It’s not necessarily the hurt from my mom’s death that overtakes my emotions, but more the reminder of everything that’s happened. I lean my back against the stall door and exhale. It’s impossible to think of my mom without thinking about Joe, and that sends me spiraling mentally into a dark pit.
Where is he now? What if he’s close by? Is he even looking for me?
I lean my back against the stall door and exhale shakily.
A moment later, the bathroom door creaks open. Looks like the time for my pity party’s over.
I wipe my eyes with toilet paper, praying my makeup isn’t a total disaster. At this rate, I should probably switch to waterproof everything.
“Lina?”
The voice makes me freeze.
Axel?!
“What are you doing in here? This is the girl’s bathroom. You’re gonna get in trouble!”
“Nah,” he says, unworried. “I came to check on you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not. But Iwillbe. I have to be. The world doesn’t stop turning for trauma.
His footsteps come closer until his Converse are directly outside the stall.
“Can I come in?”
I debate only a second before unlocking the door. I don’t see Axel as a threat. A little voice inside even says he may be someone I can trust.
He slips in and closes it behind him, flipping the lock again. It’s cramped, and suddenly very real. He starts to reach for me, but stops himself.
“I hate this. You’re breaking my heart. Can I give you a hug?”
I want that hug more than I want to breathe. I need someone to hold me and lie to me and tell me it’s going to be okay. But I can feel Joe’s shadow creeping in. Constantly stalkingme. Always keeping me looking over my shoulder. I don’t think it’s a good idea.
Axel reads my face instantly.
“Never mind,” he says gently. “You can always say no.”
His patience and understanding continuously catches me off guard, and I don’t know why. He’s made it clear he has experience dealing with these things, but Johnny just comes across as so normal that it’s easy to forget he’s been through some shit, too.
“It’s not that,” I murmur, fumbling for words. “I really, really want that hug. But I’m also feeling extremely vulnerable. I don’t know if it’ll set me off.”
He considers this, then offers, “What ifyouhugme?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. You’re in control. I won’t move unless you tell me to.”
It seems ridiculous, and yet, strangely comforting.
Why is he like this? Why does he care? He barely knows me.
Still, I tentatively reach for him.
True to his word, he stays perfectly still. He doesn’t move to close the distance. He waits for me to come to him. It seems like we’re both holding our breath as I place a careful hand on his shoulder. He’s more solid than I expected. I can feel muscle under my palm as I get used to the touch. I look up at him through my lashes and he nods, encouraging me to continue, so I place my other hand on his other side.
We look like two kids at a middle school dance.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I whisper.
