Chapter 42 (1/2)

“Stop it,” I snap. My voice doesn’t sound like my voice, and I begin to wonder if I’m even awake right now, or if this is another nightmare.

“I just want to know that you’re not afraid of me. You aren’t, are you?”

“This isn’t about you,” I manage. And it’s true, absolutely true. He’s tried to make this about him—his pain—but this is about my father’s death and that I can’t take any more heartache.

“Fuck.” He sighs, and I just know that he’s running his hands over his hair. “I know it’s not. That’s not what I meant. I’m worried about you.”

I close my eyes and hear thunder in the distance. He’s worried about me? If he was so worried about me, maybe he shouldn’t have sent me back to America alone. I wish I hadn’t made it home; I wish something had happened to me on the trip back—so he could deal with the loss of me.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t want to be bothered. He would be too busy getting high. He wouldn’t even notice.

“You aren’t yourself, baby.”

I begin to shake at the use of the sick nickname.

“You need to talk about this, everything with your dad. It will make you feel better.” His voice is too loud, and the rain is pounding against the old roof. I wish it would just cave in and let the storm outside sweep me away.

Who is this person sitting here with me? I sure as hell don’t know him, and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I should talk about my father? Who the hell is he to sit here and act like he cares about me, like he could help me? I don’t need help. I need silence.

“I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just mad at me right now because I acted like an asshole and I fucked up.”

The pain I should feel isn’t there, nothing is. Not even when my mind flashes with the images of his hand on my thigh as we drive in his car, his lips gently sliding over mine, my fingers threading through his thick hair. Nothing.

I feel nothing as the pleasant memories are replaced with ones of fists flying through drywall and that woman wearing his shirt. He slept with her only days ago. Nothing. I feel nothing, and it feels so good to finally feel nothing, to finally have control over my emotions. I’m realizing, as I stare at the wall, that I don’t have to feel anything I don’t want to. I don’t have to remember anything I don’t want to. I can forget it all and never allow the memories to cripple me again.