Page 35 of When I'm Gone

Brady was supposed to go first, all I had to do was hold it together for another four years, and he swore, by then, he’d have a path paved for me to follow. We were going to make it out together.

“Why is this here?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. I know he’s there, I can feel him even when he’s giving me space.

“My mom asked Brady for a nice photo of him to hang in here for Christmas when we were juniors. That’s what he picked.”

I do the calculations quickly. “The first Christmas,” I guess.

His silence is confirmation enough. That year, Aaron left me to go visit his family. We were living in Charleston then, not that it would have mattered where I was; I would havebeen alone. That was around the time that things started to go bad. When I forgot his favorite creamer at the grocery store, he’d berate me, calling me a fucking idiot. If I overslept and didn’t make his breakfast before work, he’d threaten to leave. Oh, how I’d cry. He knew how to drag tears out of me like he was getting paid for it. His favorite sex was makeup sex, but not in the way it was in the movies where the couple realized they were both being stupid and just had to have each other to express their unconditional love.

No, with him, makeup sex usually happened when I was in the middle of a sobbing fit. He’d have one foot out the door, literally, and see how distraught I was and pounce. No kisses, no words exchanged, promising changed behavior. He’d just bend me over the counter and force his way inside me while snot was still running down my face.

That Christmas was the first time my tears didn’t stop him from leaving. Originally, I had been invited to Long Island to meet his family. We were going to take the train so we could hold hands and soak up the snowy scenery together. It was going to be a white Christmas, and I was so excited, I couldn’t contain it. He promised snowmen and snow angels, reindeer cookies and hot chocolate in front of the fire. But when he saw the necklace I had picked out to give his mom, what I thought was a gorgeous emerald stone with a golden chain, he decided that I was an ungrateful little fuck who didn’t deserve him, and went without me. Christmas morning rolled around, and I was so depressed, I didn’t leave the bed, not even for a handful of dry cereal I was left to survive on after we’d cleaned out our fridge and my credit cards were turned off.

But Brady was here, being loved in Chicago. I wonder if our parents were here too. Mom had always wanted to go ice skating in the proper weather. Just one big happy family, I guess.

A warm hand closes over my ribs. “Hey,” he murmurs. His voice is pained, like he can feel the anguish constricting around my lungs. “You're wanted here. I know it’s a lot, and they’re all nuts, but we all want you here. I want you here.”

But is that enough? It doesn’t magically heal my deep-seated trust issues. I know it’s not logical, but Chase was there. He was right there. Why didn’t he do something? Anything. How am I supposed to believe him now when he watched as I was thrown out into the street? Words are easy. Living by what you say is a completely different challenge. I want to believe him, so much it’s crushing me. He’s been more caring and understanding in the last three days than anyone has in the last four years, but what if his compassion has an expiration date? I can see the strain fighting with Brady is causing him. Wouldn’t it be easier without me?

Hell, sometimes I think I’d be better off without me.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” I admit.

One gentle tug, and I go easily into the security of his arms. “Just… please,” Chase begs with a seriousness that steals my breath. “If you can’t, I get it. Just please, give us a chance first. Let me try.”

He’s tall, a few inches more than me so his head is nestled perfectly on top of mine with his nose in my hair. Despite my good sense telling me it’s an awful vow to make, I say into his neck, “I promise.”

A sigh of relief flutters my hair. “Thank you.”

Time stands still, his heart a steady thump in my ear. Seeing that picture might have flayed me wide open, but Chase always makes things better, more tolerable. Eventually, we break apart and go upstairs as shame starts to trickle back in. I’ve done this before, let a guy gather up all my broken bits and stitch me back together with “love,” and while I don’t think Chase is anything like him, it doesn’t make me any less pathetic.

Love can turn sour and leave bruises on your skin. I need something stronger.

What must Chase think of me? I’ve had more ups and downs over the last few days than a normal person would have in a year. And yet, he’s remaining as even-tempered as ever. The biggest spike of emotion I’ve seen out of him was him asking for a chance before I disappear. Chance for what? I’m not sure. But there is no way I’lll deny him when he’s been a dream ever since I turned up on my brother’s doorstep.

Chase tells me his mom has more beds than rooms, so if I want some privacy, he can sleep on the couch in the basement, but I’m quick to shut him down. He needs to be with me, at least as far as I’m concerned. I’m not great at articulating my wants or needs, but Chase speaks my language. He understands me, so when all I’m able to give him is a pleading look and a whimpered no, he doesn’t ask if I’m sure a thousand more times. He just simply shrugs with one shoulder and starts getting ready for bed.

Nerves clogs my throat after I’ve brushed my teeth and gotten changed. I want to ask him to sleep with me again, but from everything Brady ever told me about him, I wouldn’t imagine he’d enjoy me smothering him just because I can’t see beyond the length of my own nose. It’s not just about me, Chase has always been a bit of a loner. He doesn’t have a boyfriend for a reason. I’m sure whatever alone time he has is precious to him. Not everyone appreciates having a velcro human of a houseguest.

When we’re both under the covers in our respective beds and cloaked in darkness, he asks if I’m okay. The implication is clear, he really wants to know if I need him in some way or the other. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to tell him I do, ask him to come lay with me. Anxiety is clawing its way into any of the peace I’ve felt today, tearing it to shreds.My hands are shaking where they rest on top of the hand-sewn quilt I’m laying under. I feel too much, every nerve ending is raw and aching, my heart can’t beat properly. If I even so much as open my mouth, all that would come out is a squeak of pain around the tightness from the bottom of my ribs to the base of my skull that’s getting worse with each passing second. And one part of me knows all he would need is to hear that pathetic little noise, and he’d cross the three feet separating us before I can blink. He’d hold me tight, probably rub my back in that repetitive way that soothes me. If I was lucky, that gravelly voice of his would be in my ear assuring me that he’s got me.

That’s the minority of my brain power, unfortunately for me. The rest is reminding me that he never asked for this, and I’d do well to keep quiet and try not to exist. I can’t tell if it’s his voice or mine anymore that reminds me that even the people that wanted me to be born realized my entire being was a mistake and discarded me, and if I want to stay here, I need to be small.

Small is good. I can do small.

So, I force a squeak that sounds affirmative, ignore his honey-dipped, “Good night, Chaos,” and buckle myself in for a long ass night.

CHAPTER 11

CHASE

I’ve never been much of a late sleeper; after years of catching the bus early for school plus eight a.m. college classes, and then taking the day shift at TechAll, conditioned me well. So when the sun starts peaking over the horizon, I’m up with it. Doesn’t matter that we were outside until well after midnight, and that my family won’t be functional for hours, here I am.

I seek Easton out before I fully orient myself with reality. I didn’t let myself fall into too deep of a sleep, wanting to keep an ear out for him. He didn’t seem all the way okay when we fell asleep last night but when I asked, he said he was, so I wanted to trust him. Wasn’t enough to stop me from worrying, even while unconscious.

At first, I don’t see him. The bed doesn’t look slept in and there’s definitely not a human-sized lump in the bed. My first thought is that he fucking ran away again. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach sours. I can’t lose him again, I just fucking found him. He’s mine. Mine to watch out for and care for, mine to hold and wipe away his tears.

I don’t know what it means, but I’ve never been more sure of anything.

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