Page 92 of Long Gone

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Nate said, patting my leg. “Cover your face with your hands. That’ll help with the hyperventilation.”

I did as he said, feeling like an idiot, because how many people had I instructed in the very same thing? Apparently, I’d cry-vomited all the reason out of my head too.

He returned a half minute later with a glass half-filled with water. “I don’t have any ice, but it’s cold.”

My breathing had returned to somewhat normal, even if my face still felt numb. I reached for the glass with shaky hands, then took deep gulps of the water. It soothed the raw ache in my throat. But what I really needed was a drink. Alcohol was the only thing that would fill the emptiness inside me, and now that emptiness wasn’t just a crack, it was a mile-wide canyon.

“When was the last time you cried like that?” he asked, squatting in front of me and placing a hand over mine, which was resting on my thigh.

I looked at him like he’d spoken a language I didn’t understand. It took a second for me to comprehend the question. “Never.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “That was an epic cry, so how about this—when was the last time you had a good cry?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t cry?”

“No.”

“What about after your sister…” A sheepish look covered his face.

“No.”

“No tears at all?” he asked in shock.

“Sure, there were tears, but not many. Mom took me to the doctor, and he said I was in shock. My mother was relieved to find out I wasn’t a psychopath, and we never discussed it again.”

“Oh, Harper.”

I jerked my hand from his, and water from the cup sloshed on my jeans. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“The fuck it’s not,” I shot back, getting to my feet. Maybe I’d sobbed out my grief, but the anger was still there, a smoldering furnace that only needed a short prod to fire into life.

“What happened?” he demanded, some of his softness bleeding out of him. “And don’t try to tell me this is about your parents, because I’m finding it hard to believe they were the ones who finally broke you. Not unless one of them actually did something.”

The walls around my exposed heart started climbing back into place. “It’s nothing. Just everything all together. I think it finally caught up with me.”

“Nothing?” His tone made it clear that he didn’t believe it for a minute. Then again, I would never accuse Nate of being stupid.

I wrapped my arms around my front, hooking my fingers on my upper arms. I suddenly felt impossibly cold, my hairs standing on end. The craving for a drink was so strong, I almost ran for the nearest restaurant that served alcohol.

He released a long sigh. “Harper, I say this as your friend, but have you ever considered talking to someone?”

“A therapist? I’ve talked to several.”

“Finding a good therapist can be hard,” he said. “Sometimes you have to go through a few before you find the right fit.”

“I don’t need a therapist. There’s nothing to talk about.”

He lifted a brow of admonition.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I snapped.

“You can’t show up sobbing your heart out, then tell me it’s nothing and expect me to forget about it.”

“This really was a mistake.” I rushed past him, toward the front door.

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