Page 217 of Wrath

I think of him waking up alone in the hospital, and he couldn’t remember what happened. Feeling tired and weird. Losing your memory. How’d he get away from his mom?How’d he ever get to University of Alabama? What a fucking warrior.

He pushed through all that shit to be his superstar football player self, and I fell apart because of…nothing. Getting left and ghosted, that wasnothing, nothing, nothingcompared to what he went through. I got drunk and wrecked my car and—

It was something, I interrupt myself.This. The two of us hugged up together. It waseverything, I correct myself.It might not be like what happened to him, but it wrecked me.

So what did I do? Just drank and tried to numb myself up.

Did I call his mom’s house, seek him out?

No.

Did I drive to Richmond, try to talk to him, fight for us?

No.

Did I even figure out what happened?

No.

His mom is fucking evil, and I let her have him! I think of him on all those meds. I think of his mom telling him he’s bad or wrong because he’s gay. How scared he would have had to’ve felt when he walked back into the hospital. God, he couldn’t even stay at Children’s with me for two hours. Wouldn’t go in when he almost had heat stroke.

But he went to this place again, voluntarily, and let them give him seizures. And then he couldn’t find his way back to me. He was fucking lost. Alone. And I was nowhere! He said it took him months to even learn he had a stepbrother named Miller. When he did, he felt anxious.“I think I missed you, but I didn’t know.”

I realize I’m breathing too hard. I try to breathe in deep and slow, to fill my lungs and calm down, but…I can’t. I keep thinking of him alone. How scared he must have been locked in the closet, and he couldn’t stand up. How scary it must have been to have a feeding tube in his nose. To be too weak to hold a fork.

No wonder he wanted to drown himself. How much pain can someone stand?

I hug him up against me closer, and I stay that way until I can tell I’m going to really cry. I don’t want him waking up to me losing my shit. He shouldn’t have to talk me down from grief overhishistory.

I slip slowly out of bed, tuck the sheet and fleece blanket around his shoulders, and then pull my duvet over him, to add some cozier weight.

Then I go into the den and sit on the couch with my knees pulled up and drag a pillow to my chest and let myself cry. I can tell within a minute that it’s not going to be “crying.” I move onto sobbing pretty fucking fast, and it’s hard to keep quiet. I just…can’tstop. I keep thinking of him alone, and how I wish I would have been there. Why would this stuff happen to him? Why him? I think about him before being sent to Alton, and I wonder what he was like. If his smiles were softer.

I think about him smiling at me now, and how it still seems soft sometimes. He loves me—he tracked me down and held his heart out in his hand for me—and I didn’t even reach out to him beyond a handful of calls.

So much regret and grief and anger. I cry so much, my stomach starts to hurt. When I get a hold of myself, I peek through the doorway into my room, and he’s still sleeping. It feels criminal to leave him in there unheld, but I can’t get back in the bed with him yet.

I’m so upset. I’m fucking…furious. I just want to break things. Starting what that sick fuck Paul’s face. I think of Ezra when he first moved down to Fairplay. Ezra on the roof, his fingers twitching as he fell asleep. I think of how he would wake up sometimes from a nightmare and latch onto me. How much he needed to be hugged.

Is that Alton place still open? Fucking swear, I’m gonna burnit to the ground. Where did Paul go? Who’s going to punish all those people? My throat aches, but I don’t want to cry more. I want to do something. I want to take it all away. To make it un-happen. I stand by my bed and look down at him. Sleeping Ezra. Pretty Ezra. He looks peaceful tucked in my bed. But my chest is too tight.

I move quietly into the bathroom, splash my face with cold water. I look at the little drawer to the left of the sink. My razor is in there. That’s not all.

I’ll have to stop this shit now. Starting tomorrow. No more liquor, either. It’ll be weird to be sober, but Ezra’s worth it. If he can fight so hard for himself, so can I.

Maybe I should take a Xanax right now. Let it hit me in the early morning hours, and we’ll both sleep.

I open the drawer and peer down at the pile of them. Part of me doesn’t want to take one. I have this desire to be totally present now that he’s here. I blow a breath out, running my fingertips over the pills.

The bathroom door opens, and I jump a mile. Ezra looks as shocked as I do—wide-eyed, with his mussed hair hanging over his brows. He frowns at me. Then he frowns down at the drawer. I can see the moment that he realizes. His eyes widen fractionally more and his face takes on a just-slapped sort of look. His eyes come to mine.

“Josh?” His brows bend in confusion.

“Yes?” My heart is racing; I can feel it pound behind my sore eyes.

His mouth does this…thing. A nervous thing. Another frown at the drawer, and then he looks at me. “Are you okay?”

Of all the things he could have asked. It makes my eyes throb with fresh tears.

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