by Jo Raven
It’s Nate.
“Brought you some coffee and water. Gotta keep hydrated, or so I heard.” He puts the mug and the glass on the nightstand and sits on the bed as I rub at my eyes, chasing away the cobwebs. “How you doing, buddy?”
“Been better,” I mutter.
He nods and just sits there, hands hanging between his knees, head bowed as I take the mug he brought me and sip at the sweet coffee, letting it clear my head.
“I’m a dick,” he says, not lifting his head. “You can go ahead and say it.”
“You’re not a dick.” Well, not most of the time. “Why are you fucking with West? He’s got enough on his plate as it is.”
“I know, all right? I’m not trying to upset him. I just…” He huffs out a breath.
“Just thought to cut him out of your life and expect him to remain your friend?”
He winces. “No, man, that’s not what I thought. But you’re right. Why should he?”
“Dammit, Nate.” Slamming the mug on the nightstand, I fall back against the pillows, close my eyes. “Don’t be dense.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t give a shit. There’s your proof, dude. He gives a shit. So call him. Meet him. Explain to him why you closed yourself off. Tell him about your dad, or whatever it is that broke you.”
“I’m not broken.”
I open my eyes. “Fine. Then talk to him. Opening up doesn’t make you look weak. It shows you trust your best friend to have your back.”
“Like you’re doing? Why don’t you open up to us? Tell me who you really are. Show us some trust.”
“Fuck. It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, dammit, Nate, it’s not. I’m not putting you in danger for the sake of an argument.”
“In danger, how? What are you hiding, Kash?”
“Nothing.” Man, why does my control always slip around these people? “Forget it. Look, it’s late, I’ll just—”
“Fuck this.” He puts a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes, then gets up unsteadily, and I know, I fucking know it, that I have to say, do something now.
“Wait.” I scramble up and off the bed and go after him, grabbing his arm and hanging on to it as the room spins and blackness edges into my vision. “Oh shit.”
“Kash?” There’s alarm in his voice, but all I can focus on is holding on to him with arms growing numb and my vision narrowing to a tunnel.
“Don’t go,” I mumble.
He twists around, putting his arms around me, his strength anchoring me as he hauls me against him. My head falls on his shoulder and I close my eyes, fighting the vertigo.
“I’m fucked up,” he says in my ear. “I am broken. I lied.”
“So am I. So are we all. All of us, broken. Who the hell cares?”
He lets out a huff of laughter. “You’re an idiot.”
No argument there. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” He holds me, and then lays me back down on the bed as my lids grow too heavy, his hand on my chest, his troubled gaze on my face.
But when I open my eyes much later, not knowing what woke me up, he isn’t there.
Nobody is.
Nothing has changed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
West
There you have your answer, fool, I tell myself as I clean the apartment for the third time. It’s still filthy. Dirtier than ever. Nate doesn’t give a damn. He never really did.
The plastic-bristle brush screeches on the tiles, the bleach burns my bare hands, and who the hell cares?
Who cares at all? Not me. Not anyone I know, and damn, I’ll be late for school if I don’t get my ass off the floor and get out of here already.
But I don’t get up.
I’m never late. My program can’t change. Change screws me up even worse. But I can’t get up yet. I’m not done here. I can’t fucking stop scrubbing. The brush is sloshing the liquid back and forth, back and forth, between the cracks, over the smooth surface of the tiles.
To be honest, I don’t know why I’m still going to school. Going through the motions. Seeing Syd every day reminds me of how good it could be, how my mind can still when she’s around.
Like it used to do with Nate.
While Nate and Syd, and even Kash were here, I thought things would get better. They felt better. They felt right. But now nothing’s right, not anymore. I can’t see a way out.
A dead-end.
In my dreams, Della is lying lifeless on her bed, her wrists slit. She’s hanging from a rope on the ceiling, her face purple. She’s lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood.
And then it’s Nate on the floor, and Sydney on the bed, and Kash hanging, and I’m at the center of this quiet hurricane, the only one alive, the only one still breathing.
The only one to blame.
Stop, no, just stop, I tell my brain, my useless, stupid brain that keeps spinning off into these dark thoughts and obsessive loops. But it won’t stop. I bite so hard into my lip that I taste blood, and still I’m scrubbing, trying to get the stains out.
Everything’s stained, rusted, crumbling to fucking pieces. Everything’s falling apart.
I’m moving across the living room, cringing at the expanse of tiles left to be cleaned, when there’s a click behind me.
The lock on the door turns, and I glance over my shoulder with a frown, trying to remember if Della or Grandpa were supposed to come back home already, my sense of time warped.
The person standing at the door isn’t Della, or Grandpa. I stare, unsure of what I’m seeing. Hell, can bleach fumes cause hallucinations?
I sit back on my heels, the brush resting on the floor. “Nate?”
He’s staring back at me like he’s never seen me before. “What the fuck?” he whispers hoarsely.
My sentiments exactly. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
He’s still standing at the door, so still, as if he’s forgotten how to move. “I have your key, remember?”
