gasped; shaking, convulsing. A cloud of dust had risen and settled around him. His arms felt like hell, and so did his chest.

Weak and shaking, he forced himself to sit up, almost crying out at the pain shooting through his wrists. They had taken most of the force of the fall; he gently bent both of them back, and was relieved to see he could still move them. 

"Fuck!" he heard, and swivelled his head to see Larissa, her eyes wide. "James, what the Christ? Are you alright?" She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, helping him to his feet. "What the fuck?"

"I'm fine," James muttered, brushing the dust off his pants. "I'm all good."

"What the hell are you doing?" Larissa spluttered. "You could have been killed!"

"Statistically, that was unlikely," James replied, his heart finally starting to beat at a normal speed again.

"I don't give a shit about statistics," Larissa replied, shock still splashed over her face. "The hell were you doing?"

James swallowed, blinked, tried to think of an answer. When no excuse came to mind, he simply shrugged. Larissa glared at him. "Jesus, James, are you alright? You wanna go to a doctor?"

"I'm fine," James spat, a wave of anger suddenly rising up within him. "I need to go." He turned away from her, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Go? Where the hell are you going?" Larissa tried to grab his arm, but he shrugged her off. "James? What the fuck?"

"I'm going, Lara. I have to go."

Larissa flinched, and James took advantage of her silence. He started walking, and let himself out through the backyard's gate.He hoped that the apartment's owner wouldn't call anyone- although having someone crash into your path would probably be somewhat concerning. 

His solitude didn't last for long. He heard footsteps race up behind him, and tensed for the inevitable. Larissa was stronger than him, and could probably carry him back home without much difficulty. He tried to keep his gaze forward, his head level, even though it felt like his heart was bursting through his chest.

The hand that yanked at his bag wasn't Larissa's. James spun around, prepared to yell at her, but his words stuck in his throat.

Ali was standing in front of him, a scene out of a nightmare. The whole world had a dreamlike quality to it, shaken, broken. James tried to choke out a scream, but he couldn't breathe. 

Ali stared back at him, looking somewhat upset. James couldn't find the words to tell him to leave, to say hello, to do anything. He took a step backwards, his feet falling without him realising it. 

"Wait," Ali said, and James froze. 

He hated himself for obeying. After all the time that had passed, he still bent to Ali's every will. He still wanted to hear that voice, even if it was just a single word.

"I bought you some flowers," Ali told him, as if this was perfectly normal, just another day. James wanted to scream. This isn't normal! Stop acting like it is! You tried to kill me! But he was still frozen in fear, simply watching as Ali dug around in his backpack and found some slightly wilted sunflowers, held them out to him.

"Uh, thank you," James managed to mutter, his words strangled and unnatural. His heart was pounding, his entire body tense. He managed to reach out, take the flowers ever so slowly. He winced as their hands brushed.

Those were the hands that held mine.

Those were the hands that knew every part of me.

Those were the hands that would hurt anyone for me.

Those were the hands that hurt me.

Those were the hands that tried to kill me.

"So," Ali said. "You're alive."

"I guess so," James replied, trying to seem calm. "I was the last time I checked, at least." No thanks to you. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I found your old address on my phone. I didn't know... I wasn't sure if you were still alive, but I had to try. After I woke up covered in blood..."

James flinched. Now was the time. Ali would tell him he should have finished the job. Pin him to the ground. Force the knife through his stomach once more.

"I didn't really know what happened to you."

The words hit James like a shock. He recoiled, stepping backwards. He tried not to run, but his adrenaline won him over. He spun away. "I'm sorry."

And, with that, he was running, sprinting down the street. Tears were filling his eyes, tears of shock and fear and sadness. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember what happened to me. He doesn't know what happened.

What the fuck?