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Here’s what they don’t tell you about mourning your secret boyfriend who traveled back from the future to die for you — it’s lonely as fuck.
So now it’s Saturday night, and Alisha’s about to spend it the same way she’s spent just about every other night since the warehouse, moping around his flat examining the rows of photographs and crying into the bedsheets.
Weekends used to be her favorite time. Now all the days bleed into each other.
She really needs someone to talk to.
She’s got mates, sure, but Chloe rarely engages in a conversation unless it’s about whether or not Jack is cheating on her again (he is, with Lucy now), and the others are probably too drunk by this time of night to be of any use to her.
And even though Alisha doesn’t intend to give up too many details, she’d rather talk to someone who’s in on the whole power bullshit, at the very least.
Kelly’s her first choice, being a girl and all — and a shockingly nice one at that, as long as you don’t piss her off. But her power makes it too risky. Alisha can’t guarantee that she won’t accidentally think the truth about Simon, so she’s been keeping her distance.
Curtis has always been easy to talk to, but it’s awkward now that they’ve split, and he’s busy with his new girl anyway. She wants him to be happy, surprising as it is to think that about an ex, and spilling her guts about the guy she cheated on him with is baggage he really doesn’t need.
And of course she can’t talk to Simon himself, for obvious reasons.
So that leaves... Fuck.
Alisha stands outside the lift to Simon’s flat, keys in hand, and asks herself if spending a Saturday night hanging out with Nathan Young is actually preferable to wallowing in self-pity under fluorescent lights.
Then she thinks about everything that happened with Simon and that girl, and how Nathan actually seemed to give a shit for once, and she can’t believe the answer is yes.
She’s not quite sure how to go about it at first, until she remembers he’s poor. Food should do it.
Alisha takes her phone out of her bag and starts a message, rewriting it half a dozen times before she settles on, Got a pizza, u want it?
It’s probably the stupidest text she’s ever sent, but she can’t think of any other way to phrase it that doesn’t make it sound like she’s asking him out. Still, Nathan could find a way to turn just about anything into an invitation for sex.
About five seconds later, her phone chimes.
Fuck yes!!!
Well, that was easy. Now she just has to procure said pizza and bring it to him.
The door to the community centre is locked when she gets there, so she balances the box on her hip and sends Nathan a text letting him know she’s outside.
Through the glass, she can see him jogging toward her with no shoes on, like he’s in his sitting room. Which he sort of is, she supposes.
“Nice one,” Nathan says as he opens the door. “Thanks, pal.”
He takes the pizza box out of her hands and moves to go back inside, letting the door start to close behind him.
“Have a good one,” he calls over his shoulder.
Alisha stands there, dumbfounded. Apparently he’s confused her for a Domino’s driver.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she says through the dwindling crack in the door.
Nathan turns around and pushes it back open with his free hand.
“What?” he says, looking thoroughly confused. “You said you had a pizza for me.”
“And it never occurred to you that I might wanna eat it, too?”
Now he looks even more confused. “What is this, a date?”
Alisha sighs. Why did she think this was a good idea, again?
“It’s not a date,” she says, glancing down at her feet and cringing at the sound of her own voice. “I just thought maybe we could, I don’t know, talk?”
When she looks up again, Nathan is staring at her with narrowed eyes, like he thinks this is some sort of trick. Or maybe that she’s that shapeshifter bitch back to shove him onto another pipe.
Eventually, he shrugs. “Sure, man. Come on in.”
He steps aside, holding the door open for her. She slides past him, and why the fuck does she feel more nervous than she would if this actually were a date?
Alisha takes the pizza up to the mezzanine while Nathan grabs two beers from the kitchen. She nearly trips over his discarded shoes at the top of the stairs before noticing the empty crisp packets littering the floor — probably his original dinner.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says with a sweeping gesture.
Alisha opts not to sit on that thing he calls a bed, eyeing a balled-up sock that she’d prefer to stay far away from. She leans back against the railing while Nathan sprawls on top of the blanket and opens the pizza box between them.
“So,” he says around his first mouthful, “what’d you wanna talk about?”
Alisha buys herself some time by biting into her own slice. She didn’t exactly think this far ahead — how is she supposed to talk about everything that’s been on her mind without revealing too much?
