Chapter 20 Thursday #2
I cannot stand here for however many seconds longer it’ll take for Mikey to come back with that beer.
“Where is the bathroom?” I ask. In perfect synchrony, the girls lift their thumbs over their shoulders, pointing to a narrow hallway at their backs. I bob my head in curt thanks, walking past them and down the hall without a word.
I peek through the open crack of the first door on the left. It’s a bedroom, with blank white walls and an unmade bed piled high with heaps of clothes. Instinctively, I know this is not Finn’s room. I keep walking.
It’s only a few steps farther until I reach the end of the hallway. With a closed door on either side of me, it’s safe to assume that one is to the bathroom and the other is the entrance to Finn’s room. I knock on both.
Knock knock.
“Is anyone in there?”
Knock knock.
“Hello?”
No response.
I start with the door on the left, turning the knob and pushing it open slowly.
A bedroom.
My body reacts before my mind gets the chance to catch up.
Goose bumps spread across every inch of my flesh.
Because the first thing I notice is not the surfboard propped up against the blue-painted wall, or the perfectly made bed under a large framed black-and-white print. It’s not even the handwritten card resting on top of the wooden desk: You rock, Teacher Finn.
No, the first thing I notice is the overwhelming smell of musk and sandalwood.
How odd.
Finn and Jonathan must wear the same cologne. But if I can smell it so distinctly in here, then why haven’t I smelled it on Finn at school?
I can’t stop my eyes from wandering. I hadn’t realized how organized Finn is. Everything in his room has a place. Well, everything besides the piece of clothing I spot under the bed. Finn’s tall, so he must have missed it from his vantage point.
The neat freak in me can’t help myself. I walk across the room to the bed, dropping to my knees to grab what looks to be a green T-shirt. I’m about to drop it into the hamper when the shade of green strikes me as oddly familiar. I uncrumple the fabric, holding it out in front of me.
I know this shirt.
My heart begins to pound.
On instinct, I bring the shirt to my nose, burying my face in the fabric. The smell of Jonathan’s cologne is overwhelming.
Because this is his shirt.
The one that brings out the emerald flecks in his eyes.
My eyes begin to blur, and I can hardly make out the icons on my phone as I scramble to open the Find My Friends app. Jonathan’s at home, though for the first time, I have no interest in his location. I zoom out on the map, searching for the two small dots that represent Meg and me.
I find us on Sweetzer Avenue. In the very same spot I’ve been tracking Jonathan to for the past two weeks. Only, we aren’t at Sydney’s house. It’s never been Sydney’s house that Jonathan has been hanging out at, staying overnight.
It’s been Finn’s.
I stand up abruptly, clutching the green T-shirt between my sweaty palms. I race out of Finn’s room, flinging open the bathroom door and slamming it shut behind me just in time to empty my entire stomach into the sink.
I run the water, splashing pools of it against my clammy skin. The sight of my face in the mirror is not for the faint of heart. My eyes are glazed over. My hair is matted to my forehead with a combination of sweat and sink water. My skin is white as a sheet.
Knock knock.
I snap my head toward the door.
“Phoebe?” It’s Meg.
“One second.”
“Let me in! I have to pee!”
I am on autopilot. I open the door, crumpling the green T-shirt behind my back.
“Phoebe?” Meg’s brows draw together in concern. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I need to leave now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I assure her quickly. “Please stay. I ate something weird, that’s all.”
I avoid her gaze as she leans in and pushes a wet strand of hair away from my face. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m positive.” I push past her, desperate to get out of this bathroom. To get out of this apartment. “You know how my stomach gets.”
“Text me the second you get home!” she yells down the hall.
“I will!” I yell back, pushing my way through the growing crowd. I don’t look back once as I rush out the front door, shuffle down the stairs, and take off in a full-on sprint.
—
My feet are raw and bleeding by the time I make it to the front door of my apartment. I lean my forehead against the door in a futile attempt to catch my breath.
In through your nose, hold for three, out through your mouth.
I swallow the urge to throw up again. I clutch the green shirt in my right hand, hoping it’ll offer me some clarity, but I can’t think.
My mind is too fuzzy. I feel like a piece of old machinery, just minutes away from shutting down for good.
When I close my eyes, all I hear is static.
My questions are nothing but a faint hum below the surface:
How could I have been so blind to this? When did this start? What does this mean? Were you ever going to tell me?
I can’t reach for them.
All I can do is bang my forehead against the door.
Thud.
Did I truly believe that something was going to happen with Finn tonight? All because…he’s been nice to me? Is that really all it takes to set off my delusions?
There’s only one persistent thought capable of breaking through the static in my mind: There’s something wrong with me.
I inhale a long, strained breath when, suddenly, the hard surface of the door vanishes from in front of me. I find myself falling forward, over the threshold of the apartment and straight into a wall of muscle.
“Whoa.” Jonathan reaches out, grabbing me by the shoulders and positioning me upright. The smell of his cologne makes my stomach turn. “I thought you were my food.”
I focus on breathing steadily, staring at the base of his neck, not yet ready to meet his eyes.
In through your nose.
“Phoebe?”
Hold for three.
“Why are you so sweaty?”
Out through your mouth.
“Phoebe, what’s wrong?”
I look up at the same time that he takes a step back, scanning me from top to bottom, looking for an answer to his questions.
He finds it gripped in my right hand.
I watch as all the color drains from his face.
I am numb. I thought I’d know what to say by now. But I don’t know anything. I don’t think I ever have.
“Phoebe.” His voice is low. Quiet. His eyes are glassy. “Come inside. Please,” he whispers.
My legs begin to move, one foot in front of the other, though I’m not sure how.
“Please say something.” Jonathan reaches out for me, for my arm. I turn toward him, slowly holding his shirt between us.
“Here.” I place it in his hands. “I figured you’d want this back.”
I keep moving, following my feet blindly until I make it to the top step.
That’s when I give myself permission to turn around and look at him.
He wipes at his eyes, and my heart explodes into a million different pieces.
I don’t know if it breaks for him, for me, or for both of us.
I don’t know anything. Which is why I keep walking.
I close the door to my room, barely making it to my bed before I collapse.
I crawl under the covers, corset and all, staring at the ceiling until the world fades to black.