Page 49

Once again, my mind detaches from my body and I laugh. It’s not an amused laugh; it’s a sad and broken laugh at the irony of what he’s said. He’s asking of me what I’ve asked of him, and he doesn’t even realize it.
“I’ve been begging for the same since I met you,” I softly remind him. I love him and I don’t want to hurt him, but I’ve got to end this cycle once and for all. If I don’t, I won’t make it out alive.
“I know.” His head falls onto my knees, and his body shakes against me. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
He’s hysterical, and the nothing is slipping too fast for me to stop it. I don’t want to feel this, I don’t want to feel him crying against me after promising and offering the things I’ve waited what feels like an eternity to hear.
“We will be okay. When you snap out of this, we will be okay,” I think he says, but I’m not sure, and I can’t ask him to repeat it, because I can’t handle hearing it again. I hate this about us. I hate that no matter what he does to me, I somehow find a way to blame myself for his pain.
I catch a glimpse of movement at the door, and I nod at Noah, letting him know that I’m fine.
I’m not fine, but I haven’t been for a while, and unlike before, I don’t feel the need to be fine. Noah’s eyes move to the broken lamp, and he looks worried, but I nod again, silently pleading with him to leave, to let me have this moment. This last moment to feel Hardin’s body against mine, to feel his head on my lap, to memorize the black swirls of ink across his arms.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix you,” I tell him while softly stroking his damp hair.
“Me, too,” he cries against my legs.
Chapter thirty-one
TESSA
Mother, who is paying for the funeral?” I ask.
I don’t want to come off as insensitive or rude, but I have no living grandparents, and both of my parents were born as lone children. I know my mother can’t afford a funeral, especially for my father, and I worry that she has taken this on just to prove a point to her friends at church.
I don’t want to wear this black dress that Mother bought me, I don’t want to wear these black, high-heeled shoes that she surely can’t afford, and most of all I don’t want to see my father buried.
My mother hesitates; the tube of lipstick in her hand floats just above her lips as she makes eye contact with me in the mirror. “I don’t know.”
I turn to her in disbelief—I mean, if I could muster enough energy for the feeling to actually be called disbelief. Maybe it’s more like numb curiosity. “You don’t know?” I watch her. Her eyes are swollen, the evidence that she has been taking his death harder than she will ever admit.
“We don’t need to be discussing financials, Theresa,” she scolds, ending the conversation by walking off into the living room.
I nod in agreement, not wanting to start a fight with her. Not today. Today will be hard enough. I feel selfish and a little twisted that I can’t bring myself to understand what he was thinking when he pushed that last needle into his vein. I know he was an addict, and he was only doing what he’d spent years doing, but I still can’t wrap my mind around what it would take to do that, knowing how deadly it is.
In the last three days since seeing Hardin, I have began to get my sanity back. Not completely, and part of me is terrified that I’ll never be the same again.
He’s been staying at the Porters’ house for the last three nights. This was a massive surprise to me, and to Mr. and Mrs. Porter, I’m sure; they surely haven’t spent much time around anyone who doesn’t have a membership to the country club in town. I would have loved to have seen the expression on Mrs. Porter’s face when Noah brought Hardin home to stay with them. I can’t imagine Hardin and Noah getting along well, or at all, so I know how hurt Hardin must have been by my rejection if he was willing to take Noah up on his hospitality.
The heavy weight of my grief is still there, still hiding behind the barrier of nothingness. I can feel it pushing at the wall, trying desperately to ruin me and push me over the edge. I was terrified that after Hardin’s breakdown, the pain would win, but I am thankful that it’s been the opposite.
It’s an odd thing, knowing that he’s so close to this house but he hasn’t tried to come by. I need the space, and Hardin usually isn’t good at giving me space. Then again, I never wanted it before. Not like this. A knock on the front door has me adjusting my black tights faster, and I glance in the mirror one last time.
I lean in closer, examining my eyes. Something about them is different that I can’t quite describe . . . they look harder? Sadder? I’m not sure, but they match the pathetic excuse for a smile I try to give. If I weren’t half-mad, I would be more concerned about the difference in my appearance.
“Theresa!” my mother calls in annoyance just as I reach the hallway.
Given the sound of her voice, I expect to see Hardin. He’s given me the space I’ve asked for, but I suspected that he would come by today, the day of my father’s funeral. But when I turn the corner, my body freezes; I’m surprised, pleasantly so, to see in the front doorway none other than Zed.
When his eyes meet mine, he looks unsure of himself, but when I feel my lips turning into a grin, his face splits into a bright smile—the one I love, the one where his tongue appears between his teeth and his eyes shine.
I invite him in. “What are you doing here?” I ask right as my arms wrap around his neck. He hugs me, too tight, and I cough dramatically before he lets up.