Page 73 of If the World Was Ending

Colby was moving out. They were cowards, and now they weren’t even friendly cowards. Hunter grabbed a carton of coffee creamer and shuffled to the register. It felt like a monumental effort to get his feet moving. A guy in the snack aisle gave him a leery glance, but Hunter was too busy trying to get his lungs to expand to care. They had a self-checkout option, thank Christ, so he didn’t have to deal with another human being. He wanted smokes, though, and those were behind the glass with the cashier. He took one step that way and felt dizzy, so he paid at the self-checkout and tripped his way back into the cold night.

By the alley next to the store was a homeless guy under a bunch of blankets. Hunter stumbled over toward him and dug in his pocket as he did. “Do you have a smoke?”

The guy looked up and glared. Hunter pulled a five and some coins out of his pocket. “One clope. Pour l’argent.”

Hunter asked for a cigarette in French and offered money. The guy was still glaring, but he put his hand into the pocket of his stained jacket and pulled out a pack of Player’s Lights. With shaking fingers, Hunter pulled one from the four that were left, and the guy tossed him a lighter. It landed in the snow, but Hunter managed to pick it up, get his smoke lit, and hand the lighter along with the money to the man. With a shaky “merci,” he walked away.

He coughed on the three drags he took of the cigarette, not because he had forgotten how to smoke but because he had apparently forgotten how to breathe. And then he sat at the empty bus stop, pulled his phone out again, and FaceTimed Colby. Because Hunter truly thought he might actually pass away, and that’s who he wanted to see before he died.

Colby’s face filled the screen almost instantly. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. His cheeks flushed. “You called.”

“Yeah. I… I can’t breathe.” He tried to take another drag and coughed so intensely that his eyes were watering, and his shaking hand dropped the smoke. “Fuck.”

He lunged to grab it before it went out. Luckily, the snow was like ice and too hard to dampen the cigarette.

“What the hell is wrong?” Colby didn’t sound like Colby. His voice was thicker, and his words all seemed attached to each other.

“I don’t know. I had steak for dinner and a pretzel, and I’m like dying. Should I puke? I should.”

Hunter leaned forward and realized the creamer was in front of him, on the ground between his feet. Puking on that wasn’t a smart idea. He leaned back instead, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to puke.

“Is this a panic attack?” Colby’s voice filled the air from Hunter’s phone still gripped in his left hand, resting on his knee. “I think this is a panic attack. Take a deep breath.”

“I can’t.” Hunter felt his eyes get wet, but he wasn’t coughing. Or choking. And that made his heart beat even faster because he was not going to fucking cry alone in a bus stop. God, why was he such a piece of shit? He was sick of being emotional. He was sick of being lonely. He was sick of being awkward. And bisexual. And being such a stress case for his potentially, probably, sick mom. “My mom might have cancer.”

“What? Holy fuck. What?” Colby’s words were still mushy, even though his eyes seemed to be less glassy when Hunter dared to open his own and look at the screen. Colby was so fucking good-looking. Fucking hell.

“She told me tonight she needs a biopsy. Again.”

“Again?”

“She was sick when I was in high school.”

“You never told me,” Colby said softly.

“I don’t know everything about you either,” Hunter replied and paused to try to take a deep breath. It almost worked. Almost. “I mean fuck, are we even real friends?”

Colby looked like he’d been slapped. He swallowed, and his eyebrows pinched as he said. “You know I have two brothers. And that things are strained with my family. And I had a sister, almost. I told you stuff. I know you’re adopted. I know about the guy in high school you did stuff with. We are friends. Why the fuck would you ask that? It hurts.”

“Because I’m fucking spiraling. Sorry. I fucking suck,” Hunter said and shook his head. “Why are things rough with your family? You talk around it but never about it. I bet Briar knows, so tell me too. Please. I need to think of something other than my mom.”

Colby sighed and shook his head, and Hunter thought he was going to stay silent. But then he wet his lips and spoke. “My dad found gay websites in my browser history when I was sixteen.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah. Queer curious kid was not something Andy Keaton had on his bucket list,” Colby went on, words still slightly slurred. “He put parental locks on the internet, confiscated my iPad, and my laptop could only be used in the kitchen, supervised, and only for schoolwork. He said it was because he was worried about computer viruses and pedophiles, but he also started acting like I was a piece of furniture. Something he had to walk around and live with, but ignored,” Colby explained.

Hunter realized the cigarette was almost done. He flicked off the very long ash and attempted another drag. This time he managed not to cough.

“The best part? He actually caught my brother watching gay porn on my iPad, and Atlas said he stumbled across it by mistake because it was in my history.”

“Shit. Your brother tattled?”

“My brother, the one currently planning to marry a woman, was looking at gay porn for himself. I was a convenient excuse because I’d confided in Atlas that I thought I was—maybe, probably—gay. So he used my iPad, and then he blamed me when he was caught. And now my dad pretends I don’t exist, and my brother is still his favorite. Anyway, why am I telling you this nightmare?”

“Because my mom might be dying and you just text me that you’re moving out and my body decided to try and shut down because I don’t want any of this to be happening,” Hunter replied.

“Can you breathe again?” Hunter tried, and this time, his lungs almost filled to capacity. He exhaled loudly and slowly. Colby shot him a soft, sad smile. “Good.”