Page 185 of Wrath

It's too hard to explain.I know he’s my stepbrother. I know we weren't in love or anything. But I think I must have felt something for him. We were friends, I think. I like him. I can tell through the snaps. Sometimes I'm gripped by the feeling that I was supposed to call him or something. But I don't have my old phone. I don't know how to get into that account. Not without asking my mom.

It's okay. I’ve found a way for things to be okay. I'm playing football, and I love it. I do.

I like my dorm. I bought a painting from an art department exhibit. It's kind of wild and I guess abstract, but it's a brick wall, and ivy is crawling all up it. The sky is blue with fluffy white smears of clouds. I hung it by my bed.

And I have tea in here. It's weird—I know—but I got hooked on tea at Amelia’s place, and I just keep on making it.

I have a life here.

I'm not really a stalker or anything. I'm just entertaining myself. Speculating. Or maybe more like observing.

I know we're not real friends. If I were to try to find out if we even got along, I'd have to tell him why I don't know that answer. Assuming we knew each other, he’d be shocked to find I lost my memory.

It's a Thursday, and I have a pretty solid day. My non-physics class is English lit, and we're readingThe World and Me. I like it decently well. I'm supposed to go out with Kip and some of the guys for dinner at a Japanese steakhouse. Maybe Marcel, although I hope not.

I go home and shower, check my phone, and nearly swallow my tongue when I see he's in T-town.Miller!He's down at the arboretum. The next snap is of a guy. ArnieRey111.

In the third snap, Arnie has his track shorts pulled up, showing off the bottom of his asscheeks.

My heart beats so hard, I can't get a breath. Then I can, and I feel like I might puke.

He's here.

I get up and tug my shirt off. Watch my chest move in the mirror as I try to get a lungful of air. My throat is too tight. My whole damn body starts to sweat. I sit down and check his snaps again, and there's another one. It's them together. By the bookstore—mybookstore.

I get in the shower, lean against the cool tiles. I shut my eyes and think of jumping off a building. Who would notice? Who would come ID me when they hauled me off to the morgue?

It's really bad in the bathroom. Even after I get out of the small space, I can't breathe. The clawing feeling.Like I need to do something butI DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT.

I lie on my bed wrapped in a towel, feeling like I might sob or howl like a wolf.Fuck! I'm going crazy!

I watch TV. News. A big-name pastor has come out. It's LukeMcDowell. I'm surprised that dude is gay. I wonder if his famous megachurch will kick him out now.

I make tea, but I can't drink it. I can't swallow.

He doesn't want you, Ezra.

Doesn't know you.

He doesn't want you and he doesn't know you and he never will. He goes to Auburn.

I spend some time in the bathroom, on my knees with my arms propped up on the toilet.

Maybe all of this is PTSD. From what happened to me. I'm shaking, and I can't stop. I take a Xanax and lie on the bed.

No one wants you.

Just delete your Snapchat, moron.

So, I do.

I delete the fucking app, and he posts them on Insta stories. They're in a dark car that has orange lights on the dashboard.

They're smiling at the phone's cam.

They're not driving to the gas station to get an Icee. They're not driving to an old house with a cemetery or a ballpark to get blow jobs. There is no ivy-covered wall where they might kiss.

I can't breathe.

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