Page 112 of Becoming Us
Who would trust me with that? With the weight of everything he carried?
Who would ever think I was worthy of the kind of relationship I’d thought we had—as equals?
I guessed I’d be asking myself that for the rest of my life, because he wasn’t going to answer anymore.
I should get a drink, but what for?
Because you have to keep pretending.
For who?
My dad was as good as gone. Who the hell was I pretending for anymore? He didn’t need me anymore.
Oh god, my dad didn’t need me anymore.
I let my eyes close. I didn’t fight it. There was nothing holding it back now. Everything I’d kept in—every ounce of sadness, heartbreak, helplessness—I let it come.
It wrapped around my heart like a dark blanket. Smothering. Spreading.
And growing.
And growing.
And growing.
The desk beneath me felt miles away. The walls stretched, then folded in.
Noah.
I wasn’t even sure if I was in my body anymore. I floated above it—watching some boy fall apart in a chair that wasn’t his, in a room that smelled too much like someone he couldn’t live without.
There was no point fighting it anymore. Nobody needed me. Nobody wanted me. I was really alone this time. For good.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. Sharp and jarring. Like a fire alarm pulling you out of a dream.
The room was pitch black. I had no idea what time it was. No idea how long I’d been sitting there. Minutes? Hours?
It stopped. Then started again.
I reached for it. My mother’s name glowed across the screen.
This is it.
I didn’t answer.
The screen dimmed, then lit up again. Third call. My fingers trembled as I pressed the green button and brought it to my ear.
“Noah?” Her voice cracked like a faulty speaker.
“Yeah?”
A sniffle. “Where are you?”
“Home.”
A beat. Then the click of her tongue. Another sniffle. “You need to come to the hospital.”
I didn’t want to, but I asked, “Why?”
