Mum wakes me up with a harder shake than intended.

“Wake up!” she hisses. “Crap, you’re going to be late.”

I roll onto my left shoulder to face her. “Late for what?”

“Tennis practice.”

Shit, I think because my head feels too muggy and my body like a log. I’m in no mood for going out onto the battlefield.

“Chandy! It’s quarter past four already!”

I jerk wide awake at that. I have five minutes to leave the house.

“Going, going,” I say hurriedly as I run to the wardrobe and yank on some clothes. Then I whip my hair into a pony, grab my racquet, and I’m out of the door like a rabbit getting shot.

I’m already panting by the time I get there. But at least I’m not late.

Sam doesn’t even acknowledge my heavy breathing as I enter the courts. He’ll turn a blind eye to almost anything unless it suits him.

“Laps!” he shouts.

We know the drill. As much as I’d like to be at the front, my previous sprint getting here has lowered my energy so I keep towards the back of the group, huddled with the others who are panting heavily.

I glance around but, again, there’s no Megan in sight.

Mel takes the lead today. There’s this smug grin on her face the entire time which makes me clench my jaw. But who am I to talk? I’ve revelled in glory many times before. I should let her have a chance too.

I wonder about Amias. What’s he getting up to while I’m forcing my legs to propel me faster around the courts? I don’t know, but I find myself thinking of his kind smile and his deep-set brown eyes.

“Megan?” Sam asks, pointedly staring at the group after our laps. When no one answers, he hisses under his breath, “That girl. Might consider taking her spot away if she doesn’t show up again. Disrespectful that is.”

That snaps me out of my daydream.
He has a point. Why should Sam make the time for us if we won’t make the time for him?

But no one says anything.

By the time the session is finished, I feel like falling flat on my face from the exhaustion. I take a little longer to pack my things away, my body heavy and movements slow.

“Chandy,” Sam says, approaching me. “I think there’s a guy at the gate wanting to see you.”

I glance to the gate. A familiar figure lurks by the bushes.

“Do you know him?” Sam asks me.

I glance to the person at the gate again. Then I nod. I would recognise those arms anywhere.

“Right, well have a nice evening.” He claps his hands together. “I’m off to stuff myself with junk food. See ya.”

“Bye.”

He leaves to the clubhouse. I make my way to the gate where Amias is scuffing at the dirt with his foot.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He raises his head and smiles. The bruise has turned a darker shade. “I saw that session. You did brilliantly.”

“Thanks, but what are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he says softly. “I had to see you again.”

I let myself through the gate and we begin walking down the path.

“But you only just saw me this morning.”

“Right.” He obviously looks hurt.

“Look, Amias. It’s not that I don’t want to see you.”

He gives me a small smile. “I’m being too needy, aren’t I? It’s just I can’t get you out of my head.”

“No,” I say.

That’s cute, I think. He just told you his feelings. Not many guys do that.

“That’s cute,” I splutter without really intending to.

He grins at the redness of my cheeks. “You’re cute. When you’re embarrassed, I mean.”

That only makes me blush harder.

You need to tell him about Kylie and Gabe, I think. He might know more.

“Where to?” he asks at the part where the path forks in two.

“I don’t know,” I say, “but I have something I need to tell you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Kylies breaking up with Gabe.”

“Eh, what?”

“Kyle’s—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts in, shaking his head.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Has she broken the news yet?”

“No. Tomorrow.”

“And do you need me to tell Gabe anything?”

“No,” I burst out. “Nothing. I want your opinion on it. She just seems so sure and I just don’t know what to think about it.”

“Did she tell you why?”

I repeat everything that Kylie told me and Amias stays silent through it all.

“I agree with her,” he says after I’m done. “It makes sense what she said. He’s a different person at night.”

“He frightens her, apparently.”

“He frightens everyone,” Amias corrects. “That’s his job as a gang leader.”

“If he frightens you,” I say slowly, “why don’t you leave?”

He blows air hard out of his mouth. “It’s hard, Chands.”

“Right, but surely you must enjoy some of it? The thrill? Do you get a thrill when you’re murdering people?”

“Chandy—”

“I’m only asking.”

“Come with me,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I want to show you something.”

“Where are we going?"

“You’ll see.”

He pulls me along a few roads, hand never letting mine go. And, to be perfectly honest, I like it like that.

People pass by. They glance at the hands. I want them to look at us.

