“You got really quiet,” he says. Hesensedme, without me even saying anything.
“Yeah, I tend to do that when I’m disassociating,” I say, sitting up. “I’m not in the right headspace. I’m feeling kind of…overwhelmed, or something? But I do want to. At some point.”
He nods, handing me my clothes. “I’m pretty overwhelmed, too.”
Then we’re just sitting in the back seat, listening to the rain.
“So…” he says. And why issothe most anxiety-provoking word when followed by an ellipsis? “What now?”
21
Don’t masturbate this morning.
When I finally open my eyes after valiantly ignoring my alarms, these are the words scrawled on my left arm in blue ballpoint pen. I vaguely recall scribbling it last night when I tiptoed in sometime after three, carefully stepping over a snoring Houdini.
I guess I was (rightfully) concerned that in my sleep-deprived haze I’d go into my morning autopilot once the apartment was empty.
Admittedly, there’s a moment where I consider doing it really quietly, but I’m feeling so disoriented after the events of last night that I manage to behave myself. Not that refraining helps me think more clearly. My head is pounding, and painkillers and water aren’t within reaching distance.
When I left Treehouse, I remember thinking that if some other big, dramatic event would happen, it would take the edge off my Hal anger. Well…I got what I wished for.
My brain pulls up a helpful montage of clips from every moment: doing my cat eye, which might as well have been clown makeup; the emotional and practical fallout of Mom’s big announcement; Hal shooting his shot with a literati princess; and every single thing that happened on Chili’s property. All of them battle it out for the lion’s share of real estate in my mind. Maybe that’s why I have the headache.
I’ve always understood that pain is more potent than pleasure. By that metric, the whole blowup with Hal should be hovering over me like a persistent storm cloud.
But I have to admit, what I keep coming back to—those panels that are provocatively splashing across the page I’m drawing in my mind—is the person who sleeps on the other side of this wall.
God, I must’ve been throwing off some intenseI’m lonelypheromones in Nick’s direction because I know my personality is the least appealing it’s ever been. I might as well walk around this apartment complex with a sign hung around my neck declaring This Is a Depressed Person: Stand Several Feet Back.
We parted in the hallway with a promise to “talk tomorrow,” so I’m assuming I will never hear from him again and we’ll simply avoid each other in the hallway for the next six months. Hey, at least that would give me extra incentive to find a new place to live. Who knew hooking up with my neighbor could be so motivating?
THUNKK!
It comes not from the shared wall but from the living room.
“We’ll get it back to you later today,” I hear my mom tell someone. “We should’ve invested in a taller ladder years ago.”
“No rush. And let me know if you need help with anything.”
It’s Nick’s voice. What happened to the natural order of politely avoiding each other? What rule book is he following?
For a terrifying moment, I wonder if he’s come over to report me to my mother.Jen, I gotta tell you. I’m worried about your daughter.
But from a few seconds of casual eavesdropping (pressing my ear against the wall), I conclude that the conversation is limited to some boring small talk about the best way to mount curtain rods. I’m about to climb back into bed when Mom springs her trap.
“Say, Nick,” she says as if this thought has just occurred to her. “Perry and I would love for you and Kira to come to the wedding.”
I have to put my hand over my mouth to prevent an indignant noise from escaping.
“Oh,” Nick says in a way that sounds like he’s trying to think of the best way to politely decline.
“Now, it’s going to be casual,” she says. “There’s no stuffy sit-down dinner, just a nice little party in Goodale Park.”
“Kira hasn’t been to many weddings, so I’m sure she’d have fun getting dressed up.”
“And you’re welcome to bring a date, obviously.” She pauses. I hold my breath. “If you’re seeing someone.”
My heart is thumping. This is diabolical. Totally invasive.
