Page 169 of Becoming Us

Until then, I partied. And I partied hard. Every day of the goddamn week.

I’d wake sometime in the afternoon, dizzy and dry-mouthed. Shower or throw up—whichever came first. Take a bump, crack open a beer, and head out before I had time to think too much.

I had gathered enoughfriendsto always have somewhere to be, someone to call—even if Holly kept pushing me toward a safer crowd. But being around those people only made things worse. They looked at me like I was broken.

With the others, I could disappear into the noise. They didn’t give a shit about me, and that was exactly how I liked it.

Hell, if I brought them over, I didn’t even have to be alone. The music blasted through the walls, voices rose and clashed, bodies moved around me in a blur of heat and sound. The louder the party, the less I had to feel. The less I had to hear that ache grinding inside me, chewing through whatever was left.

I’d become an expert at compartmentalizing.

I shoved all my feelings into a box, slammed the lid shut, and slipped into the role everyone wanted—Fun Noah. Charming Noah. Give me enough bumps, and I could light up a room, make anyone feel like they mattered, keep the party going like I didn’t have a single ghost breathing down my neck.

So what if the next morning sucked?

So what if I couldn’t stop thinking about dying?

I never told Holly what really happened that day. The official story was that my mom walked in on a party and shipped me off to rehab. That’s what Ilana heard too. I hadn’t even texted her since.

By October, this had just…become my normal.

Ignore my mom’s calls. Drinks. Couple of lines.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It didn’t feel great.

In fact, it didn’t even feel good. It just made me feel like trash.

Every drip down my throat. Every nosebleed. Every ear infection. Every time my dad’s face showed up in my mind, soft and tired, reminding me this didn’t have to define me—that I could still walk away, that feeling grew.

But it was too late for that. Too late for change.

So I buried it, just like I buried everything else.

I was staring at my phone, bleary-eyed, thumb hovering over some old text thread I couldn’t bring myself to open, when a new text came through from Holly.

Holly

I’m on my way to the kappa sig thing

are you coming?

Couldn’t think of anything less appealing. But sure, why not? I had ignored five of her calls already and canceled plans. I’d made a rule to at least show up once a week—just enough to keep her appeased.

The least I could do was show up for the one person in this world who—for whatever reason—still thought I was worth something.

My dad’s one-year anniversary was coming up in two days.

Would that be poetic?

Maybe we could share the same one.

Me

text me the address

After I got dressed, I checked my pockets and found them empty.