So I went back in, climbed onto the bed, and held him until the crying slowed and he eventually fell asleep. The room was filled with so much sadness that the air felt heavy and sour.Every breath was anguish. Every cry was torture. I don’t know why Hayden feels so sad. I don’t know what happened today to trigger this break. But my heart hurts to see him so broken and defeated.
I doze on and off for a while. My stomach growls with hunger from the dinner we missed. There’s probably food in the fridge, but I don’t want to leave Hayden, not even for a second.
It’s well into the middle of the night before Hayden stirs again. He groans and struggles to push the blankets off. Which I’ve made harder by lying on top of them. I roll away to give him room and he tenses when he realizes he’s not alone.
He sits up, shoulders rising and falling as he takes deep breaths to gather himself. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, curling in on himself as if he’s expecting me to lash out at him or something.
I bristle. He has nothing to be sorry for. There’s nothing he needs to be ashamed of. I hate that he feels he has to apologize. I might not know exactly what’s happening with him, but I know that whatever it is, it’s not his fault.
I put a hand on his shoulder. He tenses for a split second before leaning into the touch. I scoot closer to him and press my body against his. He melts into me, letting me wrap him up and hold his weight. “You hungry?
“Not really.”
Not the answer I was hoping for because hell,I’mhungry. “Oh… well… I kind of am. Want to eat with me anyway?”
I can’t really see Hayden’s face, but I can sense his hesitation. He wants to lie back down and go to sleep again. He wants to bury his head under some pillows and block out the rest of the world. Which like, I get, but the dude’s gotta eat, right?
“Come on.” I give him a playful shake. “Please?”
It takes him another moment or two, but he eventually gives me a tentative nod.
Hayden lets me lead the way as we shuffle out to the kitchen, then hangs back when I open the fridge to see what our options are.
“I think there’s some cheese in the deli drawer,” Hayden’s voice is groggy and rough, and even though I know he’s hurting, the low, rumbly sound sends warmth spreading through me.
I pull open the deli drawer to find several types of cheese that I’ve never heard of. I pull them all out, along with the grapes I spot in the fruit drawer.
“Crackers are over there.” He points to a cupboard.
I’m not a cook. I don’t trust myself to boil water. But I know how to wash grapes and cut up cheese. I make a pretty impressive plate, enough for both of us, while Hayden watches with his arms wrapped around his middle.
My mind races for something to fill the heavy silence with, but something tells me Hayden doesn’t want to talk. So I bite my lip and let the silence stretch. It’s okay not to talk. Sometimes all we need is to be with someone, to be present, to let them know they’re not alone.
I hold up the plate and selfishly nod toward the window. It’s so stuffy in here with all the sadness and hurt and despair. “Want to sit outside?”
Hayden hesitates again before nodding. We climb out and squish in side-by-side on the steps. I dive into the cheese and crackers and after a few nudges, Hayden nibbles on some too.
Outside is still pretty hot and muggy despite being the middle of the night. The heat hasn’t cleared even though the sun’s gone down. Over the tops of the buildings around us, the sky glows with light from the city. The sounds of cars and sirens in the distance are a constant, unending soundtrack.
When the plate is empty, I set it aside and sling an arm around Hayden’s shoulders to haul him to me. He doesn’t resist,letting me slot him into my side. “You don’t have to talk about it,” I say, whisper-quiet. “But I’m here to listen if you want to.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. And that’s cool. I said he didn’t have to. But when he does, it’s in the tiniest, most heart-wrenching voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I have so many questions. Like, does he have any suspicions? How long has this been going on for? What does it feel like when he has one of these episodes? Why doesn’t he want his friends to know?
“It’s been getting worse.”
My heart breaks and I swallow down a grunt of pain.
“There’s this voice.” He speaks slowly, with long pauses between each sentence. “In my head. It says things. I know they’re not true, but… they feel true.”
“What kinds of things?” I’m not sure I actually want to know. They can’t be anything good. But I think he needs to say them out loud. So they’re not bouncing around inside his head, growing louder and louder with each ricochet. So someone else can hear them, witness them, and tell him he’s not crazy.
“Bad things. About me.”
“Mmhmm.” I try to keep my breathing even. Slow and steady. Calming.
“It says… I’m a loser.”
