One Last Attempt

010

"How did you know?" Baker asks.

I nearly choke on my water. I put it down against the table and swallow, thankfully not spewing liquid all over our notes. From what little I paid attention to last time, I can help Baker study for his exam. It was going well, and we were on task, until now.

"Know what?" I feign innocence, even though I'm not very good at it. I can feel my ears burning a bright pink, and I can't make eye contact with Baker, no matter how much I want to look at him. His gaze is on me, I can feel it. It's soft, but it still feels like it stabs me through and slashes me into a million pieces.

"You know," he shrugs. I catch it out of the corner of my eye. "Ava. How'd you know about her?"

I copy his movements. A shrug. I find myself mirroring him a lot. Especially when I don't know what to say (which is all the time). "She wasn't particularly good at hiding that she had a problem. I just didn't know what it was."

Hopefully, I have now altered the course of history. Whatever was supposed to happen to Ava, whatever happened last time, it probably won't happen now. I hope. If it does, does that make me complicit? Am I responsible for her actions?

If Baker dies again, has it become my fault? I've tried to save him and failed twice now, once while actively working to keep him alive.

When I look at him, I don't see the body. I see Mari crying. I see the beauty in him that he doesn't even realize is there. How could someone as kind as him break Mari by taking his own life in front of her?

I assume she was down on the ground, but she could have been in the apartment. For everyone's sake, I hope that she hadn't reached him yet. I mean, I doubt he would've let her inside, just to jump off the balcony. It doesn't seem like him.

Then again, none of this seems like him.

The oven beeps, and I get up to go take out the frozen casserole my Mum made me. Us. Baker and me. She made me many more after he was out of my life, but I could never eat them. Might as well now.

"Are you hungry?" I ask him.

He shakes his head.

Now I know this is where I'm supposed to argue and push back. He should be hungry. He hasn't eaten today; I know because I've been watching him. He's easy to observe, after all. Unlike last time, and the time before that, he hasn't spent all day in bed. Now, he roams the halls, already a ghost even before his death. He's haunting me.

The memory of two days ago, of a week from now, boils my blood.

"You seem agitated today," Baker points out.

"That's a million-dollar word," I try to distract him. He's never much reacted to compliments, but maybe I can get him on a different train of thought.

"I'm a poet and I know it," he sighs, shrugging his shoulders. He throws down his pencil, refusing to look at the word in front of him. "But seriously Freddie, what's on your mind?"

Damn it. "I'm just sorry I ruined things between you and Jessie," I admit, hoping that is enough to get him to move on and continue studying. He doesn't need a break. Last time, a break killed him.

"You didn't ruin things. Jessie did," Baker gets up from the table.

He moves over to the oven next to me, grabs a mitt and pulls the casserole out of the oven. The smell wafts through the flat, and I feel both lost and at home all at once.