And now, I want to kick myself in the balls for being such a dick. I mean, yeah, sure, both Jude and Kane have been busy lately. And Jude is a bit too preoccupied with exacting revenge for his mother and stalking this comatose girl—Viola, I think—who should be on Jude’s list, but he somehow isn’t killing her, so he hasn’t been nagging much about my meds.
Yes, that made me a bit sloppy, and no, it’snothis fault—it’s mine. I’m the fuckup in this friendship, not them.
And making them feel guilty for not stopping my mind from sabotaging itself is just not it.
Do better, asshole brain.
“I always have time for you.” Jude grabs both my shoulders. “You know that, right?”
“Ew, don’t give me diabetes.”
“Preston,” he says with a bit of force in his tone as he repeats, “you know that,right?”
“Yeah, just shoo. I’m allergic to cringe.”
He lets out a breath, then releases me. “Are you really not going to tell us what the fuck happened?”
Kane skates to our side, toying with his stick. “We need to know the full story to be able to take care of it.”
“It was really nothing.” I lean against my stick, speaking in my humorous tone. “Got drunk and high, which isnotrecommended, by the way—kids, don’t do this at home. Then Isomehowspilled the bottle of alcohol as I was commemorating Mom’s death anniversary and fighting my demons—I won, incidentally. I might have had a lighter in my hand, and I could have possibly played with it, andboom!Fireworks! But I left the car in time, because I was lucid enough to know I was in danger.”
Lie.
Liar.
Would’ve totally detonated along with the car if Marcus hadn’t pulled me out. Just a fraction of a second later and I would’ve followed my mom all the way down the abyss.
My chest squeezes at the memory of Marcus.
This shit is really serious. First, it was my dick that had a malfunction because of him, and now, it’s my chest?
This needs Dr. Duret’s special black book that she scribbles in all the time. Yesterday, she said, “Don’t you think you’re brave for surviving another anniversary?”
And hell yeah, I am. Because listen up, I always want to follow the ghost of my mom to the abyss on that day.Always.
Not this year, though.
For the first time, I thought to my genius self,Why do I have to die just to ask her a few questions?
Mom abandoned me right after she complained nonstop about how Dad abandoned us. At the end of the day, he’s the one who stayed, and she choseto leave me.
So why do I have to be in pain over it all these years later?
I mean, it’s not like she chose to die. Yes, she made the decision, but suicide is complicated. For instance, it’s not that I wanted to die on her anniversary, but I could’ve.
Anyway, all of this to say, I don’t blame her. I just miss her, and I want to know why she left me.
Yesterday was the first time I thought maybe I should try to stitch up the old wound.
And no, those thoughts are totallynotbecause of a certain leather-clad guy who pulled me out of the cliff’s fangs.
“What about Osborn?”
I lift my head toward Kane, my chest kind of doing this ridiculousthud, thud, thudthing that I need pills for stat. I already have a dozen of those, what’s one more?
“What about him?” I say nonchalantly.
“He was there,” Jude says. “There’s even a rumor on campus that he caused the explosion and nearly killed you. Some say he was watching the whole show with popcorn.”
