Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
BEFORE
Things were going okay.
Atty and I were right on track to being friends. We’d started hanging out again. I’d kept my distance, did my best to stay on good behavior around him.
As the days passed, I found myself reaching for my pocket less and less. Just enough to wake up in the morning, or maybe if I went out at night. But otherwise? It was mostly under control.
He kept looking at me. And it wasn’t just those unreadable, stony stares—I knew how to interpret them now.
His eyes would drift to my neck, my shoulders, linger for a beat too long.
Sometimes it was my mouth. Those were the hardest ones.
I’d have to clench my fists, bite down on my tongue, force myself not to lean in and kiss him.
But the days kept stacking up, and every morning when I woke up, there was a text from him waiting. And before I went to bed—well, before he did—there was another.
We were becoming part of each other’s routines.
Shared jokes. Stupid reels. Little things that felt like ours.
I used to think talking to him was hard, but it wasn’t at all. As Atty relaxed around me, everything just…softened. Sure, there were silences, but they were the good kind—the comfortable kind. And when I ranted, he actually listened.
He asked about the music I liked, and he showed me what he played on his PlayStation. He even taught me how to join him—patiently—even though I was absolutely fucking terrible at it.
And somewhere in all that, I started to feel like maybe, just maybe, one day, I’d be good enough for him. Like, one day, I’d say screw it and just kiss him. And just keep doing it for the rest of our lives.
Until reality came back and slapped me straight across the face.
We were at my place with Holly, lounging on the couch, talking about nothing in particular. Maybe I was leaning in closer than I should’ve been, but he kept sneaking glances. Kept smiling at me in a way that made every butterfly in my stomach riot at once.
Then my mom called.
My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I checked the screen, tried to ignore it. But it kept going. And going.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” I said quietly.
Atty nodded, and I reluctantly peeled myself away from him—even though our knees had just been inches apart. Holly was still scrolling on her phone, not really paying attention.
I stepped out onto the terrace. “Hi, Mom.”
“Muneco, I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” she snapped. It had been, what—two minutes? But sure, who’s counting.
“I was busy.”
“Fine, be that way. It’s not like I’m your mother,” she added, her voice tight with sarcasm. Laughter floated behind her—she was probably out with friends again.
“What do you need?”
I heard her heels clicking as she stepped away from the noise. Great. This was already going downhill.
“I’m going on a trip with my friends. I need more this month to cover it.”
“Your allowance is more than enough to cover trips, Mom.”
“Well, I had extra expenses.”
“Like what?”
She let out a sigh, sharp and theatrical. “Wow. So now I have to justify how I spend my money? I can’t believe how little you trust me.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You do if you’re spending more than you need. It’s only the tenth, Mom. You shouldn’t be out.”
Silence.
She was choosing her next move. Either hang up or go for the jugular.
“How many times do I need to remind you that I’m your mother?”
Jugular it was.
I hummed, bracing myself.
“I gave up everything for you, and this is how you treat me? Sitting there in your nice little apartment while I rot alone in mine?” Her voice shifted, catching—like she might cry. “Honestly, Noah, do you even have a heart?”
That edge in her tone always got me. Wounded. Accusatory. Like I was the one who’d done something wrong. Like I had abandoned her.
Guilt twisted low in my gut, hot and familiar.
I stared out at the city.
Just block it out. It’s white noise. Don’t engage. You’ll just make it worse.
“If you can’t tell me what you spent it on, I’m not going to authorize it.”
“You know what?” Her tone took another edge, bitter and dramatic. “Keep your fucking money. Let me figure it out. Let me scrape by. I never should’ve had kids anyway.”
And she hung up.
Block it out. That didn’t hurt you. Block it out.
I inhaled slowly.
You couldn’t even ask how I was doing, could you? Yeah. You sure as shit didn’t want any kids. That much is clear.
My eyes stung. I groaned, furious with myself. I should’ve been made of ice by now. Why the hell did I keep letting this get to me?
I should just authorize it. She wasn’t scraping by, but…if she needed it.
A soft tap came from the window behind me. Atty was leaning against the frame, concern etched into every line of his face. “Hey.”
I tried to smile. Even when all I wanted was to ask for a hug and bury my face in his chest and stay there until I stopped feeling anything.
“Hey,” I muttered.
