Page 92 of Man On

There are walls. There's a curtain. Breathe.

The drain gurgles and I gag again, feeling like I might pass out. I suck air through gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes shut against the barrage of images that batter the inside of my eyelids.

Someone calls my name. It echoes with the rest of the voices.

“Sickness.” “You can give others the strength they need to tell their stories.” “Disgusting.” “Would you like me to pray with you?” “Scrub the sins from your surface, and pray for God to scrub them from your soul!” “God is love, Lane.” “We’ll try to keep your new identity from the public, but you may have to testify before a grand jury.” “Repent!” “Would they make mistakes?” “You’re weak.” “It’s a simple mouth swab to determine paternity to corroborate your mother’s testimony.” “They hurt you.” “Abomination!”

“Lane!”

My eyes are forced open, Noah crouching over me, shielding my body from the cold water with his own. Once his dark blue eyes are looking into mine, his expression softens some, and he reaches to turn the water off. His clothes are soaked, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He pulls a towel from a hook on the outside of the stall and wraps it around me.

He's talking, but I can’t hear the words through the chattering of my teeth. His tone is low and gentle, like he’s talking to a child.

Every time I blink, we’ve moved, like a stop-motion video in real life. Before I know it, we’re in an entirely different environment—the texture of the flooring, the colors of the lockers, the hints of natural light around the top of the walls. It’s enough contrast to help my brain process that we’re not in that place. There’s no hose. No scrub brush. No dark, rusty water stains that look like blood, or gurgling sounds of the clogged drain not able to keep up with the amount of water.

I’m on my knees in front of a bench, and it makes me think of praying. I hold onto it, letting it anchor me, but the real anchor is running the rough towel over my skin.

“Noah,” I say weakly. “Noah.”

“I’m here, Lane,” he answers, and lets me lean on him. His arms wrap around me from behind, plastering his body against my back.

CHAPTER 29

NOAH

My chest hurts the way I imagine a heart attack would feel like. I feel like all my essential organs are being squeezed, each beat of my heart an attempt to escape.

I cage it all in by pressing myself harder against Lane, focusing on feeling his heartbeat instead. It’s fast and hard, as easily distinguishable as my own.

I hold him until both of our heartbeats slow, merging into an easy, single rhythm. He’s slumped against me with his eyes closed, but I don’t think he’s asleep. And his lips aren’t blue anymore.

When he ran out last night, I didn’t think, I just chased him. I wanted to talk him down, make him talk to me. I was upset that he wouldn’t talk to me. When I finally made it back to our room, I sent him a text, resolved to give him space to process. But it didn’t take long for my upset to become worry, and then anger, and then worry again. I kept texting, kept hoping he’d respond. But the messages stayed on read, and the longer he was gone, the sicker I became with worry.

Noah: I’m sorry.

Noah: Come back. We can talk about this.

Noah: We don’t have to talk if you don’t want. Just come back.

Noah: Where are you?

Noah: Just come home, please.

Noah: It’s after 2AM, Lane.

Noah: Seriously, where are you?

Noah: Are you coming home?

Noah: Please, Lane, come home.

Noah: Can you just let me know you’re okay?

Noah: Let me know you’re okay, please.

Between texts, I paced. I got dressed and paced downstairs. I called campus police, but they said they couldn’t do anything unless he’d been gone for twenty-four hours or if there was a concrete reason to worry—like if he was inebriated or suicidal. I said no to the first, because he’s never drank or done drugs. But the second one really freaked me out. The security guard on the phone had to talk me down, and asked me a series of questions that led him to believe we didn’t have any reason to worry, but said that he’d alert campus security to be on the lookout.

I passed out on the couch for a few hours, waking up with a sick, sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I was trying to figure out what to do next and thinking about whether I should wake Miah to borrow his car. By that time, it was late enough in the morning, so I called him after I called Lane again and sent a few more texts, letting him know I was going to come search for him if he didn’t let me know he’s okay. I had to go down and beat on Miah’s door.

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