Still no answer.
I give it another second, then decide I’m breaking in. Pulling my student ID from my worn leather wallet, I slide it into the crack of his bedroom door and jimmy it until the latch pops. He can’t be mad at me for using that trick since he’s the one who taught it to me.
“Hud?”
With a cautious push, the creaky door opens, and I step into the silent darkness. There’s a lump in the middle of Hudson’s bed, barely visible in the dim light. I make my way to his bedside table and feel around until my fingers find the lamp switch, warm yellow light spilling across the room.
I focus on his bed, my eyes adjusting to the brightness. My breath catches when I see him, and it feels like someone just punched me in the ribs.
Hudson is curled in the fetal position, silently sobbing.
Without thinking, I kick off my shoes and climb in behind him. I wrap an arm around his cold, trembling torso and pull him close, holding him like he might break apart if I let go.
“I’m here, Hud. I got you. It’s going to be okay,” I murmur into his unwashed, matted hair.
His sobs break free as I pull him closer, wrapping him in both arms. I hug him tightly so he knows I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know what is going on yet, but his pain and anguish are palpable.
“I never… never wanted you to know. I’m sorry, Cull. I’m so s-sorry,” he chokes out between gasping cries.
“Shh. Don’t try to explain anything right now. Just take slow, steady breaths for me.”
My chest is tight with panic, but I can’t let it get in the way of helping Hudson. I press his back into my chest, my hand resting over his heart. It’s beating frantically, the thump-thump pounding against my palm.
“Take a deep breath with me.” I inhale deeply, and after a moment, I feel his shuddered intake of air. He tries to measure the release, but it comes in broken bursts, tangled with sobs.
He’s trying. And for now, that’s enough.
“Come on, Hud. Try again. You’ve got this.” I take another deep breath, and he mirrors me. This one’s steadier. His back still hitches, but less than before. He exhales without a stutter, then takes another breath on his own.
“There you go. See how strong you are?” My praise is soft, my hand steady over his chest in reassurance.
He gives a slight shake of his head. “I’m not,” he croaks. His voice is still scratchy, but it’s a little stronger than before.
There is a soft rattle beside him, his shaky hand lifting two orange prescription bottles into view.
“I just want it all to stop.” His breath stammers, and another round of gut-wrenching sobs wrack his body.
Fear surges through me. I force myself to stay calm, even as my mind spins with what he might have been contemplating before I showed up. I reach out, prying the bottles from his white-knuckled grip and slip them into my pocket. He doesn’tfight me, just lets go, and starts mumbling “I hate my brain” and “I’m so sorry” over and over, each one broken and full of pain.
It’s clear now. Hudson is sick, but not with a bug or virus. This is something deeper. Something darker.
Why didn’t Mrs. Nora just tell me what was going on? Is this why Hadley hesitated when I asked about him yesterday?
I shove the questions down for now. I’ll ask them later, when Hudson is in a better frame of mind.
My hand slides back over his bare chest, right above his heart. He reaches up with both hands and clutches my forearm, holding on like it’s a teddy bear.
“My lungs h-hurt,” he chokes out.
“Keep trying to take deep breaths. You don’t realize how strong you are.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers.
I don’t reply. I just rest my forehead against the back of his head and squeeze my eyes shut. It kills me that I can’t take away his pain. I hug him closer to me, my own heart beating wildly. There is an urge to take care of him, not just today, but forever. I know whatever future we have will only ever be platonic, but that doesn’t make me want it any less.
My heart clenches as I take the small gift of being able to hold him and grasp onto it with everything I have.
With my eyes closed, I picture an alternate world where Hud and I are together—in love. The image is vivid. Us in college and sharing an apartment. He’d come home from class, and I’d have dinner waiting. I’d greet him with a hug and a kiss, just like my parents do every day without fail, and ask how his day was. We’d talk over dinner, then curl up on the couch to watch our favorite show, except we’d never finish an episode because we’d be too busy getting lost in each other.
