Page 72 of Follows with Intent

“He’s alive. I winged him, that’s all.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“He’ll go to prison. We’ve got him for—” Jadon barely stumbled over the words at all. “—for what he did to you. He still had your underwear in his house. We’ll get DNA. Bring in previous victims. He’s never going to hurt anyone again.”

Nico nodded. It seemed like there should be more, but Jadon couldn’t think of anything. He wanted to say, You were so brave. He wanted to say, I’m sorry. The inside of his mouth felt like glue.

“I talked to him in the line for coffee,” Nico said, and he sounded on the verge of tears. “I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not like that. It’s not logical. It’s a fixation, an obsession. He had a type, Nico, and you had the bad luck to cross his path. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nico wiped his face on his shoulder. “It feels like I did.”

“You didn’t. This isn’t your fault.”

Neither of them said anything. A machine beeped. Steps moved out in the hall.

“So,” Nico said, “thank you. I was too busy being hysterical to say that before.” Then a tired smile gleamed in the darkness. “They’ve got me on something good now. I solemnly swear I will not lose my shit.”

Jadon could hear it now in his voice—the honey-thickness of whatever they’d given him slowing his speech. “You can lose your shit.”

Nico smiled again. He squirmed around in the bed, little blips of pain crossing his face, until he lay on his side facing Jadon. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“For not listening to you. You were trying to keep me safe, and I was…I was such an asshole to you.” The waver on the last words was followed by a fresh shine in Nico’s eyes. He turned into the pillow for what felt like a long time, and when he lifted his head again, his face was dry. “You were right. About everything. And I should have listened.”

“Nico—”

“No, please. Because whatever this stuff is, it’s good, and I want to say this while it’s easy.”

But then he didn’t say anything. He lay there, looking at Jadon. Or maybe looking past him. Out into the great dark. Jadon thought about closing the blinds. And then he thought no. Because he’d looked into the dark too. We carry it with us, he wanted to say. We carry it around inside us. So, you can close your eyes. You can rest for a while. You don’t have to keep looking, not right now.

“I thought I’d grown out of it,” Nico said, and the words had a dreamy slowness to it. “I kept telling myself I’d grown up, gotten over it. That I was an adult now.” He laughed, and it sounded dry and croaky.

Jadon reached for the cup and pitcher next to the bed. His hands were still shaking. He had to lean against the little table, one arm pressed against it, so he could pour the water without spilling. When he passed the cup to Nico, he could see the ripples on the surface. It made him think of Jurassic Park. Of something huge coming. The heavy weight of its steps shaking everything as it approached. And you can’t run. You can’t get away. Because it’s coming right for you.

Nico accepted the cup. He took a slow drink, and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. When he passed the cup back, his fingers brushed Jadon’s, and Jadon followed the fine-boned hand up to the wrist, where bandages hid skin torn raw. Nico seemed to sense his gaze. He slipped his arm under the thin hospital blanket.

“I definitely,” he whispered, “shouldn’t have shat on you for pointing it out.”

His eyes were banked coals, alive with heat shimmer. Tears, Jadon corrected himself. He thought maybe he was getting loopy. He thought maybe he needed to sleep.

Nico was still looking at him.

“It’s okay,” Jadon said, even though he had no idea what they were talking about. “It’s all okay. You need to rest now.”

“In Argentina, we were never in one place long enough for me to fit in,” Nico said. “And then, when I went to boarding school, I was brown when everybody else was white, and on top of that, I was gayer than God. Maybe I would have fit in at Columbia—it’s big enough, mixed enough, that I could have, I think. But then I was trying to model, and school fell apart. And then, at a shoot, I’d look around, and I’d realize I was all alone. There was only so much I could say to the other guys. And the girls wanted to talk about the guys. Even when I was dating someone, I was alone. Because they liked what they saw on the outside, but they didn’t like me.” He swallowed. “Always alone.”

You’re not alone, Jadon thought. The words were so loud inside his head that his heart skipped, and he thought he’d said them out loud.

“When I started grad school, I was determined to be done with that. Done with never fitting in. Done with never being...right. I was going to be the perfect grad student. Only—only I kept taking jobs, and I’d fly back to the city. And I’d tell people. And then I’d hear them talking about it, about how school was a game for me, and—and what I’m trying to say is you were right. I’m a hypocrite. I talk this big game about wanting people to take me seriously, and then I turn around and make a big deal about a job I booked, or I wear fake glasses, or...” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Or brag about sucking dick?” Jadon said. The words popped out before he could stop them, and horror rushed in behind them.

But Nico burst out laughing, the sound bright and electrically alive. “Oh my God. I still can’t believe I said that.”

To his own surprise, Jadon laughed too—a real laugh, albeit a short one.

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