Julian's eyes snapped open. He was shocked, as if waking from the memory, or from a nightmare. He looked up at the ceiling fan, groaning, and pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed. He rubbed his face, his gaze falling on the clock above. Morning.
He opened his mobile and typed a text message. His fingers fumbled, but he managed: "I'M SORRY."
He sent it, then threw his phone aside on the rumpled sheets. His eyes landed on a photo frame on the left side of his bed. He picked it up. It was from his graduation day. A younger Julian stood beaming in his graduation uniform; beside him, Alina was in casual clothing, her arm thrown over his shoulder, smiling just as proudly. He rubbed the dust off the glass with his thumb and, despite everything, he smiled.
---
The coffee shop was mostly empty, the air thick with the smell of dark roast. Julian sat in a chair, tapping his nails on the table. Alina sat opposite him, one leg wrapped tightly around the other, her arms crossed. Her silence was a weapon.
Julian, still avoiding her gaze, kept tapping.
Alina sighed. "Stop it," she said, her voice sharp.
Julian looked up at her, startled. He stopped tapping and held his hands defensively. "What?"
Alina didn't blink. "Get to the point."
"What point?"
Alina just stared, waiting.
"I already sent you a text," Julian said, his voice weak.
She didn't react.
Julian sighed, deflating. "Alright." He put his hands up, palms out. "I'm sorry."
Alina leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "For?"
A pause. Julian dropped his gaze. "For being an irrational asshole."
A small, satisfied smirk touched Alina's lips. "Good."
Julian leaned back, his lips tight. "Psycho," he muttered.
Alina, still smirking, pulled out her phone. She mouthed "Do better" at him as she lifted it to her ear. Julian folded his arms, settling in, completely uninterested.
Alina's expression suddenly changed. "What?" she said into the phone, her voice shocked.
Julian looked up, intrigued.
Alina's face was unreadable as she wiped her free hand down her face. "It can't be!" She glanced at Julian, then down, and then back at Julian, a new, dawning horror in her eyes.
Julian leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. "Any problem?" he asked slowly.
Alina didn't react, just sighed into the phone. "Alright."
She put the phone down on the table and looked up. Her expression was hard, but her eyes were guilty. "Peterson's assistant is dead."
Julian's eyes widened.
"And," Alina said, her voice dropping, "you are the prime suspect."
Julian's pupils darted around the room, as if trying to find an escape route. His mind was racing, unable to process. "What? No. There must be a mistake."
Alina didn't blink. "I want to believe that too."
"But how?"
"Fingerprints."
Julian looked down at his own hands on the table. A cold, heavy silence settled between them.
Alina leaned forward again. "Julian, we have to go."
Julian laughed. It was a bitter, ugly sound that startled her. "It's Damon."
This time, Alina didn't roll her eyes. She didn't respond at all. She just watched him, her expression a mix of focus and deep concern.
Julian leaned forward, his laugh growing louder, wilder. "Can you imagine? It's Damon!"
His laughter was drawing glances from the barista and the other customers.
"Julian, people are watching," Alina said, standing up, grabbing his hand.
Julian stood up with her, still laughing, his eyes bright with a terrifying, manic clarity. He spread his hands wide, as if addressing the entire coffee shop.
"It's Damon, ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted.
Alina looked around, mortified, as everyone stared. Julian grabbed her hand, and just as suddenly as it had started, his laughter stopped. His expression turned dead serious, his eyes locking on hers.
"Arrest me," he said, his voice low and urgent.