31. Solomon
THIRTY-ONE
SOLOMON
I don’t sleep at all that night. There’s a long stretch where I don’t really feel present in my own body.
Everything is dulled and far away and things like time or my surroundings just don’t register.
Eventually I come back to myself enough to realize that I’m in my bedroom, though I don’t remember getting here.
I’m lying in bed in my boxers—probably stripped my jeans off the second I got in, because the restrictive denim would have felt like steel wool on my skin in the state I was in.
It’s completely dark in my room. Apparently, I didn’t turn on a single light when I came in here.
I’m not so numb now, and the thoughts are starting to trickle in. The meeting with Devon. My father’s snarling face. Realizing Cecelia witnessed all the horrible things he said to me. Her telling me she would refuse to play soccer if they didn’t let me work through the tournament.
The hurt in Cecelia’s eyes when I told her to leave.
The hurt I put there.
You did the right thing, my old anxiety voice tells me. He’s louder tonight than he’s been in weeks. He’d been pretty damn quiet ever since I started things with Cecelia, like even his poison couldn’t withstand the sunshine that girl blasted into every area of my life.
But he’s back now, louder than ever, and he won’t fucking shut up. You only would have hurt her more down the line. Or embarrassed her the way you always embarrass them.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice. The memories of last night. Her face.
Sometime after six a.m. I give up the futile attempt at sleep and get up to get a glass of water.
I hear snoring before I even get to the living room.
My first desperate thought is that Cecelia stayed, in spite of everything, to make sure I was okay.
But Cecelia definitely doesn’t snore like that, and she doesn’t wear Bart Simpson boxer shorts.
Jay. She must have called Jay last night. Even though I made her cry—God, I’m such a dick—she still called Jay because she wanted to make sure I was okay.
A flash of rage suddenly rockets through me and I turn and throw my fist into the wall. Jay jumps up on the couch, crying out. “Jesus,” he gasps, squinting at me in the dim light of the early morning. “What the hell just happened?”
I stare wordlessly at the dent I put in the wall as my hand throbs.
Eventually I hold it up for him to see. Jay must put two and two together because he swears and climbs off the couch, then comes over to grab my shoulder, marching me to the kitchen.
He pushes me down into a chair at the table and goes to the freezer to find ice.
Good thing I’m an athletic trainer with a freezer full of frozen gel packs.
Frozen gel packs I’ve been using on Cecelia’s knee. The urge to hit something else rises, but my hand is really throbbing now, so I grip the seat of the chair to keep myself still.
She twisted her knee when I kicked her out last night. It didn’t appear to be anything serious, she was bearing weight just fine, but she wouldn’t even let me look at it.
You don’t get to break my heart and then try and take care of me.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Jay wraps the ice pack in a dishtowel and hands it to me. The cool temperature immediately feels good on my knuckles, and I close my eyes—but that’s when I see her face the most clearly, so I open them again and try to concentrate on Jay.
“She called you,” I say, more statement than question.
“Texted,” he replies. “Around ten-thirty.”
That would have been hours after she left. Was she worrying about me that whole time? I grip the ice pack tighter, trying not to remember it. Numbness had been better.
“She seems to think something happened to upset you yesterday?”
That pulls me up short. Is that all she’d told him?
Had she left out the rest—the way my father spoke to me, the mess with Devon finding out.
The way I slowly lost my shit while she stood there, shutting down just because my dad was an asshole, and then finally losing it when she said she’d stop playing soccer for me, when the realization hit me that I was only going to hurt her eventually.
Had she left out the way I ended things?
I blow out a breath, trying to focus.
“My dad was here when I got out of classes yesterday.”
Jay goes still. “What. The. Fuck.”
I manage a short, bitter laugh. “That’s what I said.”
“What the hell was he doing here?”
“My parents are trying to buy property from the Ransome family foundation. Apparently, they found out I’ve been working with her in my clinicals. He had this idea I’d introduce him to the Ransomes at a soccer match.”
He shakes his head, swearing under his breath. “Let me guess—they want to use the property to build something expensive and unnecessary?”
I point at him. “You got it. What does the community need with a youth center, right? When Sybil and Brent Barnes could make hundreds of millions building condos.”
“I take it you said no?”
“Of course I fucking said no.”
Jay’s gaze drops down to my hand, his eyes narrowing. “What did he say to you, Solomon?”
“He lost his shit. Faster than usual, actually. I wonder if his control is getting worse as he gets older.” That’s a fun thought. He was already on a hair trigger since before I was born.
“What did he say?” Jay grits out.
“Same old shit. I contribute nothing to the family. I’m a loser and a freak. A mental deficient, I think his exact words were.”
“What?” he burst out. “That’s bullshit.”
I just shrug, and Jay sighs.
“Well, shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“Cecelia came by when he was here. She heard him.”
Jay closes his eyes. “Shit. I know that’s the last thing you would want.”
I readjust the ice pack. “Would have happened eventually either way.”
He tilts his head at me. “What do you mean?”
“She would have found out how fucked up I am,” I explain. “Probably better she saw it sooner than later.”
Later would hurt more. Not that this isn’t killing me, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been falling more in love with Cecelia Ransome every day that I’ve been with her.
And it never felt like there was a limit to that—it was never going to run out.
The way I felt about her was always going to be continuous, exponential growth.
If it hurts this bad now, a few months down the line probably would have destroyed me.
“Hang on,” Jay says, rubbing at his eyes.
