Page 30 of Strange Lad

Because of it, I’m considering asking Dr. Langley for an emergency appointment on Monday. He’s the only one who knows. The only one I can talk freely with about my issues and fears.

My throat clenches on a swallow because I’m not strong enough to voice these things to anyone else.

Every instinct screams to warn Jorge—to make sure he doesn’t get drunk ifheis there. To insist he doesn’t evenbreathein the same air ashim.I’m worried sick.

Jorge is a fighter when he has to be. That loveable exterior hides a warrior that’d gladly take up arms to defend what is right. I saw it plenty in high school. Yet, that knowledge does nothing to soothe me.

I wasn’t small.

I played football and stood taller thanhim.

And I still crumbled.

Couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t stop it.

My eyes slam shut while my heart races, my stomach churning before solidifying. I just need to know he’s okay. That he’s safe. That he’s going to come back to me tomorrow. I force my eyes open, snatch my phone off the charger that Turbo is attempting to grab, and my thumbs fly over the keyboard.

How’s it going?

Are you okay?

There’s more I want to ask—todemand.

Instead, I stare at the text thread, waiting for the wordreadto appear. It doesn’t show up ten minutes later. And it doesn’t show up after I put the boys back in their cage.

There’s an itch I just can't scratch in the back of my throat. Foreboding curling around me like sticky webs. I want to obliterate everything—ruin my sobriety.

I want to get high and drown in the waves of obscurity. Sink into the fluffy clouds until I ultimately fall through them, landing in a crumbled heap.

But I hold fast. Keep my mind from going down that path.

Instead, I cling to earlier in the week. The feel of Jorge’s soft nose against my fingertip. The look in his eyes afterward. How he’d bravely returned the gesture like it wasn’t a monumental task for me to do in the first place.

God, I wish I could get my head to screw on right. I wish I could make it do what I need because deep down, I amstarvingfor what Jorge could give me. It’s a hunger so deep that it gnaws at my bone marrow. Keeps me breathless and aching.

I’m in a limbo of: I want and I’m afraid.

I’m okay. Just leaving.

Devon and Michael got into it. There was blood. I had to deal with it all otherwise I would’ve texted you sooner.

Are you okay?

Do you need me?

I know I should ask if his friends are okay or find out what caused them to fight, but I can’t move past the last question.

Yes.

I need you.

On my way.

See you soon.

See you soon.

I deflate into a pile of limbs on my bed. He’s coming. That knowledge eases the dark thoughts swirling in my head, and my eyes flutter shut. I’m not tired, but my mind is exhausted. The last thing I remember before drifting to sleep is the soft click of my front door.

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