Page 151 of Before We Break

“Clio.” My name is but a whisper on the other side of the wall. “Are you there?”

I pinch my eyes shut as my chest tightens. I can’t bring myself to respond.

“I miss you. I know there’s no fixing this, but I just need you to know you were never too much for me. You were—are—everything.”

A silent tear tracks down my cheek, and I press my palm against the wall, wishing I could feel him on the other side. It’s everything I’ve been waiting to hear, but it’s too little, too late.

NOAH

Lexi: Please don’t give up on her

Me: What can I do?

Lexi: It’s her birthday next month

Me: I know

Lexi: So get your shit together.

Me: Ok

Me: I love her Lex

Lexi: Duh.

FORTY-FOUR

THE HOUSE ON DARLING STREET

♫ Lego House - Ed Sheeran

NOAH

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up,” a small voice chants.

A persistent bouncing on the mattress jostles me awake, and I groan. “Go away.”

“But it’s morning time.” Auggie’s morning breath tickles my nostrils, causing me to wince.

When I blink my eyes open in the dimly lit bedroom, I’m staring at what appears to be a cyclops with one giant blue eye in the middle of an Auggie-shaped face. His nose is practically plastered to mine.

He finally sits back on his knees, but the reprieve is short-lived as he starts the incessant bouncing again.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, missing it several times before my hand wraps around the device. “August Artemis Weston. It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

“Uh huh. Can I have chicken and waffles before school?”

“Go back to bed for another hour, and you can have whatever you want.”

“But I can’t sleep,” he whines.

You and me both, kid.

I tossed and turned all night until my body finally gave up around three in the morning. I haven’t slept well at all since I got home from the hospital. The concussion subsided around day fourteen, but I still have this stupid cast on my arm that makes it damn near impossible to get comfortable.

To add insult to injury, my dreams are tormented by memories of Clio, and when I wake up with a hard on, I can’t even take care of it because I decided to swerve right instead of left. Even if I was ambidextrous, I’m pretty sure no strenuous activity includes jorking it to thoughts of my neighbor.

Clio’s muffled playlist drifts through the walls like I summoned her with my wayward thoughts. I reach across the bed for a pillow and hold it against my face. If I keep it there long enough, maybe I’ll pass out.