My stomach twists with guilt, sending bile rushing up my throat. I softly nudge Jackson out of the way, rushing as quietly as I can to the bathroom. The last thing I want to do right now is see Luke or Saint. I’m not sure where they’re sleeping, but if staying quiet is what needs to be done to avoid them, I’ll do my best.
I fall to the ground in front of the toilet, opening my mouth to let the liquid fall out. It continues until nothing is left, and even then my stomach demands to release more.
The first sob breaks through unexpectedly in between gags. Once the first one is released, they don’t stop. Tears begin to soak my cheeks as I let my head fall in between my legs. “How could you?” I choke out, speaking to myself. “How could you do that?”
I reach up, gripping chunks of my hair in both hands and tug. The pain is amplified from the healing wounds dad had caused before he went in. I take a deep breath and focus on the feeling, allowing my mental pain to come out physically. When my scalp can’t take anymore, I free the strands from my grasp, watching as multiple long blonde hairs fall to the tile below.
I stay there like that on the bathroom floor for a few minutes until I’m able to get my breathing under control. Once I no longer feel like I’m on the verge of passing out, I slowly pull myself up off of the floor. My hands grip the counter as I come face to face with my reflection, once more finding nothing but a broken girl in front of me. To my left, the toad shaped soap container stares back at me. I quickly push the nozzle, letting the cleaner drizzle into my palms. Without much thought I begin to scrub at my skin, desperate to wash the disgust away. When that doesn’t work, I turn the cold water off, making room for the hot water to drench my skin.Anything to make this feeling go away, I think to myself as I watch my once pale skin turn to a bright red. The shade reminds me of the tomatoes we had seen at the farmers market the day I met Abigail. Everything had been so ripe, ready for the taking.
I choke on the urge to cry out again as a light knock rattles against the wooden door. “Nova?” Jackson’s voice whispers from the other side.
I quickly splash my face with some cool water before pushing the boundary between us open. “Hey,” I start off, “I’m sorry. I have really bad nightmares sometimes.”
He gives me a sympathetic nod in return. “I used to struggle with night terrors as a kid. Is it anything like that?”
“Kind of,” I smile back, moving towards the door. He steps to the side, allowing me enough space to escape the bathroom. Together we walk back into the living room. The apartment is still silent, everything sitting in place as though it was part of an untouched movie set.
“Where are they?” I ask, taking one final glance around the living room. I start to gather my things, looking at Jackson to make sure he’s still willing to take me.
He gives me a nod and responds to my question. “They’re in Saint’s room. We were playing COD and they both knocked out.”
“Oh, okay.” I say back, questioning how long I was out on the couch for. Before I’m able to come up with an answer, Jackson is opening the front door and stepping to the side to let me through. I follow him out into the night. The clouds of the day have fully disappeared, giving me a perfect view of the stars littering the dark sky. The view holds my feet against the ground, pleading for my attention. Each individual light in the sky twinkles back at me, giving a performance to all those who are looking up.
“They’re beautiful out here, huh?” Jackson questions as he takes a couple steps back to stand next to me. I feel the front of his hand brush against mine before he links our pinkies together. “It makes sense why Saint calls you SuperNova.”
His words stun me and I turn my head to look over at him. He gives me a warm smile in return. “Are you talking about what he said at the party?”
“Nope.” He starts off and then returns his gaze back up to the night sky. “He’s been calling you that since we were little. Onceyou left, he kept tabs on you for a while. Always checking in with your parents and scouring social media to see if you ever made a profile. It settled down a little once he met Abby.” Jackson lets go of my finger and turns his body towards me. “It never fully stopped though. That’s why Abby and your mom are so close. Their connection helped them all in some way, I suppose.”
I consume his words, letting the meaning behind them settle into my bones. I had been so wrapped up in my own demise, I never spent a moment to think about him. At a loss for words, I turn my attention back to the darkened theater above us. Together we stand there, soaking in the silence. A moment of peace it seems we both needed, one I could have stayed in forever had Jackson stayed frozen in place. Instead I follow him to his honda, settling into the passenger side. His car is nothing but organized chaos, stickers plastered along the dash and seat covers with an intricate pattern woven into them. It fits him so well that it brings a smile to my face.
“What changed your mood?” He asks, smiling over to me as the car turns out. Music seeps quietly from the stereos on either side of us.
“Has anyone ever told you how interesting you are?” I smile back, pointing at my favorite sticker. It’s a small frog who’s wearing a cowboy hat. Underneath him, in large bubble letters it states ‘This is my first rodeo.’
Jackson laughs in return as he begins to pull out of the parking lot. “Once or twice.” He adds with a wink.
There’s something so undeniably innocent about him. His presence makes me feel warm, dare I say happy. It’s like his constant good mood is infectious, spreading to anyone within a six foot distance. Telling him the truth feels evil. I can’t rob him of who he is. I can’t make him think differently of me or his friends. The guilt of my choices lay heavily on my lungs, each breath feeling like a battle.
Play Miserable Man by David Kushner
My phone lights up with another text from Abby. It’s the third message I’ve received since the night at Saint’s. I can’t bear to read them, knowing she doesn’t know. I don’t deserve her friendship but I don’t have the guts to tell her the truth.
It’s been five days since I left the house, most of the time since I’ve spent holed up in my room. Mom has tried multiple times to get me to open up, but I’ve become hollow since then. All my truth would do is ruin the view she carries of her daughter.It’s better to just stay silent.
Anotherdingcomes from my phone, pressuring me to finally roll over and check it. I drag my comforter with me, keeping myself buried underneath the fabric. The fantasy of it swallowing me whole brings a glimpse of happiness to my mind.How long would it take for me to become part of the bed? How many days until my skin would begin to dissolve, falling into the threads of the sheets?
Unknown: Hey it’s Luke. Can I pick you up in an hour? I need your help.
I reread the text a few times, trying to confirm what I’m seeing. I’ve never spoken to Luke alone, and I continue to come up empty handed when trying to find a reason for him to need my help.
Me: What for?
The three dots to show he’s typing appear almost immediately.
Unknown: I'm taking that a yes. ETA is thirty minutes.
Staring down at the messages frustration fills me. The last thing I want right now is to leave my bed, let alone see any of them. Luke doesn’t seem like he’s giving me a choice in the matter, though, so I fight against my body to get up. I’ve been locked in place for so long that the movements feel sore. I quickly make my way over to the dresser, pulling out the first items I see. The softness of them is a stark contrast to the clothes I’ve been wearing since the night I got home. Those ones have grown rough with dried sweat over the past few days.
