Page 137 of Heartbeat

“But—” He hesitated. “Isn’t he worth it?”

“Fuck yes, he’s worth it. I’m the one who’s not.”

“Thomas—”

“Could you just—” I adjusted myself on my pillow. “I need to sleep, Noah.”

“You can’t stay in bed forever.”

I knew he was concerned. I knew he meant well. It still pissed me off.

“You know what?” I said. “This has to stop.” I raised my voice, not too much because I didn’t have it in me, but enough. “I’ve been in my room for a day. Not even a day—half a day. And, what? That somehow means I’m a step closer to St. Yve’s?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“I’m just so sick of not being allowed to show any sort of weakness. I can’t even be sad without people thinking it means they should go around hiding razors.”

“No one thinks that—”

“Then let me be sad! Let me feel whatever it is I need to feel, instead of making me think I’m supposed to hide it and man up. Because, guess what? It doesn’t fucking work!” I held up my right hand and showed him my wrist.

He let his jaw drop a bit as though to speak. Instead, he shook his head repeatedly until he finally stuttered, “I-I didn’t—”

“Not you, Noah.” I felt horrible. “I’m just—I’m just so tired.”

“I think—”

“Why can’t I stay in bed if I want to, huh? Dad drinks, mom cries. Why can’t I fucking stay horizontal for whatever time I fucking feel like it?”

“You’re not them, Thomas,” he said bitterly. “You don’t give up.”

I sighed. “Noah…I can’t do this. Not today.”

He looked at me for the longest time before getting up. When he was almost at the door, he turned back. “You are worth it, Tommy,” he all but whispered.

It only hurt me more.

*

“His mom?” Jonas asked, dumbfounded.

“His mom,” I repeated, shaking my head.

I’d gone to Magnolia to meet Jonas before we ended up at an Italian place called Veneta. It was where we used to go to back when we ditched classes together and smoked all day. Dark, wooden panels hid the concrete walls, with countless framed photographs hanging on them. Most of them featured locals, neighborhood legends who had spent their entire lives going there, with the odd celebrity mixed in.

“How could his mom—” he started saying, still in shock.

“I don’t know.”

“But the odds—”

“—were good, apparently.”

“His mom?”

I nodded.

“Ready to order, honey?” a waitress asked, walking over.

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