My key. That’s right. Though Nate hasn’t used it once since I gave it to him, not until today, and last time he was in my apartment was a few days before he moved out almost a year ago.
He moved out, because of his dad. That’s right.
Oh shit. Coherent thought returns, and I feel the blood drain from my face. “Nate, are you insane? What if your folks see you? Your dad—”
“My dad isn’t home, I checked. I’m not a complete moron. West, what the hell are you doing down there? Get up.”
I glance down at the brush and bottle of cleaning liquid. “I can’t, I have to—”
“West, get off the floor. Jesus Fucking Christ. Your hands are burned. It’s the fucking bleach.”
“But—”
He hauls me to my feet. “You have to wash your hands before you get real damage. Come on. Oh man, your knees, too.”
I don’t know what’s happening, why Nate is here, but as he slips an arm around me, the pressure in my head eases. The loop, the claustrophobic, endless chain of guilt and panic is broken, its absence filling my mind with calm.
He leads me into the bathroom and makes me wash my hands under lots of cold water. Then he makes me sit on the closed lid of the toilet, wets the towel, and proceeds to clean up my knees.
I stare down at the reddened skin, the pain distant as he pats my knees one last time and gets up with a sigh.
“You should shower,” he says. “Get the rest of the chemical off of your skin.” He wipes his forehead with his forearm. “This is messed-up.”
“Yeah.” I realize I’m rocking and make myself stop. “I’m messed up. Whacked. Batshit.”
“You’re not… what are you talking about? It’s OCD. An anxiety disorder. Have you talked to someone about this?”
I stare at him. Shake my head.
“Of course not.” He sounds disgusted. “There are techniques that can help. Even
medicine. They say Zoloft can help.”
“They?”
“The internet. I Googled it.”
Humiliation heats my face, burns the tips of my ears, the back of my neck. I never thought this… thing can get any better, never thought to tell anyone outside of this household—not when my family keep telling me I’m a nut case.
Never thought Nate would see me like this. This is a new fucking low.
“Get out,” I whisper.
I want to howl with despair, crawl under a bed and hide. I’ve dreamed of Nate coming back, only to have him witness this shit.
“West.”
“Go.”
“I’m not leaving.” He crouches down beside me, and when I finally make myself look at his face, he’s not laughing at me, and he’s not scared of me. “Listen to me, West. I’m not perfect, either. You know that.”
I’m not sure what I know anymore. I thought I had an idea, but turns out I know little about Nate. And I’m not asking him again why he withdrew from me. At first I’d sent him texts and called and tried to figure it out, but he never replied. I’ve been so fucking depressed, so alone, and then so fucking pissed at the motherfucker for being able to let go of me so casually, so easily.
When I was left bleeding inside.
But now I can’t help but take a closer look at his haunted eyes, his exhausted, thin face. “Maybe? You doing okay now?”
“No, I’m not.”
The admission hits me square in the chest. He’s never admitted to anything wrong before, ever.
“What’s the matter?”
“Everything, man.” He slides down to the floor, rests his back against the tiled wall. “I just… can’t pretend I’m okay anymore. And I can’t lie to you. That’s why I kept my distance.” He gives me a long, exhausted look. “I knew I’d tell you everything if I sat down beside you. And yet here I am. I didn’t want you to see, didn’t want you to know.”
“Know what?”
“That I’m not perfect. Not strong enough. Not determined enough.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the strongest person I know.”
“No… that’s BS, man. I’m a coward. I’m filth. I’m—”
I get down to the floor, to my knees, and grab him around the neck, burned hands or not, press his head to my shoulder. “Shut up. You’re none of that.”
He jerks—then his arms come around me and he hugs me hard. “Fucking hell, West, you’re the only one,” he breathes against my T-shirt.
“The only what?”
“The only one who can grab me like that and not get a fist to their gut. Jesus.” He breathes out, his hands fisting against my back. “I’m so fucked. Fucked in the head.”
It makes me want to laugh and groan at once. “All the best guys are.”
“You dickwad.” A shaky snicker. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes.”
“Nate…” Holding him feels so right.
He’s the only guy I’ve ever hugged, and I missed this. I missed him. Except for Syd, nobody else ever touches me. My mind sort of sighs as we sit there, and the blessed silence inside my head is so complete I wanna fucking cry.
Eventually he pulls back, but not by much. He’s gazing at me, head cocked to the side. His hand drifts up to my head, tugs on the ends of my short hair.
He seems to be looking for something in my expression, and maybe he finds it, because he nods to himself. “Okay,” he says.
To what, I’ve no clue.
When he leans in and presses his forehead to mine, my eyes close, and I let out a huge breath I feel I’d been holding in for years.
Nate’s back.
He pulls back, a strange gleam in his eyes. He cups my face with both hands. “You’ll be careful, right? If my dad gets in your face, tell him you’ll go to the police. That’ll probably make him think twice about doing anything. And call me if you need anything.”
While he’s holding me like this, the rough palms of his hands pressed to my face, I can’t think, let alone speak. Something else trickles through my senses, something more than relief. Heat gathers at the base of my spine and my mouth goes dry.
