Page 34 of Perfectly Us

We reach it several minutes later. The area is secluded, with trees behind us and one of those rickety docks that jut from the shore into the lake. The parking lot can’t be seen at all from where we are.

“This… is kind of creepy,” he says.

“Totally horror movie territory, right? Jason Vorhees could be plucked from his movie and placed in front of us, and he would blend in perfectly.”

“Please don’t say that.”

I then do thech-ch-ch ah-ahmusic from the movie.

“Goddamn you, Alex.”

I laugh and walk toward the lake, sitting in the grass near the water’s edge. Shiloh plops down beside me. Frogs croak and cicadas whirr, all sounds of warm summer nights.

I look over the water, remembering a time when Clay and I came fishing with Dad. We jumped off the dock and swam, even though Dad told us not to. We got yelled at the entire car ride home, but we smiled at each other, knowing it was worth it.

“It’s peaceful out here,” Shiloh says.

“Even though it’s creepy?”

He flashes a shy smile, and my heart skips a beat.

“It reminds me of the place I went last summer.” His voice is quieter now.

“The therapy program?”

He nods. “We did a lot of outdoorsy stuff when we weren’t in sessions. I learned real quick I’m not much of a swimmer. Deep water freaks me out. But I like to get in the water as long as my feet can still touch the bottom.”

“What else did you do?” I ask, too curious to keep my mouth shut.

“We went hiking and did other camp stuff most people would find cheesy. I liked it though. Mainly, I liked that the other kids were like me. I didn’t feel so alone. Our experiences were different, but similar too.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I say, recalling how upset he got that night when my nosiness got the better of me and I pried into his business.

Shiloh pops the rubber band. “I just don’t want you looking at me different.”

“Like how?”

His blue eyes look darker beneath the moonlight. He holds my gaze a moment before turning his face to the sky. “Once people know, they get a certain look to them. Pity, mostly. They stop seeingme.” He pauses. “Instead, they see a sad, tragic boy who sliced his own wrists.”

I suck in a breath and place a hand on the ground beside me. My fingers curl in the blades of grass. I knew that’s what he did, but hearing him say it damn near breaks my heart. I want to ask him why. I want to throw my arms around him and tell him that he’s beautiful and worthy and loved.

But I can’t find the words.

“That’s the look,” he sadly says, his eyes on mine. “I don’t blame you. How else are you supposed to react?”

“I’m sorry.”

“After it happened, that’s when it all started. The stares. The whispers behind my back.” Shiloh seems to draw more into himself as he sits beside me. “Some people felt sorry for me, like how horrible my life must’ve been for me to do such a thing. But the thing is? My life wasn’t horrible. I just…” The soft snap of the rubber band fills the air. “My head was in a dark place. Clouded. Part of me felt like I wasn’t even here anymore. Like I was an empty shell.”

“Do you still feel like that?”

“No.” Another soft snap. “I’m on meds now that help with those thoughts. I also go to therapy once a week.”

I think of my mom then, of how she stands in front of that window, sometimes for hours.

“Can I ask a personal question? You don’t have to answer it.”

Shiloh nods.