Because You're Different ✔

61. Stolen [Part 1]

Nathan

The stench of fresh fish from the shop on the corner wafted over the heads of the crowd. Usually, I didn't even notice it anymore. Today though, I couldn't handle it at all. My stomach churned, readying itself to throw out the coffee I'd had earlier, a cup of black that'd tasted stale, like they'd used old beans. It didn't help that there were so many people here, hundreds of them, all seemingly with a set destination in mind. They seemed to be everywhere, popping up in front of me without warning.

There'd been a pounding in my head all day; it was becoming more blaring with the second. My night of no sleep was catching up with me fast. Hours of staring at the ceiling, wondering if Charlotte was still awake, if it was safe to grab my phone from the nightstand and unblock June. Each time I'd felt myself slipping away, half-dreaming of eager kisses and big brown eyes shimmering with little lights, guilt had given me a slap on the wrist, pulling me back to reality with a jolt. What kind of guy did that make me?

There were too many people here. I couldn't remember ever having seen so many before. The older woman elbowing her husband as they passed by a girl in a bee costume, muttering something disapproving. The group of teenagers occupying two benches, typing away on their phones or showing each other videos to loud shrieks and hysterical giggles, blasting fast rap songs from a cheap speaker. The man in a suit nearby, sending them annoyed glances as he talked into the microphone of his earbuds. High-pitched laughter. Crackling plastic bags slamming into each other. Thousands of thudding footsteps.

The noise they made all clashed together, echoing inside of my mind like sharp stabs. I looked up, but even the familiar skyline, with its mixture of brand-new tall office towers and centuries-old churches and palaces, didn't settle me down. The buildings seemed to move, towards me and away again, like I was transported back to the days grandpa would push me as I sat on the swing — no, don't puke.

Shouldn't have gone into the office this morning. I'd figured it'd drive me wild if I'd sit around the apartment all day, alone with my memories, and the only distractions I had here were work, and Charlotte.

Charlotte. She didn't trust me anymore, for clear reasons. She'd made up some excuse about returning a scarf to Anne, just so she could accompany me to the firm. The situation felt bizarre, even though I couldn't really blame her for linking her arm through mine, or for not talking to me the whole way there. Not when I was still thinking about that other girl I'd kissed, the one who wasn't her.

I needed to do something about this. This wasn't fair to anyone. I needed to think, make decisions. Not here, though, and not when I was about to empty my stomach.

Out of the blue, something collided with my calf, sending a stinging pain up my leg. What the hell happened? I turned around, immediately being met with a wrinkled old lady. She was pushing a walker, stoically looking the other way as she went on, shuffling onwards through the swarm of people by driving the wheels into their unsuspecting ankles. So much for British politeness.

Seemed like she wasn't the only one whose patience I was testing. I'd been standing here for a while, motionless, probably blocking everyone's path. Come on, man. Time to get home and figure out what I was going to do. I took off again, a little too fast: almost immediately, I bumped into someone, their backpack practically sweeping me off my feet. Fucking tourists with their red hoodies and water bottles — there'd be a lot more space around here if they'd just disappear. "Beg your pardon," a low voice said as the man caught hold of me to steady himself. He gave me a slight smile.

"That's alright," I was about to say — only it wasn't.

My pocket was suddenly suspiciously lighter than it had been before.