Page 20 of Lost Boy
My hands start to shake, and I grab my notepad, walk over to the desk, and drop it on top. He doesn’t need to see which drawer I put it in. Or which bag. Or if I hide it under my pillow like a pre-teen girl. That’s my business, not his. I’m getting a little angry at the puppy because he’s not answering.
I spin around and brace my hands on the edge of the desk, clamping down hard.
“Why are you in my room, Ryder?” I say louder, clearer. More with the voice I had before I stopped talking.
He perks up at the sound of my full voice, and his lip starts to twitch on one side.
The puppy’s tail is wagging.
“I wanted to see if you were ready to order Chinese food. Sorry, but we have to feed Sofie too. She’s going to eat with us.”
I like that he doesn’t ask me. He shouldn’t. That’s his sister.
“Of course,” I reply. “Of course, she’ll eat with us.”
His smile is wide and blinding. All teeth.
I can’t remember the last time I smiled that carefree. Or if I ever have.
I hope he doesn’t ask me what he may have seen in my notebook. I shut it too quickly to see which page was open, but none of it is good. Absolutely none of it. Some of it was written on my worst days, the loneliness, regret, and painful memories swallowing me whole. This tiny book has a lot of pages, and I only write down whathasto come out. It’s not good.
I glance down at the miserable little notebook in question, then back up at Ryder.
His smile drops a little, and he looks at me with sympathy. With pity. And it makes me lash out again. It makes the dark side show. The demon in me that writes those depressing lyrics no one will ever hear me sing.
Fuck! It’s too much.
I run my hands through my hair, roughly tugging on the tangled strands.
I need to be numb again. Ryder makes me feel. I don’t know if I like it.
“I need something.”
“What?” he asks, although he definitely heard me. My voice is deep and raspy for my size, and it comes back to me when I’m around him.
“I saw the bar downstairs. All the alcohol. My uncle won’t miss it.” I sound confident, but I squeeze the desk behind me harder so he doesn’t see the tremor in my hands. The anxiety, the depression. Sometimes I can’t block it out. Sometimes I need something to help me.
“So, you’re talking now?”
“No.”
“Sounds like you are.”
I narrow my eyes at him and grip the wood even harder until I feel like my nails will rip off.
Why is he pushing me?
Does he even realize it?
“Order whatever. I’ll eat anything.”
I push away from the desk and stroll toward my door, feeling angry and unlike myself.
“Fallon, wait.”
I freeze but don’t spin around.
“There will be plenty of weed and alcohol at Cole’s party. Don’t drink here, around Sofie.”