For the first time, I take him in. His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and there’s a red line across his forehead from sleeping on the couch pillow.
He must have come straight here when she texted, and when he realized I wasn’t really present to recognize him, he crashed on the couch.
Nausea roils in my belly. When the hell am I going to stop being such a burden to the people I care about?
Jay is staring at me. “What do you mean she would have found out? Are you talking about CeCe?” Her name pricks at me as I nod.
When I don’t offer anything else, he groans in frustration.
“Sol, what happened after your dad left? All I know is that CeCe texted and told me you had a rough night and weren’t feeling well.
She said you didn’t want her to come over, but she was worried about you being on your own.
” He studies me. “Why didn’t you want her to come over? ”
The words are sour on my tongue. “I broke up with her.”
Jay just stares at me, mouth open. A beat of silence passes, then another. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he finally bursts out.
I wince. Noise is always harder for me when I’m already in shut down mode.
He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to control himself. “Why would you break up with her? You’re insanely in love with that girl!”
“Solomon, I’m in love with you.”
“No, you aren’t.”
She looked hurt when I corrected her, but what was I supposed to do? There’s no way someone like her could ever love someone like me. And still, hearing her say those words made me want to believe it could be true, and that hope hurt like a bitch. Shutting her down had been my only option.
“She’s not going to stay,” I tell him. “At some point she’ll realize how deep this goes, how fucked up I really am, and then it will be over anyhow. At least this way I didn’t get in too far.”
He stares at me. “That’s insane. You know that, right?”
I manage a bitter smile. “Funny, I’m pretty sure my father used that same word to describe me last night.”
Jay makes a low, angry noise in his chest. “You have no idea how much I wish I could end that asshole once and for all.” He’s quiet for a beat. “Still not understanding why that means you dumped the girl you’ve been crazy about for two years.”
“Seriously?” I snap. The anger that keeps spiking this morning kind of surprises me. I’m usually numb for much longer than this, and when real emotion does reappear, it’s usually just disgust at myself for being so weak. “What about this aren’t you getting? Cecelia deserves better.”
“I mean, obviously she’s out of your league.” He offers a small smile, but I don’t see the humor in his very accurate statement. “But Sol, man, she’s crazy about you, too. You guys are fucking great together. How are you not seeing that?”
My stomach twists. “If she’s crazy about anyone, it’s a guy who doesn’t exist. She has this image in her head of who she thinks I am.” I should know, right? I did everything I could to make her see me the way I wanted her to. “But that’s not real.”
“Of course it’s real. It’s you—”
“No,” I snap. “I’m the guy who can’t remember anything that happened for about five hours last night.
That’s how out of it I was. And it’s not the first time she’s seen me like that.
After we ran into Sybil in San Jose, I did the same exact, crazy bullshit.
But that time I could have gotten her hurt because I was too busy being a weak little bitch to check on her knee before the game.
” I groan, rubbing my face, remembering how she wouldn’t even let me look at her knee yesterday. Once again, I let her down.
Jay holds up his hands. “Sol. Having these reactions does not make you weak or crazy.”
I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “It’s the definition of crazy.
” How long before Cecelia started to see me that way, too?
I don’t think I would survive that, honestly.
I think seeing the same disgust and judgement in her eyes that I always saw in my parents might just send me into a hole so deep I wouldn’t be able to get out of it.
“Listen to me.” There’s a tension to Jay’s voice and when I look at him, his eyes are red. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
“Jay, give me a break.” I hold up my busted hand as evidence.
“So you hit a wall after a hard night.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I once tried to head butt a refrigerator to impress a girl while I was drunk. So who’s the crazy one?” When I just stare at him, he sighs. “Guess you’re not ready to be cheered up by stories of my stupidity,” he grumbles.
“It’s not the same thing,” I mutter. “You doing something dumb ’cause you’re drunk just means you’re in college.”
“And you shutting down after a run-in with your parents just means you’re human,” he shoots back. I open my mouth to argue but he holds up a hand, looking pissed now.
“Maybe you have challenges I don’t, Sol.
Maybe your brain works different from mine.
But that doesn’t mean you’re broken, or whatever shit your parents tried to put in your head.
I can see who you really are. So can Em, and Red.
” My eyes sting, chest feeling suddenly tight. Then he twists the knife.
“And I bet CeCe can see who you really are, too, because that girl is pretty fucking smart.”
I stand abruptly, knocking over the chair. Just like that, I can’t stand to be in this room with him anymore, hearing these words. I know that he means them. Jay doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. And I know that my best friend loves me like I love him.
So why does it hurt to hear him talk like this? Why does this feel almost as bad as it did last night when my dad tried to convince me of the exact opposite?
“I can’t do this,” I say, backing away from the table.
Jay stays seated, like he doesn’t want to spook me. “Solomon, come on.”
“I…can’t Jay.” I’m starting to panic, my breath getting choppy. “I can’t.”
“Ok,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “We don’t have to talk now. You want to put on the TV? Or we could—”
“I’m just gonna go to my room.” The words come out fast, practically slurred.
“That’s fine,” Jay tells me. “Go rest, or whatever. But Solomon?” Somehow, I manage to stop in the doorway, even when everything in me is screaming to run. I owe him at least that much. So, I direct my eyes at him and find he’s looking right at me, his gaze even and steady.
Even and steady and so very fucking sad.
“I’m going to stay out here the whole time. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod once, too weak to argue with him, then turn and head back to my room, alone.