“There’s something I haven’t told any of you.”
Nathan just keeps chewing, waiting for her to elaborate.
“I cheated on Curtis,” she says, and it’s a relief to finally get the words out. “Before we split up.”
Nathan’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at first, and then down in furrowed contemplation.
“So how does that work exactly, ‘cheating’?” he asks, making air quotes. “Like you used your power on somebody, or you just wanked off in front of some other guy?”
Alisha winces to remember the time Nathan almost walked in on her and Curtis in the storeroom together.
“I shagged somebody else,” she confirms, and wonders if she should even say the next part. “But I didn’t use my power on him. He could touch me.”
Nathan chokes on his beer, suddenly looking panicked. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it.
“Seriously?” he says. “Have you tested it on anyone else? Are you sure it’s not gone for good? Oh, shit, what if I’m not immortal anymore? I’ve been crossing so many streets without looking.”
“It’s not gone for good,” she assures him, even though she hasn’t actually tested it. “It just didn’t work on him.”
Fortunately, Nathan doesn't push the matter — she’s not in the mood to have him pawing at her when she came here tonight looking for... well, a friend. As much as it pains her to think of him that way.
“So, what, you’re with him now?” he asks. “When do we get to meet this mystery man?”
Here comes the part Alisha’s really scared to say out loud, because that would mean it’s real. And even though she sleeps in a bed that’s too big for her each night and still smells petrol on her jumpsuit when she puts it on, she hasn’t exactly accepted that yet.
“He, uh...” Her throat is dry, so she takes a sip of beer. “He died, actually.”
Nathan just stares at her. “Are you taking the piss?”
“No,” she says, willing the tears away as she feels them coming to the surface. “I wish I was, but no.”
They sit there in awkward silence for a moment, and Alisha actually finds herself hoping Nathan will make a joke, or at least change the subject. Otherwise she’s about to break down sobbing in front of him, and that would be far too embarrassing.
He ends up saying the last thing she could have predicted, but it does the job.
“What a coincidence. The last person I shagged died, too. But that was of old age, which I’m guessing wasn’t the case for your fella.”
“Wait,” Alisha says, thinking back, “you seriously haven’t slept with anyone since that old woman?”
“I told you, she didn’t look like that when we started,” Nathan says defensively. “But yes, to answer your question, that was the last time.”
“Why?”
He certainly brags about it enough, and while she always assumed he was exaggerating, this practically makes him a monk by his own standards — and Alisha’s, too, before she got her power.
“Well, I was sort of holding out for one girl in particular, but it turns out she wants to be just mates. Or cousins.”
Alisha’s not sure what he’s on about at first, but then she remembers his freakout over the computer game guy, and how he ditched her the other night at the party while they were looking for Simon.
“Kelly?”
Nathan nods, and she supposes it makes sense. Kelly was an absolute mess the first time he died, and Alisha couldn’t really understand why. Not that she was completely unaffected by it herself, but she didn’t think the prick was worth quite so much melodrama.
Alisha would probably feel a lot worse about it if he died now. Permanently, that is.
“I was wondering if anything ever happened between you two.”
“It did! Right here, in fact.” Nathan gestures to the mattress, and Alisha scoots a little farther away from it. “But apparently my finger felt like it belonged to a relative of hers, so she put an end to it.”
Jesus, he actually looks sad about it, staring despondently into his beer bottle.
“When was this?” Alisha asks.
“A few weeks ago.”
All that time, and he still hasn’t gone out and gotten himself laid? Weeks since Kelly rejected him, and he’s spending his Saturday night alone in the community centre, sulking so hard he answers texts within seconds?
Well, doesn’t that sound familiar.
“Oh, my God,” Alisha says, stunned. “You’re totally in love with her.”
Instead of the knee-jerk denial or crude remark she expects in response, Nathan just gets a vacant look on his face, like when he didn’t realize they were stealing the probation worker’s car.
“I am?” he asks.
Alisha shakes her head in disbelief. How is it possible for a person to be so oblivious? He had a girl who could literally read his mind, and he still blew it.
“What, haven’t you ever been in love before?”
