"I do. More than anyone else."
"Then let me take care of you. I can’t get better for you, but I can be here to support you on that journey.”
“I might need a lot of help from my counsellor.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.”
Rory sighs. “In an ideal world, I'd be able to snap your pain away, but I can't. I promise that we’ll work through your pain and fear together. We'll go as slowly as you need to. We’ll only do what you feel comfortable with. No matter how long it takes. That is if you want to."
"I do."
"Tell me what you need."
"I need you to hold me.” I suck precious air into my aching lungs. “And maybe”—I quiver like a leaf in a summer breeze—“maybe—" It’s no good. My heart and head are at odds. Confusion is waging war inside me. “I need a moment.” I stand and rush to the door.
“Cal.”
I pause with my hand on the handle. “I won’t be long.” I turn to stare at him. “Will you wait for me?”
He smiles. “Take as long as you need.”
* * *
I need some fresh air and time to think. I hurtle downstairs, not paying attention to anything except my need to get out of the house. I dash onto the first landing and crash into Quinn and Rubin. My heart leaps into my throat, and I cry out. Quinn’s legs buckle. Rubin catches him and holds him upright.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to do to make things right. I don’t fully understand Quinn’s condition. “I needed some air because I kissed Rory and—” I smack my hand over my mouth and stare at them with wide eyes.
“Kissed Rory?” Quinn slurs.
I nod.
“Hendrix said you were straight,” Rubin says.
“I am. At least, I thought I was.” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you need to talk?” Quinn’s voice is slow and shaky, like he’s trying to make the words clear. It’s still hard to figure out what he was trying to say.
Do I? I glance up the stairs. I just ran away from Rory—again—because I needed to think.
Quinn tugs Rubin’s shirt. “Advice?”
I frown.
“He means I could give you advice,” Rubin says.
“You? Why?”
Rubin grins. “Why don’t we go into the art room?”
“Is Quinn okay?” I close my eyes and curse under my breath. “Are you okay?” I ask again, this time redirecting my question to Quinn.
He nods and gestures to Rubin.
“Strong emotions give him temporary muscle weakness,” Rubin explains as he helps Quinn into one of the bedrooms. “Sometimes that means his head gets heavy, his tongue doesn’t work properly, or his legs give out. Sometimes it’s near total paralysis. It depends on how intense the emotion.”
I follow them. “How long does it last?”
