Tuesday & Max

32

TELL ME THAT YOU'LL OPEN YOUR EYES

Tuesday creeps out of bed the following morning to find Julia waiting with a plateful of lukewarm toast and a cup of tea. She slinks to the table and sits down, eyes on the melted pools of butter. Richard must've left. Jack has gone. Her stomach churns.

"Well," Julia says. She doesn't look angry, but her eyebrows are up, forehead wrinkled.

"Yeah, I know," Tuesday sighs.

"Do you?"

Tuesday nibbles on one of the pieces of toast and reluctantly meets Julia's eye.

"I don't want to be that person, but you—you can't keep going out and drinking, going to clubs. You just can't. This isn't even coming from me. It's breaking the law, Tuesday. And it's dangerous. Do you even know what you drank last night?"

Tuesday hiccups. It tastes like acid and burns her throat. "A lot."

Julia laughs humourlessly. "From the state of the kitchen sink, I guessed."

"Was I sick?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I'll clean it."

Breath escapes Julia in a big whoosh. "I already did it. That's not the point."

"I know."

Tuesday expected to feel ashamed, but she doesn't really feel anything. All she knows is that she made a huge show of herself, embarrassed herself, and disappointed... pretty much everyone. Julia's upset, Jack's flatmates must hate her, and poor Jack himself...

Plus, Max never replied. Not that she would've been in a good state to discuss what he'd told her anyway.

"Please don't do this again," Julia implores. "Please. I'm not going to throw around big threats, or take your phone away, or try and tell you where you can and can't go. Frankly, I don't think that's helpful. But I'm asking you. Please do not do this again. Once you're eighteen, once you're at uni, you can socialise and drink whenever you want. I hope, by then, you'll do it more responsibly than you've been doing it now. But for now, this has to stop."

"Okay," Tuesday whispers.

"Jack's had a talking-to as well," Julia adds. "I can't believe he let you get that bad without intervening. And to give you someone else's ID? Totally irresponsible as well."

"We weren't together all night," Tuesday tried to explain. "I upset him."

"I know you did." Julia's face is grave. "You really did. He had a bit of a cry while he was here."

Tuesday's heart wrenches in her chest. "What?"

"He's a good boy, Tuesday. Don't screw it up. Don't throw it away for nothing."

"I'm trying not to."

"And if you don't want to be with him?" Julia's eyes are fierce on hers. "Just tell him so. Just tell him."

She says it like it's easy. Like it's a simple task to sit down with him and tell him it's over. To let him know that all the nights he'd held her as she cried over her mother's cancer, all the visits to hospital, all the flowers and chocolates and teddies, all the Netflix shows, all the kisses and tongues and gentle explorative touches, all the laughter and the stupid fights, hadn't been enough. Or maybe it had. Maybe it had been so much that it had overflowed, choking her, drowning her, trapping her here forever.