It gets worse when his gaze dips, zeroing in on my mouth.
What is he doing? And why is my body suddenly so interested?
Nothing happens, though. He lets go of my face and gets to his feet, then runs a hand through his dark hair.
“I should get going,” he says, “can’t be late for work.” His cheekbones are flushed and he won’t look at me.
Seems like I’m not the only one who’s working through something here.
“Wait.” I scramble up to my feet as he steps out of the bathroom.
“What?” Hands in his pockets, legs apart, he’s the very picture of nonchalant.
“Look… I won’t ask you to tell me who hurt you, or how.” I consider my words. “Not unless you want to. But if you walk out of my life again, I’ll punch you in that pretty boy face of yours and mess it up.”
He chuckles. “Fine.”
But I’m serious. “Thing is…” I chew on my lip, look down at my burned hands. “I fucking need you.”
His eyes widen, but then he nods, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, man. I need you, too.”
“Can I copy your notes?” Sydney asks during history class, and I shove my notebook at her without a word. “Cool, thanks. Hey, West?”
“What?”
“Can you pass me your pen?”
“Sure.” I shove it her way, too.
“What about your history book?”
Uh, whatever. I shove everything her way.
“Okay, Weston.” She puts a hand on my arm and leans in, a frown on her small oval of a face. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a thousand miles away today. You might as well be on the moon for all the attention you pay to the class, and me.”
I stare at the heap of things I’ve pushed her way.
Then I reach up and tuck a red curl behind her ear. “Everything’s fine.”
“Is it?” She tucks her bottom lip between her lips, and it’s hot, and cute, and that makes me think of Nate, and I laugh.
Because it’s weird. I’d give my right arm to be with Syd, I’d give everything, and I’m pretty sure I’m not into boys, anyway. I mean, I’d have noticed by now.
And certainly not Nate.
So what was that all about?
“Something funny?”
I laugh again. It’s just… fucking absurd.
She gives me a concerned look. “West… Are you high?”
Maybe I am. “Nate came by.”
Her face brightens. “Oh my God! You guys made up?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”
“I’m so frigging happy, so absolutely completely happy about this!” She leans in and kisses my cheek, her mouth soft and warm, her small hand curling around my arm.
And… I get hard. I shift uncomfortably on my seat, cursing under my breath—but doesn’t this clarify my earlier confusion?
If only I could be with her. As she focuses back on the class, I focus on her face, her lips, her cute chin, the swell of her breasts, and I dunno if I can hold back. She can always stop me, if she doesn’t want my kisses, my touch, but if there’s one chance in a million that she’d let me press against her skin once more, I know I won’t be able to stop myself from trying.
I get another visitor later in the same day. What are the odds, right?
In fact, I get a phone call.
From Kash.
“What’s up, man?” his deep, low voice trickles down the radio waves to my ear. “I dropped by to see you.”
“What?” I sit up from where I’ve been lying on my stomach on top of my bed, trying to make sense of my notes of today. “Where are you?”
“Right outside, on the street. Not sure I should come inside. I’m pretty sure Nate’s dad is around.”
Fuck. “I’m
coming out.” Pulling on my sneakers, I slip past Grandpa’s room and out of the apartment.
I find Kash outside, just like he said. He’s rolling a cigarette, and his face is paler than usual. It has a gray cast to it that can’t be healthy.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you still sick?”
He grins at me. “Nah, I’m good. I wanted to check on you.”
I feel warmth spread through me at the thought. He texted and called many times over the months since they all left, like he said, and I avoided talking to him. I felt like they’d abandoned me somehow, and maybe… like Nate said, I didn’t want to talk to them so much, either, in case the truth came out.
Thing is, having Nate come over and talk to me, hug me, was awesome. Having Syd kiss my cheek was hot and sweet at once. But with Kash it’s different. Since he arrived in town and entered my life, he’s been this steady presence that never wavers.
I guess he’s not fucked-up like me and Nate, and the thought makes me smile.
“What is it?” Kash shoots me a crooked grin, then it fades as quickly as it appeared. “And what the hell happened to your hands?”
I avoid looking down at my reddened skin. “Nothing.”
“Are you all right, West?” He tucks his cigarette behind his ear, and I try not to stare at the silver hoops glinting there.
Seriously, today something’s off with me.
“I’m fine,” I say, the lie rolling effortlessly off my tongue. “Don’t worry.”
“I want you…” he starts, then leans back against the wall beside the entrance. “Shit.”
With a curse, I grab his shoulder, steadying him when he starts to slip sideways. “Kash. Man, you should still be in bed. Goddammit.”
“Nah, I’m okay.” He straightens and shoots me a fainter version of his earlier grin. “Really, dude. What I was gonna say was, I want you to come to me when you need something.”
“Why? You barely know me.” I keep my hand on his shoulder, not sure he’s as steady as he tries to convince me he is. “You have enough on your hands with Nate and Syd. I know you take care of them. Trust me, that’s more important than anything else.”