But I have to.
I will not be my mother's daughter.
I cannot stand around until it’s too late.
“Get in bed,” I say. His body tenses—but it’s enough to get him moving.
He starts to strip the second he’s beyond the threshold, and I put both his shoes on the mat where he likes them, collect his socks, shirt, and pants to put them in the basket. I fill a glass of water for him and start the washing machine with tears in my eyes before wandering back to his room to find him sleeping in bed on top of the sheets.
It’s nearly impossible to be mad at him when he looks this small.
I set the water on his nightstand and kneel next to the bed to brush the perfect dark strand of hair off his forehead. “You’re right, Brighton,”I whisper, “it’s not mine to fix.” I search all the harsh lines of his face before looking up at the stars on the ceiling, my heart breaking because all I want to do is crawl into that bed with him.
I kiss his cheek, lingering just to feel his skin. “I just want to be-friends-who-kiss with you forever,” I whisper. “But I need your help.”
It’s not mine to fix.
The ultimatum rings in my ears as I roll over in bed. She didn’t stay. I shouldn’t have asked her to, but I couldn’t help it.
I need your help.
Sounds like you're in love.
You scared me today.
Protect her from this.
The worst of them all is that I can see Rhea, just out of reach, and with her is Landon. The rage is unbearable, but the fear it’s all-consuming. Drunk, it was easier to process the surprise. Sober, it feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to my chest.
He’s been here. He knows where she is.
I still can’t tell if he wants to approach her. I think I scared him out of it, but it feels wrong. He asked me if I would tell her, and I told him no, that much I did right. She doesn’t need to know about all of this. About the tangled connection—the sinister thread that knots us together.
Leave her out of it.
I can handle the disappointment of losing two friends at once, on my own.
Conversations all bleed together, and I can’t pinpoint exactly which one gets me out of bed, but my feet are on the ground, and I’m running the shower. I leave it cold and let it shock my system back to life, puke twice, and leave the bathroom in better shape than I entered. I lookaround the apartment for a sign of her, but find nothing. The shoes are neatly put away, and there are no dishes in the sink or cups on the island.
The blanket on the couch she loves so much is folded the way I left it, and it feels…cold.
She was just supposed to be temporary. Here until she could get her feet on the ground. It was never long-term. So why does this feel like I’m walking on glass?
I stare at my phone with the intention to call her, the picture of us at Daisy’s dance stares up at us, and I hate how nauseous I feel staring at it. She was a little older than Daisy is now, but everything that went down that day… Daisy and I could very easily become Rhea and Landon—with one small misstep.
I can’t let that happen again.
I need to protect them from me.
I pull on clean clothes, calling José while I do, and then Boone. Both arrive at the apartment an hour later. José has coffee, and Boone has food.
“Eat something,” he says to me, and I nod.
“I’m sorry I took off,” I apologize to him, but Boone doesn’t look me in the eye, and I know I’ve fucked up badly. Whatever is in the sandwich he made me cures me from the inside out, the dull throb in the back of my skull fades to nothing but a tingle, and I’m ready to clean up the mess I made.
“Harvey's dying triggered an episode,” I tell José to get him up to speed. “I flipped out, couldn’t get control. I made a mess of everything, and I need your help.”
Boone looks up from his coffee like he’s shocked I even asked, but he nods.
