Page 116 of Famous Last Words
“I’ve got nothing left.”
Fran’s hand falls from my back, and I realize a few seconds too late that I just said the wrong thing. Snapping my head up, I look at her to see a small crease between her eyebrows as she stares down at the mug in her hand.
“I mean, except for you, obviously.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I hate that there’s a glimmer of hurt in them. Hurt I put there. Hurt she tries to conceal with a small, forced smile.
“I think I’m going to go back to Boston,” I continue with a resigned sigh. “Stay with Ma for a while.”
“Oh, okay,” is all she says in response, her shoulders falling.
“I just need to get away, Keller.”
She nods but says nothing.
I shift then, turning so my body is facing hers. Grabbing one of her hands, I hold it between both of mine, silently pleading her to look at me.Reallylook at me. To see me. Therealme. But when she grants me her gaze, that’s when I see it.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
She hesitates, and that’s all the confirmation I need, but then she speaks. “Iwantto believe you, Robbie. I really do. But…” She trails off, shrugging a shoulder, her gaze dipping back down to the drink in her hands. “You were crazed. The look in your eyes… it was like you weren’t really there. I wasscared. And then I saw that police officer take the bag of drugs out of your pocket. And, I mean, you tested positive.” She shakes her head, eyes finding mine again. “Iamon your side, no matter what, Robbie. We can get through this together. I’ll help you in any way I can, but I really,reallyneed you to be honest with me.”
I let go of her hand and stand up, anger spiking as I pace the length of her studio apartment in less than a few long strides. I’m not angry at her. I’m pissed at the situation because how many times do I need to fucking say it?
“I’m not on drugs!” I shout, pushing my damp hair back from my face. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t care. “My dad was an addict. I saw what that shit did to him. I saw what he did to my mom when he was on them. What he did tome!”
I pause, looking at Fran, clamping down hard on my bottom lip as I contemplate my words. Before I can talk myself out of it, I decide to let her have it, because what’s the point in holding back now?
“When I was five, he strangled me.”
Her eyes widen at my confession.
I nod. “Ma was working late. He was passed out on the couch and the TV was so loud, it woke me up. I went downstairs to turn it off. But the minute I reached for the remote, he woke up. His eyes were huge. Huge and empty. He looked…deranged. He grabbed me, threw me onto the floor, and he wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t even able to tell him I couldn’t breathe, his hold on me was so tight.”
Fran covers her mouth with her hand.
“I don’t know if he stopped or if I blacked out or what.” I shrug. “Ma doesn’t even know about that. But I remember it. I was five years old, and I remember it like it was fucking yesterday.”
“Robbie,” Fran whispers.
“And when I was seven, he stubbed his cigarette out, right here—” I lift the hem of Fran’s sweatshirt I’m wearing, pointing to the scar on my stomach that is now covered by ink but still noticeable if you look hard enough. “He was in the kitchen, and I walked past him, dressed in a pair of swimming trunks. Danny Stewart had a slip n’ slide set up in his front yard and all the kids in the neighborhood were going over to take a turn. It was a really hot day. Dad was pissed about something. Money, probably. He turned and stubbed his lit cigarette right into me.” I scoff, trying to laugh despite the hot tears hitting my cheeks. “Ma found out about that a few days later because the burn became infected, and I had to go to the ER and be put on an IV.”
Fran stands, but she doesn’t come to me. She just lingers there, staring at me, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Iknowwhat drugs can do to a person,” I say through gritted teeth. “And because of that, I have never and will never touch the shit.” I sniff, swiping at my tears.
Fran stares at me for a long moment, one eye slightly narrowed as she studies me. “You’re telling the truth…” It isn’t a question, more a whispered statement. A realization, maybe.
I swallow the emotion in the back of my throat, nodding once.
She looks across the room, tugging on her bottom lip, brows drawing together in serious contemplation. “So then… how?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I didn’t do anything last night. I was playing video games at Dallas’ place. Then I got your messages and drove straight downtown to the bar. I didn’t stop anywhere. I didn’t talk to anyone. I—” I’m cut short when Fran’s head snaps up at that, her eyes wide when they meet mine.
“What?” I ask carefully.
“Robbie, why did Tadd come up to you in the bar last night?” Her question is quick and direct, her words almost breathless.
I rack my brain. A lot of last night is a blur, especially what happened in the bar.
