Page 72 of Hell Bent
Ben turned his head, and then he actually muted the TV. “Thanks for the ice cream,” he said. He looked tired and at once older than fourteen, and so young and vulnerable, too. His curls were messy again, and I smoothed my hand over them. He didn’t actually duck away, but I didn’t push it, just removed my hand and said, “Rough day, huh.”
He looked away and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny throat, and said, “Yeah. It was like you said.”
“It’s hard. I think I said the hardest thing you could do.”
“Yeah.” He still wasn’t looking at me, but that was all right.
“However you feel,” I said, “whatever you need—know that it’s OK to feel that and need that. You can feel sad, but you can also feel mad. Mad is normal. Even being mad at your mom.”
Now he did look at me. “How can I be mad at my mom?She cried today. I never saw her cry before. She’s soweak.I never saw her be like that.”
My heart hurt for him. “It’s scary, I think, dying, and it has to be scariest of all for a parent who has to leave her kid. Imagine how that stabs at her, and how lonely she’s been without you. I guess that tells you how much she loves you, that she was able to send you away. I know that seeing you today must have been the best thing that could happen for her now, and to know that you’re safe here. Cared for.” He swallowed again, and I saw the tears he was holding back. “It must have felt almost impossible to leave her again, though,” I decided I had to say. “To say goodbye.”
Now, he was crying. Not out loud, like a child, but silently, his face twisting with the pain of it. I sat down again, held his hand, and, when he leaned in, put my arms around him. “I know,” I said. “I know. It’s going to hurt.”
“Sebastian says …” The words came out in gulps as he twisted away. “I’m supposed to learn to ride it or something. So I don’t suffer. But I can’t.”
Sebastian was there now, crouched beside the couch, his hand on Ben’s knee. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “Nobody can avoid the pain in the moment. It’s too raw right now. All you can do is let it hurt.”
“But I don’twantto!” Ben wailed. Lexi, who’d been on her dog bed, had her head pushed under his hand now, trying to help, and he put his hand in her fur and held on. “I want to get out of here,” he said. “I want to walk and walk and … or I just want to watch TV and not think.”
“You could run,” I said.
He stared at me, passing a hand over his messy upper lip. “What?”
“Hang on.” I went into Sebastian’s bathroom and came out with a wad of toilet paper. “One thing you need whilesomebody dies is Kleenex. Put it on your shopping list, Sebastian. Everybody cries then.”
“Sebastian … didn’t,” Ben got out from behind the toilet paper.
“Sebastian will,” the man himself said. “You’re going along thinking you’re OK, and then, bam, the wave hits you. That’s how it works. The trick is not to be scared of it, and to believe it will pass until the next time. You can’t heal the cracks unless you feel them first.”
“I hate your philosophy, or whatever it is,” Ben said. By this point, Lexi’s head was on his knee, as close as she could get to him.
Sebastian laughed. “I know. Everybody tries to help, to say the right things, but the deal is—there aren’t any right things. When people say them, they just want you to feel their love, I guess, so you’re not alone, and so you don’t … you don’t worry about not doing it right. About not feeling enough, if you’re kind of numb, or about falling apart, if that’s what’s happening. Consider the source of the concern, I guess.”
“Oh.” Ben looked drained now. Exhausted. “How come you said running?” he asked me. “I don’t feel like running.”
“Not now,” I said. “You’re tired. Pain is incredibly tiring. Physical and emotional pain both. But when you’re mad, when you’re overwhelmed, running can help. It’s something you cando.It kind of works the pain out of your body. If you like—” I stopped.
“What?” Ben asked.
“On my day off. Sunday. We could do a trail run at the Forest Park.” I glanced at Sebastian. “Not during your game, of course. We’re watching that.”
“It’ll probably rain,” Ben said.
“It probably will,” I agreed. “But like I said—pushingthrough the mud and the effort and the discomfort is what it’s all about. I could be all philosophical and say that it helps you push through in the rest of your life, reminds you that you can do more than you think, or I can just say that working out really hard is the best therapy I know.” I glanced at Sebastian. “I’ll bet you’re glad to be going to practice tomorrow.”
“I am,” he said. “Moving helps. Makes me feel less stuck.”
“Then,” I said, “come to bed with me and rest up so you can do that.”
Ben said, “Oh, gross,” which showed that he was reviving.
“Yep,” I said. “Because being held is one of the best things of all.”
He made a face, I laughed, and he said, “Is it OK if I sleep out here? I just want to fall asleep watching the movie. I don’t want to think anymore.”
“If you use headphones,” Sebastian said, “sure. Go for it.” He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. It helps me, too.”
