With a shake of my head I say, “No, I’m fine now.”
Bryce turns away too soon and shuts the door behind him, the floorboards creaking as he walks back to his room. I wish he didn’t give in so easily. I think about the cigarettes hidden in the glove compartment of my car. How much better I would feel if I smoked just one. It would be easy to get out of bed, go downstairs, and smoke on the other side of my car in case someone looks out the window.
No matter how strong the urge is, I don’t move.
I am not that person—sneaking around in the night, smoking cigarettes.
I’m shaking less now, so I lay down and pull the blankets over me to ward out the cold. I manage to sleep for about two hours before I can’t bear to lie there any longer.
Around seven o’clock, I hear Dad leave for work. Slamming the door behind him. His truck rumbling down the driveway.
I sit on the edge of my bed, only wearing yesterday’s jeans. There’s a faded mark over my ribs now. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. But today it’s still a reminder of what happened to Adams and the dreams I have at night.
My stomach turns wrong and I sprint down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door before kneeling down in front of the toilet to let it out. My head spins and my mouth tastes of vomit. Food from the diner doesn’t taste nearly as good coming up as it does going down. I spit whatever is left in my mouth and flush. But I don’t have the strength to get up. I don’t think I have the strength to do anything.
I lie down and press my face against the cold tile, my bare chest already becoming numb. Not bothering to move from my place on the floor, I reach into the bottom drawer of the vanity to find Libby’s dwindling supply of breath mints.
As the mint slowly disappears on my tongue, I trace the gray grout with my finger.
Bryce’s footsteps echo up the stairs.
I don’t move. Stare at the door. Glad it’s locked. Don’t want to see anyone. I could almost fall asleep here. Where I know I’m safe and anchored to the floor with exhaustion.
He knocks.
“Kale?” I don’t answer. “Harper is here to see you. She’s outside.”
My eyes were half closed a second earlier. Now I lift my head from the tile. “What?”
“Harper,” he says again. “Look, I’m already late meeting up with the guys. Do you want me to tell her to wait?”
Last night feels like a lifetime ago.
“No.” I clear my throat to make sure he hears me. “Just tell her I’m asleep.”
She can’t see me like this. Broken and lying on the floor, torn between the two worlds I live in. And I don’t have the energy to make myself presentable or pretend nothing is wrong.
“Are you sure?” His voice is closer to the door now. I can imagine him out there—keys in hand but one foot pointed toward the stairs because he’s already made up his mind to leave.
“Just tell her to go,” I say.
Bryce sighs before going back downstairs. After he shuts the front door and I’m sure he left, I lift myself off the floor and crawl into the bathtub. The entire bathroom wall parallel to it is made from glass blocks, lighting the bathroom in a way so the light never has to be turned on in the daytime. It makes everything quiet and still.
My heart finally slows.
Hiding in the bathtub and staring at the glass is something I do as a last resort. Only when nothing else can take my mind off leaving this place and going somewhere else. It’s a safe place. The tub hides me and keeps me from leaving. Something solid to trap me here.
My eyes are closing when the stairs creak down the hall.
I don’t even care enough to open them.
“Kale?”
I wake to find Harper standing over me and I flinch in surprise. I glance over the side of the tub to see the door open behind her. My heart won’t stop hammering, but I can talk. “How did you get in here?”
She holds up a small screwdriver, offering a smile. “Did you forget Libby used to lock herself in here when she didn’t want anything to do with us?”
“Right.” I push myself up a little straighter, very conscious that I don’t have a shirt on. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” Harper sighs and puts the screwdriver on the sink. She kneels down next to the tub.
There’s a thin strand of hair hanging down in her face. At any other time, I would want to fix it, but not now. Right now, I want to stare at her because I’m realizing we aren’t ten anymore.
“So you broke into my house because you wanted to see me?” I ask, my voice sounding too loud in this empty room.
“Yup, true story.” Then she finally asks, her eyebrows coming together, “What are you doing in the bathtub?”
“Taking a nap,” I half lie.
She rests her chin on the lip of the tub. I can’t remember if we’ve ever been this close.
And I can’t pretend nothing is wrong. Even when I wish it.
“You’re leaving again soon, aren’t you?” Her eyes search me.
I nod.
“And you’ll be back?” This time it’s her turn to attempt a smile. It’s like this house sucks the happiness from everything, even her. “I promised, didn’t I?”
“And I promised I would never ask.” She looks away and brushes some hair away from her face. “Is it bad that I’m regretting it?”
“Harper—”
“It’s okay. A promise is a promise.”
“I want to tell you, I do. I just—” I pause and start over, saying exactly what I mean. “It’s like you think you know someone, and the moment you find out the truth about them, everything is suddenly different. And no matter what you do, you can’t take it back.”
“But I don’t know you,” she says. “Not anymore.”
She’s right. She doesn’t.
Harper’s eyes travel down, staring at my chest. Where my dog tags lay over my heart.
I can do this.
I can tell her.
When she first moved back, I wasn’t so sure.
I was with Miles at the baseball field, where we normally meet at least once a week.
“You need to tell her,” Miles had said.
I dug my toe into the dirt, pretending I didn’t hear him. Inside my glove, my hand was damp with sweat, and my arms and legs ached after throwing for so long. I looked up at Miles, crouched over home plate, his catcher’s glove ready.
I lifted my leg, cocked my arm back, and followed through. The ball thunked when it hit Miles’s glove and he winced. It used to be his dad’s—it’s old and worn, not in prime condition to be catching pitches for an hour straight.
He stood but hesitated tossing the ball back. “You’re going to throw your arm out if you keep going.”
“Just give me the ball.”
“Kale—”
“Just a few more,” I promised.
He threw and I gloved the ball to shake out my shoulder. Miles gave me a look. “What?” I asked.
“You know what,” he said.
“It’s just a couple more.”
“I’m not talking about the pitches.”
I knew he wasn’t. I threw again, but again, Miles kept the ball. “I’m serious. You need to tell her.”