Page 55 of Craving the Edge

“Don’t bother,” I said, looking away from him, back towards the rainy street.

“Why not? Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because everyone leaves,” I drawled. “It’s what people do. Even the ones who love you the most. They leave when something better comes along.”

The waitress returned, her expression just as blank as before. She slid a plate stacked with pancakes in front of me and another loaded with eggs and bacon before Declan, then left. Customer service was low on the list of priorities at this place.

“I don’t believe it,” Declan said.

I looked down at the pancakes, then back at Declan. He just watched me, his own food untouched.

“Before you showed up at the fire, I tried to call my sister,” I told him. “It went straight to her shitty voicemail. She won’t call back. She never does. My dad walked out when I was eight. He just packed a bag and never came back. After that, my mum just checked out. Being drunk became more interesting than her daughters. She eventually moved to Bali and became some vegan, hippie, yoga instructor, and forgot we existed.”

Declan’s gaze never left my face.

“So it was just me and Carla, my older sister. She was everything. She cooked, she cleaned, she got me to school. She was the one who held it all together. She always had this plan and we talked about it all the time. She was going to move to London, get a good job, and then as soon as she had enough money, I’d follow her. We were going to get a flat together and start a proper life, a new one, away from all the shit of our past.”

I picked at the edge of the pancake with my fork. “For the first year, she was great. She called every week. We’d talk for hours. She’d tell me about her marketing job, the Tube, the rain. She swore she was saving everything she could. Then the calls became fortnightly. Then just texts. The promise of sorting my visa just evaporated. It was always next month, then the month after.”

I let the fork clatter onto the plate. My appetite had vanished completely.

“The last proper conversation we had was about a year ago. It was my birthday. She sent a text. Occasionally I’d leave a voicemail. None of them were answered.” I shrugged. “Everyone who ever mattered to me left. My dad didn’t want me. My mum turned into a neglectful drunk then left me for a Bali health retreat. And Carla…she left me for a whole other life on the other side of the world. Like she tried to get far as away from me as she could.”

The silence in the diner felt enormous, so I babbled to fill it.

“Her not calling back…it just confirmed what I already knew. I’m completely on my own and I can’t trust anyone not to do the same thing.” I looked down at my hands. “So I protect myself. I make myself easy to walk away from, because I know that’s what happens. It always does. Kill it before it even gets started.”

I finally risked a look at him, but he was unreadable.

“I know how stupid it sounds,” I went on. “But I can’t seem to switch it off. It’s an instinct, to keep everyone out.”

I’d laid the whole, twisted truth on the table between us. Now I just had to wait for him to stand up and prove me right.

Declan was silent for a long moment, his gaze steady on mine from across the table. The clatter and hum of the diner’s kitchen filled the quiet between us. He didn’t offer a solution, there was no grand speech, or a hollow promise to fix the unfixable.

“That’s a lot for one person to carry,” he murmured.

The knot in my chest loosened just a fraction.I hadn’t realised just how much I needed someone to actually listen to me for a change.

“You should eat something,” he added, nudging the plate of pancakes with his knuckle. “It’ll help with the shock and warm you up.”

I picked up my fork again. The pancakes were thick and fluffy, drowned in golden syrup. I cut a small piece from the edge and pushed it around the plate while Declan worked his way through the bacon and eggs.

Outside, the first weak light of a Melbourne winter morning broke through the gloom. Rain slicked the asphalt of Sydney Road. Another tram rumbled past. Traffic was already building, red tail lights blurring in the rain.

Soon, I’d have to step back out into the rain. Unemployed. Homeless, in a way. My relationship with Declan hanging by a thread. My sister, the ghost I finally had to let go of.

The future wasn’t just uncertain…it was empty. Completely, and utterly, empty.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Declan said.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide.

“You have Billie. Probably Tomas, too.” He stilled. “And you have me…”

I wanted to believe him, but there was still a barrier around me, one I wasn’t sure how to dismantle.

“You have me, Char.” Declan took a deep breath. “If you’ll give me the chance to show you.”