Page 19 of The Art of Drowning

The app sounded like the safest bet, but with the way I was tangled up in Damien—and wasn’t out and unsure about coming out—it felt like I’d be getting in over my head.

Baby steps. For now, my best friend could know and I’d get used to that before I told anyone else. I’d be starting college next year, and I promised myself to come out by then if I hadn’t already. Right now, I wanted to make it through my senior year as drama-free as possible. I wanted to make good grades and graduate and then maybe I’d be over my silly crush on Damien.

TEN

damien

NOW

Of all the dive bars in town, I had to walk into the one Callum was in. It hadn’t taken me long to spot him either. He was tucked away in the corner, sitting in a booth with a tattoo-covered woman. Her hair was up on the top of her head, messy bun style, and she looked at me like she knew me as I walked in.

I didn’t know what I was even doing here. I wasn’t planning to drink. But I didn’t want to be alone right now. The idea of sitting in my hotel room staring at the wall made my skin crawl.

Callum being here was either fate or some kind of sick, cosmic joke. I wasn’t convinced they weren’t the same thing.

Callum turned and watched my approach. He had to look up at me when I stopped near his table. Standing a little too close, but it was a wonder I hadn’t crawled into his lap or under his skin. I hated that I still craved him. I loved that at least that hadn’t changed.

“We should talk,” I said, my voice rasping out, thick from disuse. I’d barely spoken a single word since leaving to come back here. Bowie was running interference for me back home, taking care of everything so I could do this. It had taken me years to let him in, years for me to convince myself that Bowie was the real deal. A true friend. I wouldn’t trade him for a million Sams.

Callum looked at me like I’d shot his dog, but his friend, whoever she was, seemed to be on team let Callum handle his shit himself because she reached across the table and patted his hand.

“I’ll be at the bar if you need me, sugar.” She turned to me. “Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head. “Not tonight, thanks.” I didn’t drink on bad days, and today had been shit. I’d thought about drinking, but after I left town all those years ago, I’d tried the whole drown my sorrows thing and it didn’t take long for me to realize that self-medicating with booze was a terrible idea.

“Thanks for abandoning me, Ginny.” Callum’s sarcastic rebuke lacked any real bite. He sounded exhausted, not irritated. I’d take it.

And how sad was that? Once upon a time, he’d wanted my attention and now he just looked like he was resigned to having to speak to me and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Yet I was practically wagging my pathetic little tail. Just thrilled that he’d agree to share the same oxygen as me.

What made it especially miserable was that I’d take whatever crumbs he’d give me even after all this time. Maybe especially because so much time had passed. I wanted to see what changes time had made. The version of Callum that lived in my head had been frozen in time—eternally youthful with a sun-kissed glow and hair that always fell in his face. The Callum that sat across from me had lived through some shit. I could see it in his eyes. The set of his shoulders, rolled forward, curled in on himself.

“Today sucked,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Callum nodded. “I’ll drink to that.” He brought his glass to his lips and tipped his head back, draining the rest of his drink in one shot. He gasped and coughed and made it clear that he wasn’t used to knocking back a shot of the hard shit.

“I’m sorry about earlier. If you felt like I intruded. I couldn’t—your mom. I couldn’t say no to her. Not today.” I hated that she cornered me and dragged me into that car. I hadn’t belonged there. Not today. Or ever. I didn’t belong with them anymore. Once upon a time, I was like one of their kids, but that hadn’t been true for many years now. So much time had passed, and I sort of half wondered if they’d even recognize me with my natural hair color and far fewer piercings. I kept my ear piercings, though I did take out most of them. I had three in one ear and one in the other, and I kept my eyebrow piercing.

The nipples, well, they never did know about those.

“Mom—she was happy to see you. They both were.”

I hated that he purposely left his own feelings out of the equation. I wanted to know if he suffered like I did. If he hurt the way I did. Bled like I did. If every day away from me was agony. If breathing felt like inhaling razor blades. Exhaling acid. If each morning was greeted with the same dread and each night met with a bleak resignation that it was over.

The first months had been unbearable. I hadn’t been alone in so long that the sudden absence of Sam and Callum and their parents had been a stunning shock to my system. I spent every day underwater, mastering the art of drowning.

After the initial pain had come this blanket of numbness. The isolation got to me, and I knew that if I stayed here, I’d die here. So I moved. I started college a semester late, but I moved away. My parents were all too happy to fund my education if it meant I was away from them. They’d barely tolerated my presence before I was a miserable, moody shell of a human being. And after, well, they were happy when I got on that plane.

I never came back. Not once. There was nothing to come back for.

Until now.

Had it just been for the funeral and the will, I doubted I’d have come at all. Sam was gone. He’d torn himself out of my life as easily as tearing a page out of a book. He didn’t need me then and hadn’t since. He didn’t need me now and would never have a chance to again. But Callum was here, and I wondered if he needed me. If my absence had been a gaping wound or merely the scrape of a knee.

Callum poured another drink but pushed it toward me. He said nothing when I pushed it back, just took it and drank it, then shoved the empty glass to the side like he needed to get it away from him before he filled it again.

“You said we had to talk.” His voice was clipped. Tight. Strained. “So talk.”

“How’ve you been?”