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He does as I say, and when he leans away from it, I set the cup back down, and go to stand. “I’m gonna get your mo?—”
“Wait.”
Clenching my fists, I ease back down, and meet his confused gaze.
He looks so lost…more lost than I think I’ve ever seen him.
And try as I have been to avoid taking in too many details as he laid here unconscious, now…now I can’t help but see just how rundown he looks. Skinny and ragged and devoid of something I can’t quite pinpoint. Like a light in him has been snuffed out.
If it weren’t for the shaggy, wavy light brown hair curling around his ears, and the pale blue irises peeking out around his pupils…I almost wouldn’t recognize him.
His chin quivers, and he says, “Phoebe?”
I clamp my jaw and nod. “She’s fine.” I pause. “Well, as fine as any twelve year old can be after finding her older brother seizing and choking on his own vomit.”
His eyes widen, growing watery.
I open my mouth to say sorry, but close it at the last second.
Because the last thing I am right now is sorry.
Chin quivering, he nods, and if I’m not mistaken it’s…it’s gratitude I see reflected back at me.
“Did you do it on purpose?” I ask him, point-blank.
His mouth opens, closes, and…and something in me dies at the guilt etched across his face. My face hardens, and I spit, “Fuck you.”
“That’s not…” When his voice fails, he clears his throat, and tries again. “I didn’t do it to kill myself.” He quickly shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t know what happened. I just…”
“You just what?” I grit out.
His chapped lips shiver. Shrugging a shoulder, he lowers his gaze and says, “I don’t know.”
“And I think you’re lying.”
He swallows with an audible click, and winces.
“They had to stick a tube down your throat. To help you breathe.”
Sucking his cheeks in, making them look even hollower than they already are, he nods.
“You’re lucky your Mom had Narcan in the house.”
He whispers, near soundlessly, “I know.”
I stare at him.
His eyes lift to mine, searing me with their intensity—their silent pleas for something…understanding? Forgiveness? Hell if I know.
“I know,” he says again.
And it hits me. He did do this on purpose…but not to die. To be saved.
“Mason…” My voice breaks.
“I’m so sorry.”
I scrunch up my face, shaking my head. “How could you?”
