Page 6 of Heartbeat

“I believe you.” I couldn’t help but bite my lip.

He smiled again. “I need to go back to class. See you tonight? Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

He gazed at me for a second. “I’m Ethan, by the way.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m Thomas.”

“I know,” he said, smiling.

Then, I stared as he left, which was fitting because I seemed to have been developing all kinds of new habits lately, such as watching strangers walk away or doing and saying things that just popped into my head without really noticing them.

Chapter Three

The Ghost

When I got back home, I was exhausted. I’d forgotten how tiring it was to socialize, how draining it could be engaging in conversation and smiling all the time. I went straight up to my room, falling onto the bed almost the very instant I closed the door. I didn’t want to think about anything, just wanted my mind to go blank for a few hours, allowing me some time to take in everything, to recover.

I needed it to slow down; I needed it to cooperate and shut the fuck up for a second, which, of course, wasn’t something I was able to control on the best of days, let alone then. So instead of hoping for quiet I knew I was never going to get, I tried guiding my thoughts toward subjects that were safe to think about. I allowed myself to go over what had happened in the library for a quick minute because it was the only part of my day I couldn’t quite wrap my head around.

How was it I hadn’t gotten tired then? Why had my edit button—that thing that stopped people from being stupid or saying things without filtering them properly—failed me? Mine was gone. For those few moments of interaction, my button was nowhere to be found. It didn’t much matter though. It wasn’t like I was going to see the guy again anytime soon. I wasn’t going to the party he’d invited me to, and I really didn’t want to go out to The Den later that night either. All I wanted was to remain beneath my duvet for an hour or five and just be able to breathe.

Ultimately, I knew I couldn’t. Hiding in my room and shutting everything and everyone out would entail embracing the consequences, from my parents’ incessant questions, to the looks of concern they, along with Noah and Dr. Foster, would direct at me. It would make for the opposite effect I intended. Instead of shutting the world out by hiding, I’d be sending a distress signal that would lead to endless conversations I was neither ready nor willing to have.

That was the only reason I ended up going to The Den. Because I knew it would earn me points—especially with Dr. Foster. It was just the kind of thing she’d love hearing about. I bet she’d even end up finding some hidden meaning to it, like I’d unconsciously been trying to get better or something. That, and it sure would beat suffering through another family dinner.

No one talked to me anyway, not really. I’m talked at, and it didn’t matter what the topic was, it was never something of any real consequence; I was sick of having these discussions about things that ultimately didn’t matter, about things that were borderline irrelevant but always brought up. They had no weight, no real meaning to them. They were safe, the kind of things that couldn’t possibly aggravate anyone, which meant they were perfect for dealing with someone who was depressed, for they caused little to no damage.

It was a two birds, one stone kind of thing. Maintaining a certain level of connection while avoiding any major, deeper one. It was pointless, really. And if I wanted to discuss the weather or some riot in France, I might as well do it with people I just met, over alcohol and with some background music, instead of tension and contained animosity hidden behind the unfolding of civilized words.

*

“How did you like your first day at Grant?” Blake asked me.

We were sitting at the far end of the club, close to where the stage was. There were no bands playing that night, so a lot of people were sitting, either coupled up or in groups, alongside the edges of the stage.

“It was all right,” I said. “People seem nice, for the most part.”

“Yeah, they’re not,” Adam said, with a laugh. “They’re just a bunch of entitled brats.”

“Not everyone is lame though,” Sam interjected.

“Sure, there’s like ten people in the whole school who are worth getting to know,” Adam conceded.

“And you’ve already met three, so you’re doing great,” a smiley Blake said.

“Have you ever been here before?” Sam asked. “To The Den?”

“I used to come all the time until maybe six months ago—”

“What happened six months ago?” she asked me.

It was then that a familiar voice called out to me.

“Tommy?”

I recognized it immediately, of course. When I turned, I knew I’d find those hazel eyes staring back at me. Beautiful, as always.

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