His pale eyes darted over my face. “Are you okay?”
No.
I’m not fucking okay.
I don’t remember what being okay feels like.
Maybe that’s what it would feel like—with you.
But I nodded, the motion stiff, already feeling the dam cracking behind my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to hold it in for long.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Atty. I think I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I pressed my lips together and slipped away before he could ask anything else.
In the bathroom, I locked the door behind me and braced my hands on the counter, its cold surface biting into my palms. I stared at my reflection, but I didn’t really see myself—just the outline of someone I didn’t want to be.
How many more times does she have to tell you she doesn’t love you until you fucking get it?
I tugged on my necklace, knuckles white with pressure.
There’s nobody left.
Nobody who stays.
Nobody who wants you—not really.
My eyes drifted down to the bottles.
He wants me. Even if he doesn’t know what he’s asking. Even if he’s wrong.
I pulled out my wallet and took the bag from it, laying it on the counter. Not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, the sight of it made me hate it.
Made me hate myself a little more.
I opened it and took a bump before hopping into the shower and letting the scalding water burn—
Then numb me.
I sank to the floor and let it fall,
and fall,
and fall.
The next day, I dragged myself out of bed for the meeting with my academic advisor.
I didn’t want to go, but if I was going to work things out, I needed to get school in order too.
I’d been going to classes and turning things in as best I could, but there was still a big chunk I’d missed at the start.
I knocked on the office door and stepped in when a voice called me inside.
“Mr. Rossi, take a seat.”
“Hi.”
He was scrolling through his laptop, and my stomach twisted—just like it had the last time I’d been in an office like this.
“Your professor said you were hoping to earn some extra credit?”
“Yeah. I missed a lot at the start of the term. I just want to make up for it.”
His brows lifted as he scanned the screen. “More than a lot.”
My leg bounced under the desk. I bit the side of my thumb. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to catch up.”
“Might be too late.”
My heart dropped. “What?”
“Your absences are irredeemable at this point,” he said. “I’d advise you to withdraw before the deadline. Talk to Student Affairs if you want to reapply next year.”
“I don’t understand. So that’s it? I just flunked out?”
“You missed the entire first half of the semester. This is the best I can offer you.”
A rock settled in my stomach—heavy and cold.
His eyes scanned my face, and his expression shifted into one of quiet sympathy, though it did nothing to shake off the fear settling into me. “Withdraw. See if you can reapply, then focus all of this energy into next semester.”
I nodded and stood. He turned back to his screen, and I closed the door quietly behind me.
So that was that.
I’d fucked up. Irrevocably.
I rushed out of the building and started walking back to the apartment.
Hey, Dad, guess what I accomplished today? Crossed one of the big five off the list. And you said I was too young for it.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
No more classes.
No more training—because I’m pretty sure they notify your coach when you’re no longer enrolled.
And goodbye, Atty.
So much for being better. For fixing things.
She’s right.
It’s me. It’s always been me.
That’s why no one can stand me.
A waste of fucking space.
What’s the point?
Just take the fucking pills and be done with it already, you fucking coward.
He’s never going to love you. No one is.
I crouched on the floor, arms wrapped tight around my knees, face pressed into them.
I wished I could disappear.
His face swam into view. The golden specks in his eyes and the way his lips curved when he smiled.
That’s not yours. It’s never going to be yours. You don’t get a happy ending. You don’t get a happily ever after. This is it. This is what you get.
I reached for my wallet, pulled out the bag, and stared at it. Loathing rose in my throat, hot and sharp.
It’s your fault. You did this to me. You fucking ruined my life.
I stood, walked to the nearest trash can, dumped it and turned away.
Five steps. That’s how far I got.
People are coming over. How are you going to handle that with no help? You’ll be your usual charming self—Mr. Crying-All-the-Fucking-Time-and-Feeling-Sorry-for-Himself? Sounds like a fun fucking party.
I don’t need it.
And your looks? Those’ll slip away. One extra meal at a time, you’ll stop looking like you. Then no one will want you—not even for an easy fuck.
I don’t need it.
Who’s going to keep you numb? Who’s going to shut your head up when it won’t stop spinning?
My hands trembled, fists clenching and unclenching as my brain spiraled.
It was just one more party. I’d quit after tonight.