“I live here,” she says softly.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Right. Forgot.”
She doesn’t pull away when I touch her. That almost breaks me.
“You smell different,” I murmur. The words tumble out loose and unguarded. “Like… like trouble. Like you had a good night.”
Her breath catches. “You shouldn’t be sniffing me.”
“I can’t help it.” I close my eyes for a second. The world sways. “You smell… god, Norah. You smell so fucking needy.”
Her hand comes up to my shoulder, firm this time. “Okay. That’s enough. You are drunk.”
I open my eyes and look at her. Really look. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are bright in a way that makes my chest cave in.
“I am drunk,” I agree. “But I’m not stupid.”
She exhales slowly. “Why are you here?”
The question lands heavy. My throat tightens. I try to speak, and nothing comes out at first. I laugh instead, sharp and ugly. “Because my mom forgot my name today.”
Norah stills.
“She looked at me,” I continue, words slipping over each other, “and she smiled real polite and said, ‘Sir, visiting hours are almost over.’ I told the nurse I was her son,” I say. “And the nurse looked at me like she felt sorry for me. Which is worse than looking annoyed, by the way. I hate pity.”
Norah’s voice drops. “Why would she think you were just visiting? She doesn’t recognize the house?”
“She’s not home,” I say quietly. “She’s at the hospital. Had surgery last night.”
Her face softens completely. “Oh, Dorian. Is that why you?—”
My eyes burn. I blink hard, but it doesn’t help. “She asked for my dad.”
Norah’s hand tightens on my shoulder.
“I told her he was busy,” I say. “Which is a lie. He’s not busy.”
My voice cracks. I laugh again, but it falls apart halfway through. “I left the hospital, and I drank. And I kept drinking. And then I realized I had nowhere else to go.”
She leans in and wraps her arms around me before I can brace for it.
The contact does something violent to my chest. I bury my face against her shoulder without meaning to. The smell of her makes my head spin worse. Tears come anyway, hot and humiliating.
“I keep fucking everything up,” I choke. “I’m so bad at this. At life. At loving people. I mess it all up, and then I act surprised when I’m alone.”
Her hand slides up my back, slow, soothing. “You are not a fuck up.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. My vision swims. “Don’t lie to me. Not tonight.”
She cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks, wiping at the wetness like she isn’t afraid of it. “You’re hurting. That doesn’t make you a failure.”
I snort weakly. “You always say the nice thing.”
She helps me to my feet. I wobble, and she braces me, arm around my waist. Her body presses into mine for a second too long, and my body reacts even now, even like this. I hate myself for it.
Inside the house, everything is too quiet. The lights are low. It smells like her. Just her.
She sits me at the kitchen table and pushes a glass of water into my hands. “Drink.”