I find myself giggling as he pulls me faster until we’re both almost sprinting and laughing like maniacs. The racquet case bounces on my back with every step.

Then he pulls me to a stop. I glance up at the huge sign looming above our heads. The laugh stops and I almost choke on it.

Hartway Cemetery, it reads.

We’re at the cemetery. The same one where my Dad is buried.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, not when we pass through the gate, not when we pass through the grass and the tombstones. Nor through the trees or the bushes or the statutes. His hand stays in mine.

He walks me a little way to a part of cemetery that I’m not familiar with.

“This is why I want to get out of it,” he says, halting at a tombstone.

It’s a dull grey like most things in this city. I see bits chipped away, parts where birds have done their business.

In loving memory of
Yorgen and Selia Yousief
1964-2015

“They were both born in the same year,” Amias says softly. “And they died the same day.”

I huddle closer to him. “What happened?”

“Gabe happened,” he says.

My heart stops. I think it actually stops.

“I have to get away from him,” Amias whispers. “He killed my parents. He could kill me.”

I pull him into me, breathing in the scent of him.

“He’s not going to kill you.” And yet I don’t believe my own words.

“That night I wasn’t there,” he starts. “Gabe had run into me a while before, cornered me. I felt about the size of a pea.” He pauses. “He beat me to the pulp. No idea why. Just did. I was a scrawny thing then, had no flesh, only bone so of course he’d choose me. Then, after I was thrown about, he made me an offer.”

“What offer?”

“I’d work for him. I was small enough to get into places, innocent enough to make people believe my lies.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no, he beat me up a little more, and I went home.”

I glance at the tombstone, listening to the story.

“My mother threw a fit when she saw me. Asked what was going on. I said nothing. She slapped me till I cried. So I told her.”

“You did?”

He gives me a tiny nod. “And she told my father when he came home. In response, he got the longest knife from the drawer, told my mother and I to stay at home, and he left.”

The wind picks up.

“An hour passed by. My mother sat me down and told me to stay put. I told her no. Screamed and kicked but she wrestled me to the floor, told me she loved me, and left.”

“She left?” I whisper in horror.

“I was in the house alone – mum had gone after dad who had gone after Gabe who had gone after me. I was the starting point. I hated myself, reasoned that if I hadn’t been on the street in the first place Gabe wouldn’t have come near me. Maybe if I’d said yes to his offer, everything would have fine.”

A bird sings somewhere. I think it’s singing a song of death.

“I stayed in the house for a good while, until it went dark. I didn’t turn any of the lights on and yet I think that terrified me more. And then came the knocking.” He pauses. “Someone was knocking on the door, ringing the doorbell, singing crude songs.”

“And did you open the door?”

He nods. “Not at first, but it went on for a good ten minutes, I remember – from quarter past ten to twenty-five past. So I opened the door and it was Gabe.”

I gulp.

“He had my father’s bloody blade in his pocket.” He gasps for air. “He said he wanted me to do something for him. Of course, I obliged, but I was shitting my pants. So I followed him outside and down the road. He had a motorbike parked. He said to get on it and ride it down until I got to the bodies.”

I step away from him, jaw clenched.
“What?”

“I rode past them that night,” he says quietly. “I was a shitty driver so I crashed into things – people and objects – I was twelve, mind you. I couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.” He stops, his breath hitching. “And when I got off the bike, Gabe made the same offer again.” He blinks hard. “So I said yes.”

There’s silence.

And then Amias begins to cry.

His sobs break through me. They rip into my chest and tear my heart out so it lies next to his dead parents’ grave.

I find my way into his chest and he grips me hard, shoulders heaving.

“I miss them,” he sobs. “I just want them back.”

And then I begin to cry too. Hot tears prickling down my cheeks.

“You can’t get them back,” I say. “You can only remember them.”

He pulls away. His eyes are red and his nose is streaming.

“I know that. And I can’t have what I want. So that’s why I need to get out of this fucking cycle I’m in. I never wanted to be with Gabe and his crimes but what choice did I have? Now, though... Now I have a choice.” He wipes his face. “And hopefully that makes you understand.”

“Understand what?” I whisper.

“That I’m not Amias the monster.”

“No,” I say. “You’re not.”

You’re Amias, I think. You’re my Amias.

And then I press my lips to his. It melts him, I can tell. He’s hungry for it, and I let him probe deeper and deeper until I feel like I might burst.

Among the cemetery I kiss him and maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.