Page 13 of The Heart That Breaks
We stay like this for what feels like a long time. When I finally raise my head, Nathan says, “Any chance you’re gonna tell me what all of this is about?”
“No,” I say.
“Were you planning to sleep out here with your dog?”
“His name is Henry.”
“Henry,” Nathan corrects.
“Yeah,” I say defensively. “What of it?”
He’s quiet for a few moments and then, “Is that like a one time thing or a regular thing?”
“If every night is regular, then it’s regular.”
He leans back and looks at me for several long seconds, as if he’s just seeing me for the first time. I’m pretty sure his conclusion is not a positive one. “Why can’t he stay with you in your room?”
“Because Lance says he can’t.” The last word breaks at the end, and I’m mortified to feel the tears sliding down my face.
“Hey,” Nathan says. He slips an arm around my shoulder, a little awkwardly. I resist at first, keeping myself stiff. But honestly, the simple caring in his touch feels so good that I collapse against him, tears coming now so fast and hard that it’s pointless for me to try and stop them.
“It’s okay,” he says, as if he doesn’t know what else to add.
But he has no idea how not okay it all is.
Henry nuzzles up against me, licking my face over and over again, as if he’s determined to make it better.
When I finally sit up, I am mortified that I’ve let Nathan see me like this. “How did this happen?” I ask.
“Maybe because it was what you needed?” Nathan says softly.
“To make a fool of myself in front of you?”
“You haven’t done that.”
“By most anyone’s definition, I’d say I have.”
“Did he hurt you?” Nathan asks bluntly, as if he doesn’t want to give himself time to rethink the question.
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head.
“That cut on your face,” he says.
“I did that. Stupidly. In the shower.” At least it’s not a complete lie.
He looks as if he’d like to ask more, but he doesn’t press me further. He shrugs the backpack off his shoulder, opening it up to remove his English Lit book. “So about that homework.”
“It’s too dark out here to see that.”
He pulls a phone from his pocket, waves it a little. “Flashlight. Check.”
“You’re a regular boy scout, aren’t you?”
I’ve never liked sarcasm, so it’s not as if I think it sounds great coming out of me or anything. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, but even so, I feel bad and say, “I bet I know which question you’re wondering about.”
“Yeah?”
“Number five.”
