Page 185 of Becoming Us
“No. I’m sorry. I meant I thought you were putting your money on the athletic scholarship.”
“I’m still slightly offended,” he said, but his voice was teasing.
I chuckled. “You’ll get used to that too.”
“What?”
“I say a lot of things I don’t mean.” My eyes drifted back to the house. And wasn’t that the truth?
Just like her. You’re turning into her.
He was too bright for me.
I should’ve known better. Should’ve known I’d end up hurting myself. Pretending there was even a chance with someone like him.
If he really knew you, he’d run.
We kept talking, voices low, but with every passing minute my heart sank deeper.
It had been a good fantasy. I hadn’t let myself dream like this in a long time—of being someone’s person, of being wanted like that.
But he and I? We were different species. He’d probably be embarrassed to take me to meet his parents. Or refuse to call me his boyfriend. Or avoid going out in public with me.
Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Such a fucking waste of space.
Still, when his friend came looking for him—and before I could talk myself out of it—I asked for his number. And he gave it to me. Without hesitation.
Even though his friend was already looking at me differently. Like he knew. Like he could already tell. He’d probably tell Atty to stay the fuck away from me.
And who’d blame him?
The spiral hit hard this time. Fast.
Two days had passed since I’d managed to get out of bed. Not that I’d left the apartment. Mostly, I just stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself.
Then down at the orange plastic bottles.
They sat there, still and silent, like they were mocking me.
Both were full. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken them. I stared, knowing the truth behind it—it wasn’t forgetfulness. It was cowardice. If I took one, I’d take them all.
I’d been trying to talk myself into it for months.
Nothing’s stopping you now. What do you need? A big show? Of course you do. It’s always the Noah Show. Everything has to be about you. Worthless. Can’t even do this right.
Stop it.
Nobody cares. Nobody’s going to come find you. Come and stop you. Nobody. Fucking. Cares.
Stop it.
Why?
It’s never going to stop. It’s never going to stop until you make it stop. So just make it stop.
I uncapped one of the bottles. The sound of the lid twisting off echoed through the bathroom like a gunshot. Full to the brim.
Let’s just make it stop. Please.
