Chapter Thirty-Five #2
His gaze moves slowly, like he is dragging himself back into the room to do it.
There is none of the Josh I know in his expression.
No scowl, no awkward smile, nothing. He looks completely vacant, and when I take another step towards him he lifts his foot as if he wants to take a step back, before putting it back down and staying put.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, trying not to crowd him, or push too hard, but he only gives the smallest shake of his head. “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” Another shake. “That’s alright. You can stay there. I’m not going to make you do anything.”
Oscar is silent behind me, which tells me he’s worried too. Anyone else and he’d have taken over, but he seems to think I can handle Josh on my own.
I hope he’s right.
“Can I come closer?” I shuffle forward a little. Josh doesn’t answer, but his eyes stay on mine. I take that as permission and close some of the space between us, slowly reaching towards his hand before hesitating. “Can I touch you?”
His fingers twitch at his side and then turn slightly towards mine. I wrap my hand around his and he clamps down so hard my fingers grind together.
“Okay.” My voice shakes despite my best efforts. “Okay. You’re alright.”
He doesn’t speak. His hand is freezing in mine while the rest of him looks overheated, sweat dampening his hairline and his chest working far too hard for someone standing completely still.
I try to think of what Dr H has told me about panic attacks, what I’ve watched Oscar do during his, but every useful thought seems to have vanished.
I don’t want to make whatever is happening to him worse.
“Can you breathe with me?” I quietly ask, taking a slow breath myself so he can see what I mean. Josh tries to copy it, but it doesn’t work and his breath stutters out. His grip around my hand tightens with frustration. “It’s alright. You don’t have to get it right. Just keep holding my hand.”
His eyes close and he gives the faintest nod.
I keep my breathing deliberately slow without asking him to follow again, hoping his body might eventually do it on its own. My brain is racing through everything that has happened but nothing explains his reaction. Being upset makes sense. Even being angry would make sense.
“Are you angry with me?” I whisper. Josh shakes his head without opening his eyes. His fingers tighten again, and I study his face, trying to understand what I’ve missed. “Do you want me to stop talking?”
Josh gives the smallest shake of his head.
“Okay.” I rub my thumb over his knuckles.
I’m not sure it’s helping at all. “Do you want Oscar to leave?” That gets another tiny shake.
I glance back at my brother, who is standing near the table looking completely lost, then return my attention to Josh.
“Do you want to sit on the floor? The chair? Go back upstairs? Literally anything, Josh. You just have to give me something.”
His eyes open at that and he stares at me with this awful, hollow expression while his breathing keeps tripping over itself, and I realise I’m asking too much of him when he can barely get air into his lungs.
“Sorry.” I tighten my fingers around his and worry my lip and I wrack my brain for something.
“Forget that. You don’t have to decide anything.
” Taking a steadying breath myself, I decide to start talking a million miles an hour instead.
“Me and Cam are entering the talent show, did you know that? We have a routine from when we were seven to Toxic by Britney Spears. He’s decided to throw football tricks into it as well, which is already a terrible idea, and the other day he accidentally launched the ball straight at my face.
Properly leathered it at me. Nearly took my nose off. ”
Nobody laughs. Nobody moves. If I couldn’t feel him I wouldn’t even know Oscar was still in the room.
Josh’s green eyes are so full of anguish that I would sell my entire soul to get rid of it.
So I talk faster. “And I’m supposed to be going to a party on New Year’s Eve, but well, you’re here now and I found out my ex is going to be there.
I haven’t told you much about Ansel, but he was a real psychotic bastard, and I’d really rather not see him. ”
Behind me, Oscar mutters, “Ansel is back from Holland? When did he come back?”
I twist to look at him. “Is now really the time?”
Oscar’s mouth snaps shut, but his expression turns murderous.
I don’t have time for it. I’m trying to keep Josh anchored to something that isn’t whatever is happening inside his head.
“Anyway, yes, apparently Ansel is back, which is great news for absolutely nobody. I found out whilst trying to get milk from the corner shop the other day. Can you imagine that Nosy Nina told me? That’s how I found out? ”
His breathing is still too fast, but there’s a little more focus in his face now.
I can tell he’s listening even if he isn’t ready to speak.
I rant on, seeming completely demented and deliberately refusing to leave any gaps.
“The annoying thing is I actually wanted to go. I bought this dress ages ago and everything. It’s black, which I know is, like, for funerals or whatever, but it makes my boobs look amazing. ”
“Bloody hell,” Oscar strangles out behind me.
“Ignore him,” I tell Josh. “That’s what I try to do.
He hates when I wear anything that doesn’t make me look like a nun in training.
He’d have me go out in a floor-length bin bag if he could.
He never let me roll my skirt up in school, it’s like having a dad that follows me around and tells me off all the time. ”
Oscar makes an outraged noise. “I was trying to stop you from getting detention.”
“I liked detention. It was run by Mr. Scott who was incredibly fit and loved to read books.”
“Jesus Christ, Ruby. Are you trying to help the lad or have him run screaming from the room?”
I look at Josh, there’s a little less distance in his expression.
“So, anyway, the dress. Very nice. Very slutty. Oscar will hate it, but I think you’ll like it.
At least, I hope you will.” I rub my thumb over Josh’s knuckles, keeping my voice light and watching every breath he takes.
“I was going to go because I wanted one normal New Year’s Eve, but Ansel’s going to be there and I really cannot be arsed with the drama of it all.
He’ll spend the whole night telling me I’m a fat ugly cow anyway. ”
Josh’s jaw tightens slightly, and that tiny flash of something recognisable nearly makes me sag with relief.
“See, there you are,” I murmur. “He was awful, by the way. Not in an interesting tortured-boy way either. Just awful. And to top it off he had the personality of a wet tea towel. It’s a wonder I put up with him. ”
“How long were you together?” Josh croaks out.
Hallelujah. “About a year.”
“You’ve never mentioned him either.”
“I know.” I try not to get defensive at the accusation in his tone. “Sorry, but I genuinely hate talking about him. He was awful to me and he was part of the, well…” I awkwardly wave my free hand between us. “The suicide thing.”