Page 20 of The Idiot

The irony is that I feel sorry for Jesse, too. I’ve never behaved so petulantly in my life. Did I overreact?

My freaking head is still a damn mess. I replayed each of Jesse’s desperate pleas for me to stay while I sat at the grille down the street from that eclectic café. Maybe I was just trying to hear what I wanted to hear. Trying to distort the recent memories into an alternate version that convinced me I was wrong and that he truly cares.

“No, I’m… kind of tired. Think I’ll just turn in for the night. I’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Turning toward the hallway, I only make it to the archway. Theclickof Mom’s end table lamp switch resounds, and yellow light floods the room.

“It’s only eight-thirty. Are you feeling okay?”

Shit. It sure as hell felt like the evening crawled along a lot slower than that. Half-turning back, I force the corner of my mouth to flick upward.

“Yeah. Just… a long week, I guess. I didn’t sleep great last night.”

Frowning, her chestnut eyes look laser-focused as they study my face. “Murphy, what’s wrong?”

My head shakes before I can get my words past a damn lump in my throat. “Nothing.”

Get it to-fucking-gether, Murph. This is ridiculous. You’re a grown-ass man.

Her frown morphs into a scowl. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

Huffing, her lips purse together, and she sits up her recliner. “You think I haven’t noticed how you try to carry the weight of the world since your father’s been gone? I’m not fragile, Murphy, and I’m still a mother. You can still tell me things. Something’s wrong. Isn’t it?”

It’s like I’ve been warped back to that first day when she asked me if I had told Jesse. I don’t want to hear her tell me again that he’s not a good friend, but maybe it’ll be cathartic this time. Moreover, she looks ornery as hell right now, like she’s strong enough for me to unload a few ounces of the pain in my chest onto her.

“I told him,” I inform her. It comes out barely audible though, so I have to reiterate. “I told Jesse… finally.”

That sobers her features instantly. Her reply comes out eerily calm. “You told him you’re in love with him?”

In love with him? Where in the hell did that come from? How can she—

“What? No, I… I…”

There are nearly two hundred thousand words in the English language, but I can’t get a single one to follow my stammering as my heart slams into my ribs with each beat. My bones feel like they’re disintegrating under her pitying gaze, my skin melting off my face.

No. That’s not—

It’s not why I—

I’m not in—

Oh, God.

Oh, my God.

I can’t breathe.

Fuck. Why can’t I breathe?

“Oh, Murph,” she whispers sadly.

Fuck.

No.

Lips parted, her gaze scans my face like I’m one of her patients at the ER and she’s assessing me for injuries. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

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