Page 72 of Becoming Us
Silence.
“Are you high right now?” Fiona asked.
“Nope. Wish I was, though.”
She sighed and sat down on the floor across from me, her expression tired. “Are you trying to get out of tonight? You said you wanted to go.”
Go to what?
Oh. Right. That party with her friends—the ones who looked at me like I was her biggest mistake. Sounded like a lovely fucking evening.
“I’m not really in the mood.”
Her face twisted in… pain? Anger, maybe? One of those. “Are you serious, Noah? What about us giving this a shot? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I did,” I said. “I just don’t care about it right now.”
That stung her. So what? Let her be hurt. She didn’t even want to be with me in the first place.
“Why are you being such a dick?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I’ma dick? Who’s the one making me jump through hoops just to date you?” The words were out before I could stop them.
She stared, stunned. “I’m not doing that.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I just don’t know if I can trust you. Look at how you’re acting right now,” she snapped.
“Yeah, you can’t trust me to behave with your friends in public, but you can trust me to fuck you in private. Funny how that works.”
She got up fast, pointing to the door. “Get out.”
I stood too. “Fine.”
“I knew you were an asshole. My friends said so. I just didn’t believe them.”
“Glad to finally meet someone’s expectations,” I muttered, slamming the door behind me.
I left her apartment and paused on the sidewalk. I needed a drink. A smoke. I needed to not exist. To pause time. Anything to numb this for a while. I had to stop thinking, stop feeling.
I could lose my dad.
My dad.
Who was probably scared shitless right now. Because if I saw that diagnosis with my name on it, I’d lose my mind. And here I was, wallowing, like I was the one going through it. Like this was mine to grieve.
It wasn’t.
This pain was his.
And I was being so fucking selfish.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Fuck.” My hands fumbled for my phone as I called a car, the urgency finally hitting me.
As we sped through traffic, a resolution settled into place—quiet but heavy: This wasn’t about me.
The car pulled up to the house, and I sat there a moment before going in.
