Page 113 of Becoming Us
“It happened too quickly. I couldn’t call. Everything started to beep, and they came in… They asked us to leave.”
“What happened?”
This time, it was a sob.
The first piece broke.
“He’s gone, Noah,” she said.Another piece cracked loose.“Your dad’s gone.”
And then they all began to break. One after the other. Not gently. Not quietly. It was a violent kind of pain that took over. A disorienting wave of something almost like relief—followed by nothing but pain. And grief. And heartbreak.
I had been so fucking stupid to think I’d already felt it.
Nothing—nothing—had broken me like this.
He’s gone.
I dropped the phone. I wasn’t sure if I hung up or if she was still there. A sob tore through me as I curled inward, fists clutched to my chest, like I could hold myself together. Like I could stop the splintering from the inside out.
Your dad’s gone.
Another sob ripped out—louder this time. Ragged. It scraped the air from my lungs as it left me hollow.
My dad’s gone.
I pressed my palms harder against my chest, as if I could keep something from slipping out—or maybe keep something from falling in.
But it was too late.
The hollowness spread.
Gnawing.
Tearing me apart until nothing was left.
He was gone.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
AFTER
The background looked the same. Honestly, it was a little disappointing. I liked the quirky bits.
“How’ve you been, Noah?” Samuel asked.
“Good. Great,” I said, resting my chin on my hand. My eyes drifted to the watch on my nightstand—one of the few things I still had to pack.
“I haven’t seen you for a while. Don’t you have a lot to talk about?”
I shrugged. “Well, everything’s been going great. Band practice is working out. I already know most of their songs, and I even convinced them to addYour Loveto the covers. I’ve got a couple of papers to turn in, but I’m mostly done with my summer courses. Atty’s got two more weeks of work, then he’s on holiday for a bit before school starts again. I’m moving on Thursday. Just have to finish packing my room, and then I’m out,” I said, counting off on my fingers. Honestly, it’s been a lot.
He hummed.
“How about you? Everything alright on your end?” I asked, once the silence had stretched too long.
“You know that’s not how therapy works,” he said flatly.
