Page 7 of Every Broken Thing

And here I was, too scared to leave my bed. The rage was all-encompassing, but it wasn’t strong enough to erase the fear. Or the shame.

When my dad did get home Friday night, he found me in my room, hiding under my blankets. I told him I was sick, and he believed me. He made me soup and left it on my bedside table. It was cold by morning.

The rest of my weekend passed in a blur of TV and Cheetos dust as I tried to fry the memories from my brain cells. I blew off work and theater set day. I didn’t change out of my pajamas. I didn’t answer my phone when my friends called, wondering why I wasn’t at the school to work on the set for the play. Other than informing my boss I was sick, I ignored my phone completely.Dad was worried, but I told him I was fine.

Because I was. Iwas. I was fine, I was fine, I was fine!

I wasn’t fine.

Monday morning, my stomach was in knots, and I ended up vomiting my meager breakfast of half a banana before I even made it to my truck.

Get a grip, Silas!I internally berated myself as I spat into the porcelain bowl.Stop being such a fucking pussy.

It wasn’t like I could keep skipping. It was my senior year. I was almost done. I didn’t want to risk that over some psycho like Boyt.

Climbing into my truck, I untucked my hands from the hoodie I’d taken from my brother Will’s room and gripped the cold wheel until my knuckles whitened.

“You can do this,” I said out loud.

My truck, Mabel, did not respond.

Once I got to school, I parked as close to the doors as possible and fought my nausea as I navigated the crowded hallways, hating the shoulders bumping me, the arms brushing mine.

I’d never been particularly touch-averse, but even the accidental shoves and grazes were overstimulating.

Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself to chill out as I rummaged in my locker. I bit back a curse when a passerby brushed against my back, causing a wave of nausea to roll through me.

Come on, Silas. You can do this. Just breathe.

Tucking my econ homework under my arm, I slammed my locker shut and turned to enter the flow of bodies moving down the hall only to rear back when I found myself face-to-face with the very last person I wanted to see.

The locker handle dug into my spine as I crashed into the metal door, and my momentary fright bled into irritation as I met his cool blue eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” I barked. “What is wrong with you, sneaking up on a person like that?”

Ben’s light eyebrows rose. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He brushed a blond curl out of his face, and I glared at it as it fell right back over his forehead, internally groaning. I had a particular weakness for guys with curls.

When I did nothing but scowl at him, he offered me a shy grin, showcasing the most adorable dimple on his left cheek. I wanted to punch myself in the face so I would never see it again.

Of course, he had to be hot! I hadn’t noticed last week for obvious reasons, but the universe hated me and wanted me to suffer.

Why couldn’t I have been saved by a hunchback with horse teeth and acne? It would have made disliking him much easier. But no, Fate ensured I’d been saved by the freaking blond demigod of curls and dimples.

I crossed my arms over my chest to somehow shield myself from his crooked grin with my econ study guide. “What are you doing here?”

His dimple faded. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

Peering around us significantly, he cleared his throat and dropped the volume of his voice. “How are you doing?”

My eye twitched. “Peachy.”

“You don’t look peachy,” he said, giving me an offensively unimpressed once-over.

“Thanks,” I deadpanned, and red bloomed immediately over his cheeks.

---