Page 91 of Run to Me

Either way, I say, “You’ll tell me if you need my help, right?”

“Of course. You’re the only person I would turn to. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m good.” Putting an end to the conversation, he tucks me against his side and wraps an arm around me. “Sleep, beautiful. And don’t sneak out in the morning.”

I rest my cheek against his shoulder and trace the hummingbird tattoo with my fingers, reflecting on how tired he looks these days. Faint shadows circle his eyes, and his skin’s natural luster has dulled. The election may have something to do with his exhaustion, but I wonder how much I contribute to his worries.

Jensen absorbs stress like a sponge absorbs water—instant, greedy, without thought. But he can only hold in the stress for so long before he makes a mess. I discovered this truth when I was too young to understand his struggles and too foolish in my belief that I could fix him.

30

MAISY

Maisy, 13; Jensen, 16½

Bored out of my mind, I sway back and forth on the tree swing, ankles loose with the toes of my shoes in the dirt. There used to be grass under the swing, but now there’s a bald spot where my feet drag on the ground.

Jensen pulls up in his mom’s old sedan, which he’s been driving since he got his license in the spring. When he sets foot on the cracked pavement of my driveway, I know something’s wrong and instinctively move toward him.

“Where’s Logan?” he asks, his voice tight. Frantic eyes sweep the surrounding area as he shifts nervously, unable to stand still.

“He’s gone with Vera.”

Logan had a football thing to register for in Austin, so he and Vera will be gone until later this evening. As usual, I’m alone.

Jensen grimaces and yanks his hair. “Fuck.”

The metallic grating of a mailbox being closed captures our attention, and we glance at the neighbor who’s looking our way.

“Come inside,” I tell Jensen.

It’s clear he doesn’t want to be seen in his current state, and he doesn’t argue, following me into the house. The second the door closes, he launches into a self-deprecating tirade.

“I fucked up, Maisy. I failed my English paper. I was already doing bad in that class, and we’re at the end of the grading period. I suck at using words. I can read and shit just fine, but I’m no good at putting my thoughts out there, you know? I’m so fucking stupid. And if I fail, I’ll get benched, and the whole team will hate me because I’m letting them down. And my parents. Oh god!” He retches, and I’ve never seen anyone in such distress. “This is so bad, birdie. Everyone will be mad at me. The coaches. Logan. My family. Fuck! I’m such a fucking loser!”

He’s pacing around and talking so fast. And his poor hair; he keeps yanking it. I do the first thing that comes to mind and slam myself against him, wrapping my arms around his waist. The fierce hug takes him by surprise, and he stops pacing.

“J,” I whisper, squeezing as tight as I can. “I’m here. Take a breath.”

He’s shaking all over, and his shuddering exhale rattles my heart in my rib cage.

“I feel like I’ve got to get out of my skin, but I don’t know what will happen if I do.”

“Explain it to me,” I say.

“My head—It’s—I can’t—” He growls in frustration.

He was speaking fine during his rant, but now he can’t put more than two words together, so I say, “Give me one word. In one word, tell me what’s happening in your head.”

His arms remain pinned to his sides like a statue. Like he might break if he moves a muscle. “Chaos.”

“And what will make the chaos go away? One word.”

He’s quiet for long seconds before he speaks in a strained whisper. “Damage.”

Racking my brain, I search for a way to help him. I’ve heard about those rooms where people smash things, but Vera won’t be pleased if I let Jensen destroy our house. Only one lame idea pops into my head, and hopefully it works.

“Come with me.” I grab his hand and lead him to Logan’s weight bench in the backyard.

My thought process may be flawed because I don’t know what’s happening to him, but I’m hoping he can burn this excess energy by lifting weights, an activity he enjoys. This way, he won’t hurt himself or anyone else.