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The key turns, the lock clicks, and I’m in.
I haven’t been in Nate’s apartment in so long, and yet it feels like yesterday. The living room with its checkered furniture is familiar like the back of my hand.
“Mr. Brady? Nate?” I step further inside, but I’m greeted by absolute silence. “Kash?”
Nothing. I open Nate’s bedroom door, but it’s empty. His bed is a damn mess, the covers twisted up, his nightstand lamp on the floor. There’s a funky smell—like urine, and decay.
I shiver. “Nate? Where are you?”
He’s not in the kitchen, or the bathroom. I find his phone in the living room, beside the sofa, as if he dropped it there and left it.
A prickling feeling at the back of my neck has me going through the rooms again. But he’s nowhere to be found.
I stop in front of a closed door. This is his folks’ bedroom. I’ve never been inside. Why would I?
Now I knock on the door, then turn the handle and push without waiting for a reply.
It whines as it swings open into the dimness. In here the stench is even worse and I gag, taking a step back.
What the hell?
I’m about to turn around and go, when I hear a faint sound. Someone’s panting. The hairs on the back of my neck lift.
Stepping back inside, I glance around and find a boy-shaped shadow by the window, curled into the corner.
“Nate.” My heart stops, then starts again, trying to pound its way out of my chest. “Holy hell, man, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing in here?”
“West.” His voice sounds rusty, rough.
He’s only dressed in boxer shorts, and shit, he’s so skinny I can count his ribs. A quick scan doesn’t show any bruises or wounds, though, so what the hell’s going on here?
“Is it a migraine? Are you in pain?”
He says nothing.
“Come on. Let’s get you to your room,” I say in the voice I use for my sister when she’s half out of it. “Up.”
I end up hauling him upright, and he leans into me, face turned away, twisted into a grimace. He seems to be in pain, but I don’t know what’s happening.
“Dammit, talk to me, Nate.” I pull him along, relieved to be out of that room. “I’m your friend. Tell me what’s going on.”
Nothing. He’s silent, letting me sit him down on his bed, check him over once more, but there is no sign of violence.
“Nate…”
He shakes his head. I sit down beside him, put my arm around him and hold him.
He allows that, too.
“You have to talk to me,” I say after a while. “Are you even listening to me? Let me fucking help, Jesus Christ.”
“West.” His head is bent, hair falling in his eyes. It’s grown too long, I think randomly. “You can’t.”
“You don’t know that. Just let me try.”
His breath hitches. “You don’t get it. Would you ever go away? Leave your granddad and your sister?”
My chest grows too tight. I think of my sister, and our secret. “They wouldn’t make it without me. Why? What are you thinking?”
