You deserve someone whole.
In the end, I send nothing. I heart the message and turn off my phone, tucking it under my pillow. Then, I lie there until my mind’s too exhausted to torture me anymore.
TWENTY-SIX
I stareat the trash bags, one black and one white, and wonder how hard it would be to suffocate myself. Not hard, I bet, though easy to rip through the plastic at the last minute.
“The black one is for trash, the white one is for the garage sale,” says Mom, passing me the bags. Then she hands two to Scott and points to a pile of boxes in the corner. “Don’ttouch these bins back here. They’re full of family photos and art from when you were kids.”
“Got it,” says Scott.
Mom blinks at him and then scans the basement. “Where’s Noah?”
“Dead to the world as usual,” Scott mutters. “He got inlatelast night.”
Mom doesn’t ask what he was doing, not that she’d believe me if I told her he was getting drunk at a bar again with his high school friends. “Oh, we’ll let him sleep, I guess. He’s been working so hard.”
If I had any fucks to give right now, I’d roll my eyes. I don’t. I feel numb.
“Ivy, why don’t you start in the back here.” Mom turns to look at me and does a double take. “Are you coming down with something? You look pale.”
Scott jumps back, eyeing me like he thinks I should be quarantined. “I cannot get sick this weekend,” he blurts. “I have a bigpresentation on Monday.”
“I’m just tired,” I lie. I do feel sick. Physically ill, my body’s reaction to the stress of last night and withdrawals from the person I care about most. My chest is hollowed out, my heart sunk somewhere deep down. It sputters painfully with every beat, echoing in the emptiness. I think it might be dying.
“Fatigue is usually the first symptom of the flu,” he says, still backing away. “I’ll stay over here, just to be safe.”
“You should be taking multivitamins,” says Mom. “Also, fish oil pills. Omega-3s can reduce that inflammation around your face.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” I mutter. The inflammation’s from crying my eyes out, but I don’t tell her that, obviously.
Mom leaves us to our task, and I spend the next hour sorting through old Barbies and baby books. My hands are weak, probably because I haven’t eaten today. My whole body feels like it’s shutting down, and I can’t think about Wes without my breath coming short and tears welling in my eyes.
We haven’t spoken today. The ball’s in my court, but I’m unsure of what to do with it. I can’t go back to him without some kind of explanation, but every time I try to plan out what to say, panic grips me.
I went to a party in high school and?—
There was this guy, and he?—
Something happened when I was?—
I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, and focus on digging through the board games next. One task at a time. One minute at a time. Don’t let my mind run wild.
We’re an hour into the great purge when Noah wanders in, still wearing his pajama pants and slippers. He’s got dark bags under his eyes and the ultimate bedhead, his hair in dire need of a comb.
“Wow, you look like shit,” says Scott.
“I drank too much,” groans Noah, dropping down into an old beanbag in the corner. He leans forward, resting his head in his hands, and groans again.
“What else is new,” Scott mutters.
Noah glances up, looking around the basement with a frown. “You guys don’t really need my help, do you? Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
Scott snatches two garbage bags from the boxes by the door and drops them in Noah’s lap. “Wrong. Black’s for trash. White’s for the sale. Your corner’s over there next to Ivy’s. Hope you’ve been taking your Vitamin C.”
“Vitamin C?” Noah mumbles, but he shuffles over to the pile beside mine and starts rifling through the box at the top. “This is gonna takeforever.”
“We’d be halfway done if you hadn’t slept in,” I tell him.
