I lift my eyes, scanning the room. But I don’t see him.
To my right, there’s a slider door leading out to the backyard. I think there’s a gate around the side. I can leave now, drive myself home and just crawl into bed, maybe even before my mom gets home from work. Then she won’t have to be bothered to ask me how I’m feeling or whatever. And Alex can find his own way home. Maybe with whoever he’s off dancing with or fucking right now.
A bitter taste floods my mouth, and even though the thought was only in my mind, I immediately walk it back. He’s not like that. He’s never done casual hookups, at least not as far as I know. He’s barely even ever dated the whole time we’ve been friends.
So why the hell is my brain telling me that he’s off in one of the upstairs bedrooms or locked in a bathroom somewhere in this much too large, much too loud house, getting laid?
I suddenly can’t breathe, and my heart’s jumping all over the place, making my chest feel tight.
Someone else comes up—someone I might sort of recognize, maybe from physics class. They offer me a beer, but I shake my head as I stand up. They’re saying something to me, asking me some question, but the words are fuzzy and I’m done enough that I just need to get away.
I start toward the back door, knowing I won’t survive trying to push through the dancing crowd to get out the front. But then a hand lands on my shoulder, and the world stops.
I screw my eyes shut, fighting against the panic rising up in my chest. Everything’s dark and cold, and I can’t move or see orbreathe. And awful, stabbing pains seem to attack me from all angles.
I try to speak, to ask whoever’s got their hand on my shoulder not to touch me—fuck it, don’t they all know this by now?—and I try to get my feet to move, because the back door is only a few feet away. But I can’t. I’m trapped, and it’s painful.
Goddammit, Alex. Where the fuck are you?
“Nico! Hey, asshole, don’t touch him!”
“What? I was just—”
The hand disappears from my shoulder, and there’s some exchange that seems heated. I don’t listen, though, because I’m gone, scrambling forward toward the mythical back door on feet that still hurt and muscles that tremble. My vision’s blurry, but I manage to tug the door open.
The air outside hits me like a wave, and at least it’s warm, but it’s also ridiculously humid and stifling. I suck in two deep breaths before I continue, my head down, away from the noise and people. There is indeed a gate around the side of the house, and in only seconds, I’m there, fumbling with the latch. I hear Alex behind me just as I push the gate open.
“Nico! Hey, wait up! I’m sorry, I was just—”
“I’m going home,” I cut in. I don’t want to hear about whatever the hell he was doing. Whoever the hell he was kissing or dancing with or whatever. I don’t want to hear it.
He reaches my side, and he doesn’t try to argue with me or console me or convince me to head back into the house. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. He just walks next to me silently. I’m not sure if that’s what I want or not.
My car, an old silver sedan that barely runs most days, is parked quite a ways down the street, and we walk the whole way there without saying a word. Finally, when I go to pull out my keys, Alex steps in front of me.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry. Really. I went to go find—”
“It’s fine. I just want to go home,” I say, and I skirt around him to the driver’s side door. He doesn’t move from his spot, and I wonder if he’s going to head back to the party. He can, of course. That’s up to him. I just want to go home, anyway. But I stop, my head down, a familiar anger rising up in my chest. Although I know it’s not real, I’m also powerless to stop it or to control the tone of my words, which come out harsh and scathing. “Are you coming? Or are you staying here?”
I hate that my chest constricts at the thought of him staying, because I don’t want to imagine what he might do. My brain’s already been toying with me enough. And it’s really not like I’ve got any claim to him. He’s not mine, and he’s never given me any reason to believe he’s gay or bi or anything other than straight. He can’t know how I feel, either. I’ve never even hinted to him that I’ve had a crush on him since we were in middle school.
But there’s also no way I can stay here. I shouldn’t even have come in the first place.
“I’m, uh...” He hesitates, and I can almost see him, concern in his deep blue eyes as he shakes his head. “You’ll be okay driving home? I kinda want to stay.”
I shouldn’t be mad. After all, it’s my own stupid ass’s fault for coming in the first place. So I nod, not trying to hide my scowl. “See you at graduation tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Without looking at him again, I get in the car, fasten my seat belt, and drive away, leaving Alex standing there along the curb. It’s only when I’m glancing in the rearview mirror for the last time that I see he’s holding two bottles of water in his hands, frowning as he watches my car disappear down the dimly lit road.
Chapter Two
Alex
Nico (10:53 p.m.):Sorry
Nico (10:53 p.m.):Did you get home okay?
