Page 27 of Break Me Apart
“Buy me a drink?” she asks. I look at her hand on my arm, and I feel nothing. I used to be able to lean into this and let the noise swallow me up. I could let her touch blur things into something easier. But all I can think about is Mason standing under fluorescent light pretending he’s fine, and about how fast people close ranks when something becomes inconvenient.
And I think about Ari.
“You don’t remember my name, do you?” she says suddenly, amused.
I wince slightly. “I’m trying very hard.”
She laughs again. “Sophie.”
“Of course it is.”
“Of course it is?” she repeats, mock offended.
“It suits you,” I say quickly, because it does, and because I’m not an arsehole.
She tilts her head. “So. Drink?”
“No, sorry.”
She pauses, then searches my face for the joke. She doesn’t find one, of course. “Oh,” she says softly.
“I’m not—” I stop, then try again. “It’s not you.” Christ. I sound like a bad film cliché.
She smiles gently, rescuing me from my own brain. “You’ve met someone.”
“Yeah.”
Sophie nods as if that makes sense. “Well,” she says, stepping back. “That’s inconvenient timing for me.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply. She squeezes my arm once, then disappears back into the crowd and I don’t watch her go. Instead, I stand there, realising I’ve just turned down the version of my life that was safe and meant I didn’t have to think.
The music presses in around me, and one of the lads shouts my name from across the room. I lift a hand in acknowledgement and then set my drink down half-finished. As I walk outside, the noise falls away behind me, and the thoughts line up instead of scattering. I can’t keep building a life inside something I don’t trust and pretend that’s neutral. I can’t ask Ari to believe in a future with me while I stay comfortably aligned with a structure that would quietly erase him if it became necessary.
On base, I don’t go back to the barracks; I pass them and keep walking. The admin building is dark when I reach it. It’s locked, as always, but I get inside easily anyway.
That part doesn’t require much effort.
The corridors are hauntingly quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that amplifies every sound you make, even when you’re careful. I move the way I always do in places like this. There’s no rush or hesitation; I know exactly what I’m looking for.
The file is where it should be. The phone number takes longer to copy than it normally would because I’m doing it by hand and I don’t want to make a mistake. I fold the paper once and tuck it in my pocket.
The phone box by the fence is cold; the metal bites into my palm when I pick up the receiver. I don’t waste time rehearsing; I assume the line is compromised and dial the number.
It rings once, twice, then I speak when it connects. “It’s Varrik. I need to retrieve something.Can you help?”
EIGHT
ARSENY
Niko tightens his grip on the steering wheel as we pull into the row of concrete housing units beside the barracks. One window on the second floor glows yellow against the grey evening.
We get out, and I grab Cassie’s last bag from the back without being asked. Cassie answers the door with Vladimir on her hip, hair pulled back, and dark circles still under her eyes. She looks smaller than she did last week. When she sees Niko, her shoulders sag in relief so sharp it hurts to witness.
“There you are,” she says. He crosses the distance in three strides and presses his forehead to hers, murmuring something so soft I don’t catch it. Vladimir squeaks between them, and Cassie smiles at me, tired but still genuine.
“Arseny,” she says. “You’re staying?”
“Just helping,” I answer, which is the truth. I help, I carry, I lift, I assemble furniture, I make tea that Cassie doesn’t drink, I bounce Vladimir until he quiets, and when he falls asleep against my chest, Cassie’s eyes fill. “Thank you,” she whispers, and I nod.
