Page 46 of You Are Not Me

“I’m not the issue,” Adam snapped. “You’re telling me you got high because some asshole drugged you, used you for sex, then let his buddies use you—”

“I wasn’t fucking used! I wanted it!”

I clenched my free hand, digging my nails into my palm. Ihadwanted it. I’d wanted it so bad while the drug had coursed through my system. I’d felt sexy. Wanted. Needed. It’d felt right. So what if I hadn’t wanted it before the drug or after? Adam wasn’t there. He didn’t know.

“You wanted it?”

“Yes! And it wasn’t his friends that sucked me off. They were just people.”

“Justpeople? You had sex with strangers, and you’re telling me there isn’t a fucking problem?”

“I’m not saying that!” I whisper-yelled into the phone. “I’m not saying that at all! And it wasn’t like they fucked me! It was blow jobs!” I tugged at my hair, my heart banging against my ribs. “You aren’t fucking listening. You’re too busy screaming at me.”

The cut connection came like a blow.

I’d never thought he’d hang up on me. I’d imagined him breaking up with me, or telling me he never wanted to talk to me again, or being jealous, or angry, or scared, but hanging up on me? It hadn’t crossed my mind.

I considered calling him back, but didn’t.

If it was over, then it was over. My heart would break, but it would heal. Adam had already taught me that.

Upstairs, I pulled on a long-sleeved flannel over my T-shirt and sweats. I put in my contacts before grabbing my camera and slipping out the front door into the night.

I walked the neighborhood until dawn broke on the horizon, taking pictures by moonlight. I didn’t know why I bothered. It was a waste of time and effort since I didn’t have the right speed of film loaded in the camera. It felt symbolic somehow.

I alternated between being furious with Adam and thinking that he had every right to be angry with me. Mostly, I kicked myself for ruining everything. Now I’d never know if things would have been different this fall. I’d never know if his love for me would win out over his love for Leslie.

And as pink bloomed in the east, I just wanted to hear his voice again. Be held in his arms again. Hear him laugh and tell me everything was all right. He was good at big lies like that.

When I opened the back door, I found Harry lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. Normally he slept with my parents, but maybe I’d woken him up when I left the house. I hoped he hadn’t been waiting up for me all night.

Bending to pat him and urge him into his bed in the corner, I noticed he was shaking. He didn’t want to move, groaning when I touched him.

“Are you cold, Harry?”

He moaned softly, so I picked him up, something I didn’t do that much since he was old and sometimes his joints hurt. I held him up to my chest and he suddenly squeaked like he was in pain. I put him back down again quickly.

“Sorry, buddy. It’s okay.”

I glanced at the clock. It was barely six. Turning on the light in the kitchen, I sat next to him, moving my hands over his body, looking for a place that hurt. He made a sad sound, like he was pleading for something. My throat went tight. The pit of my stomach ached.

“Want some wet food, Harry?”

Usually just the mention of wet food had Harry bounding over to the cabinet where we kept it. My heart beat quickly as I opened a can and put some in a bowl for him. When I held it under his nose, he sniffed it and turned away. He put his head down on the floor before rolling onto his side miserably.

“Oh, boy. Don’t do this.” I knelt next to him and feathered my fingers through his fur. He whimpered again, and I noticed the skin beneath the hair on his belly was yellow-tinted. I ran my shaking hands over him quickly, moving his fur aside, and quickly realized his skin was yellow everywhere.

“Wait here, Harry. I’m going to get Dad, okay?”

He wagged his tail slowly, slanting his eyes toward the door as if he was considering getting Dad himself, but then he huffed, and stayed on the cold tiles. He didn’t follow me when I left the kitchen to knock on Mom and Dad’s bedroom door.

Mom murmured, “What was that?”

“I dunno,” Dad answered, disoriented. “Must be Peter.”

“What’s he want?”

“I’ll see.”

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