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“But you—” The lilt of a question lingered in the air. “Never mind.”
“It’s cool. We’re friends, Rob. You can ask me anything.”
Robby’s flinch at the wordfriendswas almost imperceptible. Almost. He pasted on a smile neither one of them could even pretend was genuine. “Thanks for the ride home, man. I’m obviously not myself. I think I need to grab some sleep.”
Matt wanted to ask about the drugs. About whether Robby would be okay here alone. But in the end, he did neither. “Sure. My mom’s watching Jimmy for me, so I’d better get going. But call me if you need me, okay?”
Robby turned to face the back of the sofa and curled his body around the pillow.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
***
Robby
Robby kept his eyes squeezed shut until the quiet snick of the door announced Matt’s departure. What was wrong with him? Matt didn’t owe him any answers or explanations. They were friends, the kiss notwithstanding.
Whatever. His awkward exchange with Matt wasn’t even the worst part of this crapfest of a night.
He dragged himself off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. A bottle of vodka lay on its side in the freezer. It was always there, just in case. He guzzled it without bothering to pour it in a glass first.
Shards of ice shot through his brain, but he drank until he emptied the bottle. Oblivion was the goal, but he’d take pain over the thoughts crowding his head, a thousand times over.
The scene at Nitro had thrown him into a tailspin even worse than the last time he went there. Why the hell had he gone back?
Because when someone hurts you, you always hurt yourself more. Cancel out one pain by introducing another. And numb yourself as much as you can.
He certainly wasn’t thinking about Matt and what’s-her-name while he was kicking back lemon drops. Then, in the back room—
His heart kicked into high gear, fluttering like the frenzied wings of a hummingbird, as the image of the dead-eyed boy strong-armed into his brain. The memory of his own past drenched over it like hot tar.
A hand at his throat, blocking his air.
Pressure on his collarbone so heavy he thought it would crack.
The sea of faces. The laughter. The cheering.
Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop.
He stumbled into his bedroom, tearing open the nightstand drawer. The razorblade gleamed, a promise to release him from the grip of his memories, to replace the pain in his heart with the cold sting of a clean, swift swipe.
But he’d promised himself—he’d sworn—he wouldn’t go back. He could lie to the world, but he’d be damned if he lied to himself.
Clenching his teeth, he slammed the drawer closed. The past would stay in the past.
He’d come too far in the five years since he’d left his old life behind to turn back now. Living through that nightmare didn’t break him then, and the memories wouldnotbreak him now.
Chapter TWELVE
Robby
The next morning, Robby sipped his McDonald’s mocha, trying to ignore his nerves as he looked up at the Q-Center. He needed to get his mind off of what happened the night before, and he’d meant what he’d said to Sara about wanting to see inside the place. Maybe help some of the young people struggling with their identity or in need of acceptance.
Hell.
What was he thinking coming here? He was hardly someone who could hold himself up as an example to other people. Especially any younger than himself. Only a hypocrite of epic proportions could put himself out there with a past like his.
Tightening his hand on the cup, he gritted his teeth and turned back toward the car. He made it three steps before a familiar voice called out his name.
