23. Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-three
Matt
There is a table. A chair. People sitting.
There is a plate with no food. Then a plate with food. A rolling stomach.
There is talking. Laughing. Looks exchanged. Smiles and frowns.
There is a notebook with a feelings chart, up in the room, too far away. There is the purple piece for sadness. The red for hurt. The orange for anxious. The yellow for hopeful.
There is no color, no word, for what I feel.
I’m a ghost.
My friends are talking about… the future, I think. About what they want to do after leaving this place. About the lives they will live.
I don’t talk, or sign, or draw, or write.
I just sit, their words flowing through the air and wrapping around my throat. That doesn’t matter. There’s no danger, even as the noose tightens and tightens and tightens.
I’m already dead.
Will I spend the rest of my time haunting this place? Even after they’re all gone?
Will they forget about me?
Nolan tells me he noticed I didn’t eat earlier.
I haven’t learned the sign for ‘distraction’, but I manage to sign an apology, at least. He says I don’t have to be sorry.
He asks if I want him to heat the food up.
I can’t figure out how to tell him no. I just stand and watch as the plate spins in the microwave.
It spins, spins, spins just like my mind.
The microwave beeps, finished with its job.
Nolan sits to my right after putting the plate in front of me.
His mind is drifting. He’s worried about Maison.
He’s frustrated that he’s not getting himself any help, still hasn’t gone to the doctor like he promised, and now that Carter is leaving he has more excuses to put things off.
I’m thankful for the drifting. Really thankful.
Until he says, “Come on, Matty. Eat.”
I don’t let myself think about the food. Not the smell or the taste. Not the look.
I don’t let myself think about only, only, only.
I take a bite. I stare at nothing. I pay attention to the swirling chaos of my mind. I swallow.
I take a bite. I swallow.
I try to take a bite. My mouth fills with acidic saliva. I swallow and swallow and swallow.
I take a bite. I swallow.
He nudges a glass of water toward me. My skin crawls. I wash down bile with long gulps. No matter how many times I do it, though, the bile comes right back when I stop.
I catch sight of my plate, at the food, at the colors blurring and running and the lump of-
I swallow, swallow, swallow as the glass of water slips from my hand. It doesn’t break. The water just spills out and seeps into the cuff of my sleeve. I stare at the fabric, just watching it slowly grow darker.
Someone - Nolan, it’s Nolan, I forgot he was there - dabs at the mess with a towel, saying something about it being okay. I want to tell him nothing is going to be okay. It’s too late. It can’t be fixed.
I can’t be fixed.
“You nervous about Carter and Casey leaving?”
Yes.
No.
I’m worried they’ll be hurt, or they aren’t ready, or they’ll be so happy they forget all about us.
I’m nervous they’re just the first of many. I’m nervous that Nolan or Bryce will be next. I’m nervous I’ll be the only one left standing. Abandoned. A ghost.
Nolan rolls up the wet cuff of my sweatshirt, over and over, until it’s nestled near my elbow, dry against my skin. Then he rolls the other to match.
“Do you think you can eat some more?”
I don’t want to.
This isn’t fair.
Ghosts shouldn’t have to do the hard stuff. Shouldn’t have to eat. Drink. Talk-
Well… I guess I’ve got the talking part handled.
Maybe eating will be next?
“Matt?”
Not my name.
Not my life.
Not my, not my, not my -
“Okay, it’s okay. I’ll save it for you, how about that? I’ll wrap it and put it in the fridge.”
I walk away. I climb the stairs. I pause in the hall, wondering if I was supposed to wait for Nolan. Trying to remember if I had even answered him.
I consider going back down. My stomach is turning and turning. I walk to the bedroom instead. I add my guilt about it onto the pile inside my chest, trying not to notice that it’s starting to get too full, clogging the base of my throat, just another form of suffocation.
I barely make it to the bathroom before throwing up.
I feel so empty after.
Empty, empty, empty.
There’s something on my bed when I manage to get to it. It’s - it’s an iPod. It's one of the later versions, the kind that came out right before the iphones got popular instead, so it still has the big touchscreen.
The wire of the two white earbuds is carefully wrapped around the device.
There's a piece of paper folded beneath it.
Matt,
I had to leave for a few hours. I promise I'll be back. There's no guarantee who might be in my office while I'm gone. I just don’t want you to be surprised by whoever it is, if you come in without knocking. I'm sorry about that.
This is yours now. Listen to anything you want, but I made you a playlist. It's the first one in the list. I hope it helps.
Take care of that cute bunny. Take care of yourself. Hide for as long as you need. Bring a pillow, if you go under your bed. A blanket, too. Let your hiding place be soft. You deserve soft things.
I'll be back before sunrise. Come hide with me after that - if you want.
Ace
I don’t feel quite so empty anymore.
I tuck the note and iPod into my front pocket, right alongside my bunny. I drag my blanket off the bed, then my pillow. It takes a little extra work and a few awkward twists of my body, but I manage to make a little nest under there.
It's soft.
Because Ace wants me to have soft things.
It's warm, too.
It's safe.
Something white catches my eye, half-covered by the corner of my blanket. It’s another note, but it’s too dark under the bed to read it. I press the main button of the iPod, making it glow from behind the wires wrapped around it, and tilt it toward the note.
It’s nearly identical to the one on my bed, just with the addition of him explaining that the iPod is up there in case I came directly under the bed and didn’t see it. I have to just close my eyes and be still for a moment as the immensity of his care washes over me.
Then I carefully unwind the wire for the earbuds and settle them into my ears.
For the mess is the title of the newest playlist. The playlist he made just for me.
I press play.
The first song is the first he ever played for me. One of his favorites, he told me. It’s a good favorite. A good first song - for us, for tonight, for the mess inside our heads.
I start to cry again, but it's a good cry. A warm thing that feels like the relief I've been chasing after all day.
I can breathe again.