Page 104 of Forever We Fall

With a quiet sigh, I retreat to the bathroom, relock his door, and get ready for the day. He doesn’t know I made a copy of his key and use it every night. I often wonder how he’d feel about it. Would he be pissed or thrilled? I don't know.

By the time I’m dressed, Hota is in the shower.

We head to breakfast as though nothing has changed. We go to classes as though nothing has changed. We work out as though nothing has changed.

Only…everything has changed.

Nate is gone. Off to college. Booth is gone. Off to another job where she’s not fucking around with students.

Only Hota and I remain. Us and our misery. It compounds by the day.

Do we make each other even a little happy anymore?

“I’m going to take a shower and watch the football game. Do you want to come?” I ask as I have every Friday since people returned from summer break.

“The team is going to hang out. So…” He shakes his head as he has for the last six weeks. By team, he means the wrestling team.

“Okay.”

We part ways at our respective doors. Like when we first met, we’re careful not to overlap our bathroom time. Like when we first met, Hota keeps his door closed at all times. I close mine out of respect, but I never lock it.

I hate being away from him, but I love him enough to give him the space he needs. After all, it’s not his fault. It’s the space I need that got us where we are.

The field was introduced to us by the thirteen years before they left at the end of last school year.

I sit on an upright stump in the field adjacent to the school, surrounded by the friends I’ve made. With the suffocating absence of one. The bonfire warms the cool night and thirty or more dudes pass around a bottle of liquid that makes the consumers wince and gag.

Hota, my best friend in the whole world, stands in a group opposite the fire as though he’s never met me.

Two guys from the wrestling team stand on his left and the fucking fallen Olympus god, Miles, stands too close to his right. The guy got caught passing out steroids at the end of school. They sent him to a bootcamp over the summer. Now he’s back and has to redo year thirteen.

Of course all of his friends are gone and he’s taken a shine to my guy.

It makes me want to steal the bottle and down the entire thing. I don’t partake. Neither does Hota. It’s fitting since we never truly let our guard down.

“I can’t believe Headmaster Bridgeport allows this.” A guy a few down to my right gestures at the group. I don’t know him well, but it’s the first time he’s braved the possibility of the headmaster’s wrath and joined us.

“As long as no one does anything stupid and we keep it quiet from the underclassmen, he doesn’t care.” Aiden, who’s propped on the stump to my left explains.

“Are you scared of getting caught?” Phillip Phillips mock whines from across the way. He’s separate from most of the group, save for a couple of lackeys he’s managed to snare.

Mostly, we ignore the overgrown child. The collective silently groans. Several roll their eyes.

“Do we need to call your mommy?” Phillip continues, bolstered by his small following.

“Leave him alone.”

The crowd’s heads snap toward the brave voice. The voice I know better than my own.

“What did you say, crooked eyes?” Phillip spits on the ground at his feet.

Those stunning eyes set on a perfect face narrow. A smile splits his plump lips. “He’s no more afraid of getting caught than you are of kissing your mom.”

It ignites the group into hoots and hollers.

Hota takes no notice of it. His gaze is locked on Phillip. The guy who has taunted him since he arrived at Willoughby Ridge. The guy who should have moved on with the rest of his peers but couldn’t because he failed. The guy who picks on everyone smaller than him, which used to be Hota.

I can see the menace in Phillip’s eyes catch, and the flames multiply. He snaps his head toward one of his lackeys, who’s holding his belly he’s laughing so hard. With one shove, he topples the guy and then shoots to his feet, Hota square in his sights.

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