Free Acid by Emma Pass Page B

Falls off the sofa and hurts himself? What if he gets worse?
    But there’s nothing I can do. I stuff the wallet in a drawer to look at later, and, after checking on Max one last time, find some clean clothes for myself. Then I splash water on my face, clean my teeth and leave.
    At lunch time, instead of eating, I catch a mag back home , running all the way to Anderson Court. Max is exactly as I left him, curled in a ball on the sofa. I have just enough time to tip a few drops of water into his mouth before I have to leave again. The only blessing is that both Mrs Holloway and her Partner come down with heavy colds that day. Apart from knocking on the door once in the evening to tell me Sammie’s home safely, and to ask if I could walk him for her – I tell her I’d love to, but I’m allergic to dogs – she stays in her flat.
    By the following evening, Max’s temperature has finally dropped, but he only stays awake long enough to drink half a cup of instant soup. I spend most of the night at the window, watching the street below for ACID vans, and the sky for rotos.
    When it starts to get light, I change into my pyjamas, crawl under the bedcovers and close my eyes. I’m sure I won’t sleep, but if I don’t at least try, I’m going to go crazy. When I open my eyes again it’s daylight, sunshine streaming in the window. I check the time on my komm and see I’ve been asleep for over four hours. I scramble out of bed, my thoughts still muddled with sleep, on the verge of panic until I remember it’s Sunday and I don’t have to be at work.
    Max
, I think. I rush into the living room.
    The sofa’s empty.
    Panic jolts through me. He became delirious and tried to escape. Or Mrs Holloway reported us, and ACID came while I was asleep and took him away. They could still be here, waiting . . .
    I look around the room, the blood pounding in my ears. It looks much tidier than before I went to bed. The blanket I covered Max with has been folded over the sofa back, the windows are open, letting in fresh air, and Max’s shoes are lined up neatly by the door.
    Then I hear a hissing sound coming from the bathroom. My pulse slows. Would ACID really be taking a shower and waiting for me to wake up?
    The sound of the water stops and the door opens. ‘Shit!’ Max yelps, stumbling back, making me jump too. He has a towel wrapped around his waist and grabs at it just before it slides off. As we stare at each other, I become uncomfortably aware that I’m still in my pyjamas – a pair of shorts and a skimpy vest with a low neck and very thin straps – and he’s, well, more or less naked, his wet hair plastered to his head and drops of water beaded on his too-prominent collarbone and ribs.
    ‘Sorry,’ he stammers, his face going pink. ‘I would’ve asked if it was all right to use the shower, but you were asleep, and—’
    ‘It’s fine,’ I say, clearing my throat and feeling my face warm up too. Now he’s clean and smells good, I realize for the first time how cute he is. His eyes, fringed by dark lashes, have flecks of gold in the irises, and there are a few freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.
    And
God
, he looks like Alex. He looks so much like Alex it takes my breath away. I cross my arms over my chest, fighting back guilt and embarrassment. ‘D’you feel better?’
    ‘Loads,’ he says, coughing. He looks around, and frowns. ‘Where am I?’
    ‘My flat,’ I say.
State the obvious, Jenna
.
    ‘Am I still in London?’
    ‘Yeah. Outer. Zone M. I’m Mia.’ My heart does a quick double-thud as the name rolls off my tongue. It still doesn’t feel as if it belongs to me, and every time I say it, I’m scared I’ll stumble over it, give myself away.
    His frown deepens. ‘How did I get here?’
    ‘You tell me,’ I say. ‘You were the one who tried to mug me.’
    He stares at me. ‘What?’
    Despite my nerves, I smile; I can’t help it. ‘With a butter knife,’ I add.
    ‘So what am I doing