Page 22

I knew he was talking about Jaymes, about the question he’d asked me earlier. But what did it matter?

“Yeah, it should,” I simply said, shutting his car door. I walked away from him without another word, knowing we’d somehow move on from this and keep on pretending.

Pretending Jaymes’ opinion meant anything to either one of us.

Pretending we weren’t drawn to each other.

Pretending that any time we were in a room together, it didn’t feel like all of the oxygen had been sucked out it.

Pretending, pretending, pretending.

We were so good at pretending.

Nineteen Before

IT WAS ONEof those mornings. The ones where I woke up and rolled over in bed and forgot where I was. Disoriented. Displaced.

I felt outside of myself. Like my body was lying there in bed, but my consciousness was lurking in the corner, watching the lump of a human inhaling and exhaling under her covers, wondering why she bothered to get up at all sometimes.

It didn’t have anything to do with Greyson. Not really.

It’s true that he provided a distraction. Something to look forward to. Someone whose light seemed to wash out my darkness when I was with him.

But the darkness catches up. It always does.

It didn’t matter what I did, what false distractions I latched myself onto, it was always there. Waiting. So damneagerto pounce.

And when it did, it came without warning. Like swimming in an ocean and being completely blindsided by a wave. The way it crashes down on you and pulls at you, dragging you under, shoving you so far beneath the surface that for a moment, you’re sure you won’t survive it. That you’ll drown and completely succumb. That was what my darkness felt like. No rhyme, no reason. It just came for me, over and over and over again. Trying desperately to take me out.

I buried myself deeper into my bed and blankets. Shutting out the world. It would be there for me when I woke up again.

That’s how it worked, right? It kept turning. Kept moving.

There wasn’t a single human on this planet that could stop it. Life went on with or without you. And that morning, I didn’t care to be a part of it. I was weighted to my bed. At least a hundred pounds heavier. It would feel like carrying two people out of my sheets instead of just the one of me with the effort it would require. So I didn’t bother to try.

I just laid there, unmoving, drifting in and out of sleep.

It was late afternoon by the time my body refused to let me keep lingering in bed. My stomach churned with hunger; my mouth was dry. I had to get up soon…

I reached over and opened my nightstand drawer, digging into the far back until I could feel the familiar worn edges of the picture.

It was the only one I kept of her. Of my mom.

I was in it, too. We were in a parking lot somewhere, her arms wrapped around me from behind. I was maybe three. Young enough to still think the world of her. My cheek was smudged with dirt. I was barefoot, drowning in one of her shirts that she’d rolled the sleeves up on. I looked so happy—in my oblivion.

I don’t know why, but I’d always kept that picture with me. Maybe it was because it was the only proof I had, that at some point, in some way—in her way—my mom loved me.

Twenty Before

BY THE TIMEI finally rolled out of bed, the sun was already starting to set. I stood up—too quick—and my vision went black before fading out and leaving me with the sight of my bare feet on the wooden floor of my room.

I walked over to the pictures on my wall. There were twice as many now, and more of Greyson than I’d care to admit. But looking at them made me smile. Especially the one of Sara with bugged eyes and a mouthful of marshmallows. We’d been playing “Chubby Bunny,” a game where we stuffed ourselves full of marshmallows until we couldn’t say “Chubby Bunny” anymore, and I’d taken that picture of her just before she spit them all out into Jaymes’ sink.

I ran my fingers over the other pictures, stopping on one of Greyson.Theone of Greyson. My favorite one. There were two of them now. Because after he officially shut me down that night, I never gave it to him. That would have been exceptionally awkward. To hand over the physical proof that I was obsessed with him after he basically told me it was never going to happen. So, yeah, no. I didn’t give it to him. But maybe I’d have the guts to give it to him some other time.

I walked back over to my bed, grabbed the picture of my mom and me that I’d shoved under my pillow, and added it to the collage on my wall. Right next to the one I took of some wildflowers growing through the rocks on the hills behind my school. They kind of reminded me of each other. Gave me the same feel. That it was possible for something beautiful to grow from such a dark and desolate place.

My stomach growled, effectively pulling me away from the weight of that thought. I didn’t want to go downstairs, but I had to. I was starving. I looked down at my loose shirt and shorts and shrugged. It was decent enough. Not that they’d pay much attention to me anyway—my dad and his new family. I bet I could go down there and shatter every glass against the wall and they’d barely bat an eye.