Page 66 of Every Broken Thing

Air whistled through his nose on his exhale. “Well, fuck.”

I wiped my mouth and straightened, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t think I feel very good.”

“You think?” he said tersely.

Tears burned my eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just get you to the car.”

Nodding humbly, I followed him to the car.

In the front seat, I curled into a ball and hid my face in my knees. My face felt too hot, my tongue too thick. I tasted tequila and bile. And my eyes were stinging with stupid, drunk tears that I couldn’t stop.

As we pulled away from the party, I squeezed my eyes shut and sniffled into my knees.

“Silas?” Ben asked, but I ignored him. “Si, are you crying?”

“No!” I said through my tears.

I heard the smile in his voice as he asked, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” I lied.

“Okay.”

A warm hand landed on the back of my neck, and slender fingers gently rubbed along my tense muscles. They moved up into my hair, and I cried harder. Because he was being so nice, and I’d puked on his shoes.

I cried the entire way to Kim’s house. And Ben rubbed my neck and head in comfort. It was probably good that he didn’t like me; I didn’t deserve him.

The realization sent me into another bout of tears, and Ben’s thumb rubbed under my ear.

“Stay here, okay?” he said, and I nodded. Where else was I gonna go?

The SUV jostled and swayed, and doors opened, then shut. It was quiet, and my mind started to drift. My hollow breath echoed in my ears as I started to float in the in-between place where consciousness met sleep. At some point, Ben’s fingers returned, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles under my ear, and I sighed.

I roused when Ben said, “Can you walk?”

My eyes were heavy, but I forced them open as I lifted my head. Ben stood beside me, the door to the SUV hanging open. We were parked in front of my house.

“Si, can you walk?”

I nodded wordlessly, then proceeded to topple right out of the car. Ben was ready for it and helped me find my balance. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

With him steadying me, I managed to climb the porch steps without falling. He still had my keys, so he unlocked the door and led me inside.

“Don’t wake my dad,” I whispered as Ben shut the door and locked it behind us.

“Okay,” he whispered back. “Where’s your room?”

I pointed to the stairs as he slid an arm around my waist to aid my compromised balance. “My bedroom? Are you going to take advantage of me in my weakened state?”

“No, I’ll do that when you’re sober,” he said, his dimple carving into his cheek.

“What?” I said, but he didn’t reply.

By the time we were in my bedroom, my head felt a little clearer, and I made it to my bed without help, collapsing onto it with a groan.

“At least let me get your shoes off,” he said, forcing me to turn onto my back.

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