After James // phan

confidential pt. 3

"Louise!" I gasped, finally getting the stupid lock to turn and shoving the door open.

When we had been assigned to Manchester, we were constantly reminded that there were "significantly lower funds that would be comfortable" available for our new living arrangements. I knew this, of course, but when they said "comfortable", I was thinking a large house, big garden out back. But no, when they said "comfortable", they meant two bedrooms, a working hot water heater, and locks that didn't have a mind of their own and an apparent grudge, three things I didn't count as luxuries until I got a taste of this flat. Not that I wasn't thankful for it; free housing was highly appreciated, especially when the stress of the situation we were in was already stress enough.

"Louise!" I called again, pulling my shoes off and tossing my groceries on the small kitchen counter. Louise came out from the bedroom, pulling a brush through her hair, work clothes still adorned. She must have just gotten back from her interview.

"It's Darcy," she hissed, pulling her blonde mop up into a ponytail. She seemed exhausted, and who could blame her? Heaping at least two interviews a day on top of the already mind-numbingly exhausting situation I had put both of us in; I was surprised she could even keep her eyes open. I could barely cope with doing the unpacking– not that there was really much to unpack. We had been instructed to get rid of almost everything, not to just keep us safe but also to make the nearly 225 mile move easier on the both of us.

I gave my flatmate a confused look. "Sorry, I thought we were using middle names." Louise shrugged off her jacket and pulled it on a hanger, moving back into the bedroom, obviously not sensing my urgency.

"Well, I like 'Darcy', and the man said I could chose whatever name I wanted," she called, and I followed her in.

"Fine, whatever. Darcy, I think we need to move." Louise paused, and then rounded on me.

"We just got settled, James. I just met a neighbor. I just had an interview for a job I think I'm going to get. You can't just say we need to... to..." A look of horror crossed her face. "Is he here? Did he find us, Dan? Oh god, he found us didn't he-"

"No, no," I interrupted, placing a hand on her shaking shoulder. She pulled her hands away from her face. "I was just thinking that there was this boy... a boy from my past... I think he knows my real name. I think he knows it's me." Louise was silent for a second, then a chuckle escaped her lips. Then a full on laugh.

"You scared the hell out of me!" She exclaimed, kicking her shoes into the closet without care. She turned to the small bathroom, glancing at herself in the mirror. I crossed my arms. "I thought something actually bad happened."

"I don't think you understand the problem here, honey." I was working on using pet names, as lovers do, but her nonchalance forced it to come out sarcastically; this whole "pretending to be in love thing" was going to be difficult.

Louise dragged a makeup remover pad across her eyelids. "Oh, come off it, there's no one here," she commented. I continued, ignoring her.

"If he knows me, then someone else might figure it out. And if someone figures it out-"

"Did you tell him you weren't 'Dan Howell'?" she asked calmly, finishing with one pad and dropping it in the bin. She wetted another.

"Of course."

"Then what's the issue? I'm sure he has no reason not to believe you. How well did he know you? Before, I mean?" The blonde pushed past me and into the kitchen, tripping over boxes I had still yet to unpack.

"Not well, I don't think. I don't know; we went to primary school together. He was a few years ahead of me. I didn't even think he knew my name. What exactly are you looking for?"

"Well, shit," she mumbled, staring around at the appliances I had managed to get out of their box and onto the counters. "Did you get the mixer out?"

"No. Why?" I asked, relinquishing my last point. If Louise thought we were safe and that I was being silly, I must be. She was really the rational one here, the one who thought things out long and hard. The one who signed the contract agreeing to testify in court if needed and to take the protection. I was the irrational one, the one that made the split-second decisions, but I was firm when it came to them. Louise was the rational one, I was the decisive one. That's why we were such good friends; we were two halves that made up a decent person.

"I want to make something for the neighbor. He helped me open that stupid lock today." She began to dig through the boxes and hoisted out our electric mixer, well used and well kept, her prized possession. She placed it on the counter and began to dig through the bag I had brought, then looked up to me with a furrowed brow. "No milk?"

"Sorry, I was a little busy fearing for my life," I explained, going back into the room we shared. I began to pull off my socks, but Louise, ready to prepare something else without milk, called to me.

"Don't get too comfortable now, you're taking these to Phil!" I sputtered, moving quickly to the kitchen.

"Phil?" I asked quietly, and Louise barely looked up from her mixing.

"Yeah, our neighbor. Tall lad, black hair. Strong hands. Pretty blue eyes. You'd like him." She paused and looked up to me as I began to sputter.

"That's him. That's the boy from my past. Phil Lester." She let out a long breath.

"Could be a coincidence."

"He thinks we're married."

"Lots of blokes named Phil."

"We're screwed."