32. Chapter Thirty-two #3
I leave my body.
I have finally crumbled.
I am nothing but dust.
I am not here.
I’m in a dark closet, little and dirty and scared and hurting, ear to the wall trying to hear music.
This body is just a shell, just a pretend thing.
“Okay. That’s okay. Never mind. Just - you want to come check out the party?
Maybe it’ll help. I don’t know. When things are bad for me, I have to be around everyone.
I need to see them all and know they’re okay and spend time with them.
But if you need to hide instead, that’s okay.
I’ll stay with you or leave you alone or send Matt. Whatever you need.”
I find myself walking. He joins me, his elbow bumping mine.
There is loud music playing when we find everyone. Some of them are already drunk. Some of them are quickly on their way to getting there.
I gravitate toward Travis and Jake. They say something, both smiling. I feel my lips smile back. I take a drink of my beer.
I hear Bryce ask, “Where’s Matty?”
I look around, moving my head slowly so I don’t get dizzy. The upper might be wearing off. I can’t feel my body well enough. That’s okay. I don’t want to.
I promised myself I would sleep after this.
I stole a few extra pills, though. Just in case. I could go another 24 hours without nightmares. Maybe even 48 or 60, if I stagger things right.
Where is Matt? Did anyone answer Bryce?
My beer is warm.
Jake is… gone.
Travis and Carter are too busy talking.
I wander.
I’m back in my office.
All but four screens are black. There’s the view of Pasternak’s plane, police coming and going as they do whatever it is they need to do with it for the case they’ll be building.
The case that won’t matter because Kellan will make sure Pasternak doesn’t see the end of the month.
There’s the view of the two agents’ body cameras still at the scene.
Then Keaton.
Elliot is sitting up in the ambulance bed, more blankets laid over him. The paramedic is monitoring an IV that’s going into his left arm. The woman is typing on her phone.
Keaton’s arm is outstretched, holding a phone in front of Elliot so he’s facing the screen. I can’t see who it is but I know anyway. I know because I know Keaton. I know because no one else could put that happy look on Elliot’s face. It’s his mom. He’s video calling with his mom.
I turn off my entire computer system.
I wonder if Keaton knows what happened to my mom.
Or dad.
I think wondering that should hurt.
I think I’m tired again.
I - I think - uh.
I think…
There’s movement to my left.
I look over.
Matt.
“There you are,” I whisper.
I think I had been looking for him.
If I wasn’t, I should have been.
Everything is so much brighter, so much warmer, with him.
My own personal sunshine.
Matt stretches his arm out toward me, his hand open, his palm up. I just blink at it. I can’t, for the life of me, think of what he would want from me. I have nothing to give.
I am an empty shell. Even his warmth can’t fix that.
He steps a little closer. His eyebrows furrow as he darts his gaze between me and his hand. Then he turns it, palm down, and reaches for me.
There was a time, a few weeks after Keaton had brought me to Kellan’s house, when Kellan had come into my room in the middle of the night.
I had been tossing and turning already, restless, caught in a space between the terror of nightmares and the terror of a reality that I still couldn’t believe was real.
But when my door opened with the softest creak, I had gone perfectly still.
As if being still and quiet would keep him from finding me.
As if that had ever fucking worked.
Something had touched my foot and I had felt myself leave my body. I wasn’t trapped anymore. I was away from it. Floating. Whatever was about to happen to that little boy who was fucking stupid enough to believe the safety was real wouldn’t happen to me. I was safe.
I had watched from outside my body as Kellan carefully laid another blanket over me. Then, after pausing and mumbling, “Oh, fuck it,” laying another one on top of that.
I hadn’t slept that night.
I had not gone back inside my body.
I was still floating, walking in a sort of trance, when I went to the kitchen for breakfast. His eyes had felt dangerous as he’d dragged them over my body, like he might find out I had escaped it and force me back inside.
Like maybe that was why he hadn’t hurt me yet.
He was waiting until he could get to my mind too.
His voice had almost rolled right past me when he spoke up.
To this day, I am so glad they didn’t.
Because Kellan simply said, “I hope you slept alright. The heater broke halfway through the night. I was a little worried you’d wake up an icicle. Keaton would have never forgiven me.”
And slowly, carefully, my mind had sunk back into my body.
When Matt’s trembling fingers slowly, carefully take my hand, I sink back into my body.
Everything is so warm.
I am so fucking tired.
He pulls, just enough for me to feel it. It’s more of a suggestion than anything else really. I step into it. “I’ll come,” I tell him. He’s looking at me with those big brown eyes wide and trusting. “Wherever you wanna bring me, I’ll come. Go ahead. Take me there.”
His expression softens in relief before he tightens his fingers and pulls me along. He’s suddenly the confident man I’ve been lucky enough to meet in the recent late night hours, when he’s been confident enough to make a song request, or teases me during a conversation.
He comes to a stop at the couch, me settling beside him. He doesn’t let go of my hand.
I look at the couch, not sure if I’m unable to understand because of how tired I am or if this is a genuinely confusing situation. I look at him. “You want to sit? We can sit tog-” but he’s shaking his head, so I stop.
He lets go of my hand and takes a single step back before gesturing toward the couch with a raised eyebrow that clearly means he wants me to sit. Which is fine. I can do that.
I sit.
He waves his hand.
I feel a little like I’m playing a game without being handed the rules. I don’t want him to be frustrated with me, but I honestly don’t know-