Page 81 of The Fake
“Nathan,” I try again, gently this time as I sit up in bed.
He rips the blanket off and then the pillow. His eyes don’t seem to register anything as he tears apart the bed. I scramble across the mattress on all fours and stand on my knees to reach his face.
“Nathan, hey, wake up.”
He groans again and his chest lifts and falls quickly. I’m panicked and have no idea how to wake him or even if I should, but I’m desperate to take away the pained look on his beautiful face.
I reach for him, place both hands on his face. “Honey, look at me.”
He does, but his beautiful blue eyes are glossy, and I’m not sure he really sees me. I’m so scared my own fingers tremble. Without removing my hands, I move from the bed to stand beside him. “You’re okay. You’re just dreaming.”
Words fail me so I step flush against him and press my lips to his. His hands go to my chest, and I think he might push me away. Slowly, his rigid body relaxes. When he wakes up, his eyes widen, and he steps back out of reach so fast I stumble back onto the bed.
He looks around the room and then back to me, running a hand through his hair as he catches his breath. “Oh, my God, Chloe. Are you okay?” He takes a step toward me and then retreats. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.”
My words don’t seem to comfort him. He stands rooted in place, body coiled so tightly I’m not sure what to say or do. Since it worked to wake him, I hope going to him is the right move, and I throw myself into his chest and wrap my arms around him tightly. He crumbles, taking me with him to the floor. I climb into his lap and he squeezes me against his heaving torso.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The choked words spoken over the top of my head don’t feel like they’re meant for me.
“It’s okay. Hey, I’m here. It was just a dream.”
27
Nathan
We lieon the floor in my room. Chloe must have grabbed the pillows off the bed at some point because there’s one behind my head as I stare up to the ceiling.
I’ve been pouring my guts out to the point I should probably be embarrassed, but I can’t seem to stop. All the things I’ve held onto about my dad and the guilt I feel, I share those with her because she’s here and for the first time I believe she’s not going anywhere.
“Wanna know what the worst part is?”
She nods, the slightest tilt of her head in the darkness.
“It’s my fault he’s dead.”
Her eyes widen and then her brows pull together in confusion.
“About an hour before it happened, we got into a big fight. I’d blown off school to go to the lake with friends, which was bad enough, but I didn’t have cell service so when the school called Mom to tell her I wasn’t there, no one could find me. They’d thought the worst. Mom was in tears when I finally made it home and Dad was so pissed. I’d never seen him so mad.”
“They were worried about you.”
I nod. “Yeah, and I knew I was in the wrong, but my hot head couldn’t own up to it, so I yelled back and then stormed out and went to my buddy’s house. Last time I ever saw him.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“If I hadn’t skipped school or if I’d just stuck around and been there…” I let myself imagine all the possibilities.
“It wasn’t your fault. People argue and they say things they don’t mean. He knew you loved him.”
My eyes burn, and I swallow a lump in my throat. I guess that’s the root of the issue. Did he die thinking I was an ungrateful punk who only cared about himself?
The wound is already open, so I keep going, sharing the darkest parts of me. “Ever since he died, I have these awful dreams. It’s that night except I don’t go to my buddy’s house. My dad and I are sitting together in the living room watching TV. There’s a baseball game on and he’s glued to the screen and I know it’s coming—I know he’s about to have a heart attack, so I try and warn him, but it’s like I’m not really there. I start off calm but then I get frantic until I’m screaming and waving in front of him, but he can’t see or hear me.”
Chloe squeezes my hand. Her slim fingers intertwine with mine between us. She hasn’t spoken since I started talking. Just listens and holds my hand to let me know she’s here.
“When I come to, I have to remind myself he’s already dead. In the dream, he’s alive. I always wake up before he dies so for a few seconds I think it was all just a bad dream. I can’t fucking remember and when my brain catches up to reality… he’s gone and I start the process of grieving him all over again.”
