Page 28 of Antidote

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes,” I smile, even though it’s forced. I take a step back from him and let him go, but he just steps forward again. “I did. There’s nothing here. Not anymore, you fucking ruined that. I don’t want to see you ever again. I meant what I said in the hospital. You’re dead to me, too. You should be buried right next to her, and if you don’t get away from me, I’ll make sure you are.”

Oliver surprises me by dropping to his knees and sobbing, making my throat tighten with emotion. But when he hugs my waist and buries his face against my shirt, I almost crumble. I nearly fall to my knees right alongside him. But I can’t. Not anymore.

“Please, Hunter,” he begs me. “Please, Green.”

“No, Oliver.” I shake my head, trying to pry him off me. It’s useless; he’s hanging on to me so tightly that it’s as if he doesn’t ever want to let me go. I’m tempted to hold him back, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Why did you do this, Ollie? Why would you break my heart like this, when I’ve loved you more than anything? Shame fills my gut at the thought, and it’s because of that thought that bile rises to the back of my throat. I’m upset I’ve lost my mom, but what really hurts more than anything is that I’ve lost him. For good, this time. “This is finished.”

“Please.”

“Get up,” I demand. “I want to look you in the eyes when I tell you what I need to say.”

He obliges, albeit reluctantly. Standing across from me, I notice the way his eyes are still leaking, his face red and blotchy. His blue eyes are clear regardless of his tears and grief, and that pisses me off more than anything. He doesn’t get to be clean now, not now. He doesn’t get to be free of pain. I fucking want him to suffer.

“There’s nothing—nothing—that will bring us back together in this lifetime.” I stare into his eyes, and he takes a step back. But no, he needs to hear what I have to say. He needs to feel it. I cup his face and pull him toward me, brushing our noses together. “Get the fuck over me. Move on. Leave me alone. I don’t want you anymore—and I never will. Get. Out. Of. My. Life.”

Oliver sobs, breaking free of my hold. “You may hate me.” He nods, wiping the tears with the back of his hand. “But I hate myself more.”

“I highly doubt that,” I scoff. “Now get the hell out of my sight, Oliver. I can’t fucking stand to look at you.”

“Alright,” he whispers.

“Dad’s waiting for you in the car,” I reply, thanking the heavens that he’s not here to witness my heart’s demise. I don’t even want to think about what he’d say or how he’d react, if he knew about us. “Now get in it and never come back to me.”

He doesn’t say one more word before walking away, but I know it hurts him. And the worst part is, I feel it—the cord tethering us together…I feel it give way and snap.

PRESENT DAY

The North Carolina heat is searing in August, and my t-shirt is drenched in sweat as I sit in front of my mother’s headstone. The longer I sit here, the more it feels like I will have a heat stroke. But I don’t even care. This is as close as I can get to her nowadays, and I rarely get to come see her. It’s probably weird as hell for other people to see me talking to a grave, or maybe they understand exactly where I’m coming from. Only to me, it’s therapeutic, another way of grieving her.

It’s only been a few months since she was taken from me.

The pain of her death is still a fresh wound in my heart, gaping and bleeding profusely. She was my best friend—Oliver’s too. Not that he fucking matters anymore. It’s his fault she died. If he hadn’t been high that night and barely coherent, she would’ve never driven in the rain. She would’ve been cocooned in the safety of her home, where she belonged. I should’ve done more that night. I should’ve been the one to drive him to the hospital.

It should’ve been me—me who died.

And that’s another type of guilt I wish I could rid myself of. A fresh wave of it hits me every single day, making me question everything about my life. Even hockey has stopped bringing me joy. The ice no longer feels like a safe place, instead just another chore to get through. Everything has stopped making sense.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I choke on the last word. “I should’ve been the one. I didn’t protect you when you needed me.”

There’s no reply.

But if I had to guess, she’d tell me it wasn’t my fault. To move on. To be happy. But how can I do any of those things when a massive part of my heart is missing? No matter how much I hate him, he is still a part of me. Now, a visceral pain has taken residence in my heart for more reasons than one. And I don’t know how to fucking make it stop. I don’t know how to forget this—and him. All I know is that I need to. For the sake of my mental health, I need to move on from the fact that he killed my mom. Forgetting he ever existed will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but it’s necessary.

Looking into his eyes, I smile and brush my nose against his.

“I need you, Blue.”

“Take me,” he whispers against my lips. “I’m yours.”

“Fuck!” I growl, getting up from the hot grass and brushing off my basketball shorts. “He was never mine, Mom,” I cry out. “He lied, and I fucking hate him.”

I don’t know why it still hurts so damn much. I have an amazing girlfriend. So tell me why there’s this void that can’t be filled? Well, I guess that’s a lie. It’s been filled with rage and hatred, and pain. What bothers me more than anything is that after a year of being with her, nothing feels like it did with him. Which makes no sense—I’m not fucking gay. I can’t be. No one would accept me, especially not my dad. I’ve seen how he treats Oliver for it. So, no, I’m not gay. Regardless of my feelings for Oliver, I can confidently say I’ve never been attracted to other men, and that’s scarier than if I were. Because where does that leave me? I don’t like women, but I don’t like guys either.

Am I broken?

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