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Twenty-Five
I leave the party without my friends, an increasing trend in my behavior, and drive slowly home, my limbs trembling. When I wake up the next morning, I shower, but don’t look in the mirror when I get out. I can’t stand the thought of seeing myself after what I did last night, after what Irealizedlast night.
Avoiding a mirror is a lot easier than avoiding my mess of feelings. I turn my phone on airplane mode, throw on headphones, and go through my grandma’s room, boxing anything I look twice at. My mom won’t be awake for hours, her room completely black, her own noise-canceling headphones over her ears and playing the calming sound of an ocean lapping against the shore, but I still try to be quiet. Except for my music. I turn my music up loud. It’s angry and selfish and raw. Like me.
I place my grandma’s jewelry box on my desk next to my computer, the documentary up on the screen, and don’t even open it. The necklace I want—the one Ineed—isn’t there, but maybe I’ll find a replacement. My back aches when I really getto work, but I make some progress... in taking things from her room and putting them into mine. Probably not what my mother had in mind, but she’ll have to deal for now.
At some point last night, Corrine texted to ask how things went between Victor and me. I told her it was great even though it wasn’t. Like with Elijah, my vagueness was most likely enough for her to believe we had sex. Like, as Juniper says, sex-sex. Instead, I bruised my knees trying to give him a blow job, but my mouth was too dry. I faked the orgasm when he enthusiastically went down on me in return to speed things up so I could leave. How was I supposed to enjoy any of that when it felt like there was another person in the room?
Oh, shit. How am I supposed to go back to work after what we did?
Maybe I do need to see a therapist—
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I fly a foot in the air, my headphones sliding off and hitting the floor with a disappointing plastic sound.
Holden full-body cringes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to get your attention that wouldn’t scare you.”
I clutch my chest, my heart sprinting a mile a minute, and I can no longer tell if it’s because he scared me or if it’s because this is the first time I’ve seen him since our awkward goodbye post-kiss. “Where did you come from?”
“Your bedroom window. You weren’t answering my texts, so I let myself in. What are you doing?” He sits down next to me in the doorway of my grandma’s room, which looks like a natural disaster has hit it, his knee knocking mine. He notices the yellowing bruise there. “Ouch, what happened?”
I ignore his question, my heart doing a back handspring in my chest. “Going through my grandma’s stuff. My mom wants to get rid of it for when we move.”
“Wait. When are you moving?”
“I’m not sure. Soon.”
“You didn’t say anything.” He face slackens. “Where are you going? Far?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say. “We’re staying local, but we don’t really have a place yet.” I think of The One with a strange fondness. It kind of feels like a new start, a do-over. I definitely want it now.
“Will I still be able to sneak in your window?”
I smile, though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t entertain the idea of this continuing, whatever it is to him. It’s not fair when it’s so much more to me and he has no clue. When I’ve lied to my best friend about it multiple times. “Probably.”
“Keep me in mind.”
That won’t be a problem.
I tap my temple. “Got it. Make sure the house is convenient for Holden. Top on my list of priorities.”
“I get it, you know?” He gestures to my grandma’s stuff. “After Trevor moved into the hospital, I couldn’t walk past his room, but at the same time, I only wanted to spend time there. He had this rotting banana in his trash can that was stinking up the place, but I refused to let my mom take it out because—because it would be like acknowledging that he wasn’t there to do it. That he might not ever come back.” He bites his lip. “I used to wander around the house just looking for him, knowinghe wasn’t there, but kind of feeling like he was just around the corner.”
“I know that feeling.” It aches in me every day. I nudge him with my shoulder. “I kept soap.”
“Usedsoap?”
I scoff. “They were unopened boxes of new soap, not a rotting banana peel.”
“I didn’t keep the banana peel, I just didn’t let anyone throw it out.” He pauses, then grins at me. “Now that I’ve said it out loud, I guess I know why my mom took me to therapy. It wasn’t even a bananaheate. It was Mara’s.”
I pause for a moment, debating my words. “Do you go to therapy, like, regularly?”
His eyes cut to mine. “Yeah. Every other Wednesday after school.”
“Does it help?” I pick at a hole in my sock instead of looking at him. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to. I know it’s personal.”
His gaze burns a hole in me until I meet his eyes. “Yeah, it helps. Have you ever gone?”
