Page 96 of Riot Act
Thinking about slitting his fucking throat.
Chase’s dad smiles in a pleased, genuine way. He looks like a kind man. A tired man, with too many problems resting on his shoulders. Bastard looks like he needs a vacation. “That’s really nice. I honestly didn’t know he knew anyone here. I’ve only just moved back to town, and—” He trails off, his thoughts clear on his face as he thinks about this. “Wait. Howdoyou know Jonah? He’s barely spent any time at all here over the years.”
Stiff as a board, I nod, reluctant to say these next words. “I know him through Presley actually. She’s my…well, we’re…” I blow deep down my nose, “…friends.”
Mr. Witton frowns. “You’refriends with Presley?” He doesn’t sound disapproving, per se. Perhaps a little shocked?
“Yeah.” God, Chase would love this—to be here and witness me admitting this out loud? That Idothink of her as a friend? She’d die laughing. The truth is that she’s way more than a friend to me and the both of us know it. Knowing something and being ready to own it are very different things, though.
Mr. Witton doesn’t know what to do with himself. He takes out his cell phone, checking the screen, then sets it down. He puts his hands on his hips, shifting from one foot to the other, staring at his shoes as he thinks. After what feels like an age, he looks up at me, deadly serious when he says, “You mean it? You’re really her friend?”
I nod, silent.
“She…has she told you about…being in the hospital?”
Fuck. This is getting waytooheavy. “I know that she was sick, and they kept her in for a week or so.”
“Do you know…” His forehead creases. “…why?”
“No.” I’m glad I don’t have to lie about this to him; I really don’t know why Chase did what she did. I didn’t even care in the beginning. I tried tomakemyself not care, but that’s become hard. As of this morning, my efforts in that area have officially been rendered useless. Idofucking care, and I am dead set on finding out why she hurt herself now. There’s something wrong about the situation, the whole thing fucking stinks, and I don’t like it one bit.
Mr. Witton nods sadly. “Well. I’ve been worried sick about her. If you could just…” He sighs, like he’s just given up.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’ll look after her. I promise.”
36
PAX
She’s sleeping when I get back, curled up into a little ball. I take a photo of her, suspending the lens directly over her where she lies, tucked into the fetal position, and I know innately that it will be my favorite photo of all time; it could come out blurry as hell and super under exposed and I’ll never take a better one.
I turn on the TV and load up Call of Duty; I connect the sound to my headphones, so the rattle of gunfire won’t wake Chase, but then I sit on the sofa underneath the window with the headphones hanging around my neck, just…watching her.
I told Jacobi recently that there’s nothing creepier than watching someone while they sleep, and there really isn’t. I feel like a grade A asshole loser as I perch on the edge of my seat, elbows on my knees, chin in my palms, hands covering my mouth…fucking panicking.
I saw this happening.
I fucking felt it.
I told myself it wasn’t real. That I could outrun it. Escape it.
I told myself that I wouldn’t fall victim to the same bullshit human condition as my friends, but damn.
I’ve been such a stupid cunt.
Arrogant.
To think I was bigger thanthis.
FUCK.
Chase stirs in my bed, and I jump, grabbing up the controller next to me, hammering at the buttons like I’ve been playing the entire time. When Chase sits up, her cheeks turn a bright shade of crimson at the sight of me. “Shit. I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pass out.”
I make a show of taking off the headphones, even though I heard her perfectly fine. I’m such a prick. “Huh?”
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she repeats.
“I told you to.” I shrug it off, like it’s no big deal that she just slept in my bed, where no other girl haseverslept. “Want a ride back up to the academy?” I am the very picture of nonchalance.
