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His dad opens and scowls down at me from his impressive height. “What do you want?”
“Nate.”
“Nate’s asleep. As should you be.”
For the first time, I don’t see the nice guy I’d always seen. From the harsh lines of his face to the flatness of his eyes, he seems like a cold-blooded motherfucker. How did I ever think he looked pleasant?
“I wanted to see if he knows about the math test we have tomorrow,” I say evenly, shocked that my voice sounds so normal. “If not—”
“It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?” he sneers, and closes the door in my face.
Of course I’m biased, I think as I make my slow way back down the stairs. Now that I got it in my head that he beats Nate, I hate him with a burning fury I’ve never experienced before. He wasn’t nice just now, but I did knock on his door after midnight, with a lame excuse.
Relaxing is hard. Sleep is impossible to come by, even if I try to convince myself Nate is fine, asleep in his own bed. Combined with the return of my family, it has me so wired I’m ready to start climbing walls.
The prospect of falling asleep and dreaming isn’t helping, either. I’m used to being insomniac. I prefer it to the dreams.
The itch to clean the apartment is so strong I feel it under my skin. The fact that I cleaned it yesterday four times over doesn’t seem to matter. I feel it dirty.
I feel so damn dirty.
The itch grows until it reaches my bones, and then I have to get up and pace, try to get it under control.
Shit. I can’t believe I kissed Sydney. I’m so fucking stupid. I barely got her back into my life and I drove her away again.
And Nate. Why wouldn’t he answer my calls and texts? I thought we were okay now.
Pressure is building in my chest. Sometimes it feels like I’ll cry. I can’t remember ever crying.
Or like I’ll scream. But it’s just this fucking itch.
When Sydney was here, I was fine. She makes everything better, and now I’ve gone and fucked it up.
I fuck up.
I fuck everything up.
I fuck people up.
Oh God…
Nate hasn’t made it to school. I don’t realize until fifth period, in art class.
He never shows up.
Even then, I think he’s going to appear any moment at the door and apologize to the teacher for being late with a grin and a shrug. Wouldn’t be the first time. Where I’m always early, Nate is often late.
But like I said… he doesn’t show up, and I go through class in a strange daze. What if his migraine never went away? I text him whenever the teacher’s back is turned, but again I get no reply.
What if his dad hurt him? What if he fell and broke a bone, and there’s no one around to help him?
I’m out of art class and walking away before I realize what I’m doing. I have PE afterward, and it’s a class I enjoy. I’ve never missed a class in my life, except for that one time I had such a high fever even Grandpa came and sat with me.
I think. My memory from that day is a bit hazy.
But it doesn’t matter one way or another. I’m skipping class today. Taking a deep breath, I walk out of the school and to the bus stop to get a ride home.
Testament to the fuzziness of my brain, I only remember that I’m supposed to walk Syd home after I’ve gotten off the bus, and I’m standing outside Nate’s door. Texting her I get no reply, and my stomach knots up.