It’s a question she could ask herself, to be fair. And before a few weeks ago, she’s not sure if the answer would have been yes. Maybe not even with Curtis, it stings to consider.
“Not unless you count the time I tried to suck Barry’s cock,” is Nathan’s own answer. “Which also happened right here.”
Alisha shifts uncomfortably at the mention of Simon, especially in that context. Not that she’s jealous — it was that tattoo guy fucking with them, or so Kelly told her. But still, it’s weird.
“Shit, why couldn’t you have told me this before?” Nathan is saying, still on one about Kelly. “Or not at all, since apparently now it’s incest.”
“It’s not my fault you’re an emotionally stunted dickhead,” she bites back.
He pulls an appropriately immature face in response, and then they go quiet for a minute, both of them still gnawing on the remnants of the pizza that’s starting to turn cold.
“Sorry about your dead boyfriend, by the way,” Nathan says to break the silence, and for him, it actually sounds sincere.
“Thanks,” she replies. “Sorry the girl you’re in love with doesn’t wanna shag you. Although mine is objectively worse, you do know that, right?”
“Mm, debatable,” he says, but she knows it’s a joke, so she lets herself laugh. It feels good.
Alisha really hopes she doesn’t end up regretting that she told him all this. Tact has never been Nathan’s strong suit, and letting this get out to the others could fuck everything up. Or not — she’s not really sure how this time travel bullshit works.
“Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? I don’t want it turning into a whole thing.”
“Why’d you even tell me?” Nathan wonders.
She shrugs. “Just wanted to talk to someone about it.”
“Yeah, but why me?” he presses. “I wouldn’t exactly put confidant at the top of my CV.”
Alisha doesn’t know how to answer that. She’s not about to tell him it’s because he was her only option, even though it’s true — she’s trying to be nicer, after all. But she’s also not so nice that she’s going to stroke his ego by telling him he was her first choice.
“Because,” she says at last, “I really, really wanted to spend my Saturday night in the community centre.”
He looks around the place admiringly. “I do keep a lovely home, don’t I?”
And maybe because she’s taken a page right out of his own playbook on misdirection, Nathan knows to just leave it.
Alisha’s well aware that she’s not his first choice, either, remembering his frantic call the other day — “No one else is answering their phone.”
But as it turns out, sometimes your last choice is the best one. For the circumstance.
“Look at us,” Nathan says, tossing his pizza crust back in the box and stretching his arms over his head to flash those tacky star tattoos. “Both beautiful, both heartbroken...”
Alisha rolls her eyes, because here it comes.
“Do you think we should—”
“No,” she says flatly.
“Right, right.” A pause, then, “So is it ‘cause of your power, or...”
“Just no. Always no.”
Alisha hasn’t been sure about a lot of things lately, but she’s sure about this.
It’s not that he’s bad to look at. Throw some designer clothes on him and distract him enough to keep a normal expression on his face for longer than three seconds, and he could easily grace the pages of one of her magazines.
But most everything else about him has always been a real turn-off for her — the posturing and the jeering and the constant need to be seen, seen, seen.
Probably because it felt a little too much like looking in a mirror.
As for Nathan, Alisha’s fairly certain he would shag a post box if it seemed up for it. But any advances he’s made toward her since they met have always seemed pretty halfhearted, if not totally unserious.
Maybe it’s the same for him. Mirrors and all that.
It strikes her then that this might be the longest conversation she’s ever had with a guy she’s not interested in having sex with. Usually, she’d put up with talking to the ones she fancied and give the cold shoulder to the ones who didn’t stand a chance with her.
Even now, when she tries talking to present-day Simon, there’s always his future self taking up space at the front of her mind.
It’s new for her, hanging out with blokes she doesn’t want to shag, but so are quite a few things that have happened recently. Some in a bad way, but not this — this is pretty nice, actually.
“I can touch you when you’re dead, you know,” Alisha says then, reminded of the time they carried Nathan out of the locker room and up here to his bed.
“Oh, perfect,” he says, grinning. “What’s a little necrophilia between friends?”
On impulse, Alisha very nearly opens her mouth to tell him, “I’m not your friend.”
But she stops herself and smiles instead. She’s told enough half-truths tonight — no need to add an outright lie.