I should have said something then. I should havedonesomething then.
The elevator opened, and I stepped through it, finding the door that marked roof access, pushing through.
The roof was more of a balcony, a thin rim around the tenth floor, with rusting iron railings and concrete flooring that neededsweeping. My heart rate ratcheted up to my throat as I turned the corner, praying to all the gods that I would find him there alive, well. Hoping that my impulse to draw up a vial of naloxone had been out of an abundance of caution, that I would have to explain to the Elion EMS coordinator why I’d prepped one in the first place ahead of time and wasted supplies. That this nightmare of an evening would come to an end, and I would wake up to find it had all been a dream, that everything was okay, that Ezra was still harmlessly annoying and—
“He’s here!” Patrick bellowed.
It was late, dark, but the light from the full moon was just enough to cast Ezra’s sunken silhouette in a soft silvery glow. He’d always been ethereal, but there was something tragically romantic about how he looked then, his legs splayed, his head lolled to one side to expose a long, pale neck.
I didn’t remember closing the distance between us. Didn’t remember placing my fingers on that neck to feel his steady pulse still thrumming, didn’t remember counting his breaths to find them slow and hesitant or screaming for Patrick to help me strip him of his jacket. Didn’t remember stretching the collar of his shirt until it tore to reach the meat of his shoulder or slipping the safety off the hub of my needle, pushing it through his skin, pressing the plunger.
What I did remember was the wait. A minute was a long time when you were counting it down. Sixty seconds of praying, of holding this stupid boy in my arms, of realizing that if he were to die today, I would mourn him. Of wishing that when he’d told me I was his best friend, I’d admitted that he was mine as well.
And then, at the sixty-seventh second, something incredible happened.
Ezra opened his eyes.
“Jo?” he croaked. He sounded like he’d swallowed glass.
“Yes, you colossal idiot,” I said. Tears trailed down his chin; mine, dropping onto his face.
He smiled, a quirk of his mouth that didn’t hold a candle to his usual smirk.
“I feel like shit,” he said.
I laughed, bowed my head. “Narcan will do that to you,” I said.
Ezra nodded, his head beginning to loll, and I raised my needle, prepared to administer another dose.
“Stay with me, Jo,” he said.
“I will,” I promised.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jo
“In my freshman year of college, I tried to kill myself,” Ezra said, to no one, to everyone. “I don’t think anyone really noticed that there was something wrong with me. I did a good job of hiding it. Had good grades. Friends. I don’t even think I understood what I was feeling fully. Just that, most of the time, I didn’t feel real. Like I was just putting on a show. Performing all the time felt exhausting. And one day, I decided to just... stop.
“People talk about suicide like it’s this split-second decision people make, a final act of cowardice. But deciding to die, at that point, felt like the bravest thing I’d done yet. It felt like a choice I was making for myself.
“But then someone found me. A girl from my class. I’d always admired her. She had no one but herself, but she made that enough. The world was constantly trying to tell her that she didn’t matter, and she asserted that she did, and made her place in it.
“I call Josephine Boateng my angel because she literally is,” Ezra continued. His voice was steady, stable, but I could see the sadness in his eyes even through the screen, and it made me wantto reach for him. “She was the first person I saw at the end of that tunnel. The one to call me back.”
He was saying so much. How I consistently refused his family’s monetary assistance, how his mother had given the money to my medical school in secret after my acceptance when she discovered that the scholarship they’d intended to give me was only partial. How, with me, he’d finally been loved for who he was, how my drive made him want to do something for himself and do it well.
Ezra was addressing the world, but it felt like he was speaking directly to me, his eyes creasing at the corners, an old pain evident in the tensing of his jaw.
And then, suddenly he was.
“Jo,” he said, “if you’re watching this, I want to say... I’m sorry. You’ve had to suffer so much because of me. Because of assumptions others have made because of my actions, opinions they’ve formed because they couldn’t see you for you. And you deserve none of this. You deserve the world, you deserve the love that you’re experiencing right now. I feel so lucky to have been able to stand in your light. And if you never want to speak to me again, if the damage I’ve done is too great, I’ll understand.” He cleared his throat. “And Malcolm... thank you for pushing me to do what I thought I couldn’t. You were there for Jo when I wasn’t, and even if I had a shit way of showing it, I’ll forever be grateful to you.”
I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a whimper. What was Ezra doing? Why was he putting himself on the chopping block for me? Why now, when all of his dreams were just starting to come true, when Zachary fromOne True Kisswas becoming a household name, when new roles and opportunities were just beginning to compile? He could’ve said nothing, let the newsfizzle out, or done something more subtle, maybe post a picture of me, him, and Mal together to show that we were all cool, release my transcripts to prove that I had more than earned my spot at Herrick School of Medicine. Denise and I could’ve worked out a solution—it was what she was for, for crying out loud—or maybe I could’ve made something work with Lana. Hell, Renata’s public relations team was like an army; surely they could’ve come up with something. He didn’t have to put his entire heart out on display like this to save me. We could have handled it. Hadn’t I told him that we would always be friends? Hadn’t we promised that much to each other?
In the corner of my eye, I could see Mal shuffle in his seat. Turning away from him, I dialed Ezra’s number, held my breath until he picked up.
“What is wrong with you?” I said into the phone.
