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"Fucking blasphemy," he murmurs.
"I was gonna do it, but one day I couldn't get up." Now my eyes are welling. Now my throat aches. "I was trapped there." I wipe my eyes, and more tears fall. "And you know what I wanted? I wanted someone to come get me out."
I suck in air after I say it. Didn’t know till right now that that’s how I felt.
"Someone fucking should have,” he says.
I laugh, spilling some more tears. "But no one did. I was always asleep." My voice falls to a whisper. "I could dream about...whatever worked. To distract. I was sore from being on the floor, but I thought I would die. And that was good. That's what I wanted. But they let me out. I found out later Paul thought if I died that way—so skinny—they'd get charged for something. For a crime. By then..." I inhale deeply, exhale slowly. "Paul realized that he had messed up. Really messed me up," I rasp. "I could die, and he was scared of that."
I rub my hand over my face, getting up my courage for the rest of it. I'm breathing sort of hard, and Luke McDowell's hand is cupped over my shoulder.
"They took me down to the clinic floor. I remember someone carried me...and when we walked by anybody...like the nurses in that room...they would gasp. Like they were scared. So I was scared, too. When I got in there, it was so bright. They gave me water. I could do that, like with little sips, but not food. Someone had to come in. I ended up with a feeding tube in my nose." Tears start up again. I rub them away, and his arm settles heavy around my back. It's embarrassing, but that shit grounds me.
"Paul would taunt me. He'd come in and push a rolling tray over my bed and put a fork in my hand. He would try to make me eat. I couldn't lift my arm, though. Every time he gave me food, I couldn't eat it, and he'd shock me. With this shock stick. I'm crying because I hated him," I tell the pastor. "I hate the scars I have all over me now. They're these little burns," I choke out. "Mostly under my shorts. So no one can see them." My voice trembles there—because I know that no one ever will. "They said I went crazy. That's what they told my mom. Then she took me to Sheppard Pratt. Like inpatient. And they said I have all this stuff. Bipolar. Psychosis. But they didn’t know about Alton. That was the name of the place. My mom said if I told, I’d be sorry.” I close my eyes, try to speak again without crying. "So I just wondered what you thought about it."
Thirteen
Josh
"Dude, why do you have a porn star's name in your phone?" Jenna asks.
"What?" I frown up at the ceiling. It's got this fuckin' rad-ass candalier. Chandelier. I laugh at the mental mistake. Candalier makes me think candy. I need candy.
"Dom Bryant. He's that social media dude who has an OnlyFans."
"What's OnlyFans?"
Jenna comes to stand over me. I'm lying on my back on a bed, hanging my head halfway off the mattress. There are two small cracks in the ceiling.
"Joshie?"
It makes me laugh. "You don't get to call me Joshie at the frat house."
"I do if you're too fucked up to say frat house without slurring." Jenna's mad at me. That's her mad smile. I sit up and turn to face her. Makes the room tilt.
I say, "Frat house” clearly.
She rolls her eyes.
"What did you take, Josh?"
I try to roll my eyes back at her, which makes my stomach pitch a little. "Just a few things." I make a face, and that gets Jenna laughing.
"Jeezus." She shakes her head. "You wanna go home? Tell me the story about Dom Bryant. Unless that's just an alias for one of your new big-dick gay friends you forgot to tell me all about."
She peers down into my phone again. "Oooh, so it's a 323 area code." Her cherry red lips are pressed flat as she does some other shit, and then her mouth falls open. "Oh my God, that's West Hollywood!"
I flop back down on my back. Makes me feel a little pukey, but I'm too tired to sit up.
"Yeah," I say. "I met him."
"Did you really?"
"What's an OnlyFans? It's like...internet porn?" She's right—I am slurring. I regret that, but it's too late now.
"I'll tell you as we walk home, fratty. I'm falling asleep. It's almost two, and if I leave you here, you're gonna barf on some upper classman's bed and get in trouble."
"That's not true. I feel great." I can’t say it without snickering.
Jenna holds her hand out, and I take it, getting myself up.
