Page 90 of The Art of Drowning

He kissed the top of my head, and I nestled into him.

“Me too, D. Me too.”

He didn’t ask questions or say that he told me so. He didn’t gloat or brag or prod. He just let me exist in my hurt. He let me wallow in my feelings and didn’t ask me to talk about them or tell me they were stupid. Probably because he knew those were things I was saying to myself already.

“I think I want a cat,” I said instead of telling him about the shit I’d said to Callum. Or the way he’d gotten wasted and cried all over me and how I loved being there for him, but it reminded me of the times when no one was there for me. That wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t fair of me to be angry or hurt about it, but I was anyway.

“What brought that on?”

“I threw Spike in the trash.”

Bowie stiffened. “Well, fish him back out. You can have a cat and a pet rock. I’m sure Spike won’t hold it against you.”

Bowie held me tighter, and I finally started to feel a little better.

“I’ll fish him out. I was just in a mood, I guess.”

“You were punishing yourself,” Bowie supplied.

“I was not.”

“You were.” He kissed my forehead when I looked up at him. “Sorry. But you need to see it for what it is.”

“And what’s that?”

“You were hurt and angry and you wanted to punish yourself for something. You were hurt by someone, and maybe you wanted to hurt yourself even more than they hurt you, so you could excuse them for what they did because it wasn’t as bad as that time you threw your pet rock away.”

The way I laughed caught me off guard. “I sound so levelheaded when you talk about me like that.”

“Some people self-harm through physical means. Some people harm their emotional wellbeing.”

“Ouch.”

Bowie rubbed my back. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “I won’t make you talk about it. But I’m here if you need someone to listen to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Now go to sleep. You had a long day.”

I closed my eyes and shifted around to face away from Bowie. It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep and when I did, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of anything.

FORTY-THREE

damien

THEN

I never fathomed a world in which Callum would choose me over his family, over his brother, but that didn’t mean the lack of surprise was a balm to my hurt. Hell, my own parents didn’t choose me. How could I expect anyone else to?

Leaving town and starting over was the only option for me. It had been my plan all along, but I’d always sort of thought that when I started over somewhere else, Callum would be with me.

Being friends with Sam for years had stunted my ability to make new friends. It was stupid, but I’d leaned on him for so long that without him I was lost. How did people make friends? Did they just walk up to someone and say hey, we’re friends now? Everyone on campus seemed to have friends. Cliques. Clubs.

And then there was me. I’d tried to make friends with my roommate, but after a bout of extreme homesickness, they dropped out. For the past week, the other side of my room was empty, stripped of Chad’s belongings so quickly because he’d never settled in to start with.