Page 34 of Your Fault

I saw the fear in my mother’s blue eyes as she looked at me.

“Since when have you had those kinds of nightmares?” she asked, as if this confession changed how she thought of me. Her eyes were the furthest thing from placid. What I saw in them, once again, was…thatlook.

I wasn’t about to tell her nightmares were a normal thing for me, something I only ever escaped from when I was with Nicholas. I didn’t want her to worry, and I didn’t want to admit that I had dreams of killing my father, that I was the one pulling the trigger, the one who spilled his blood on the ground.

I got up and went toward the bathroom, but my mom grabbed my arm to stop me.

“How long has this been going on, Noah?”

I needed distance from her. I needed that look of worry out of my mind. I didn’t want her to feel bad again. I didn’t want anyone to know what was going on inside me.

“Just this once, Mom. It’s probably because we’re in a strange room. You know new places make me nervous.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she also didn’t stop me when I pulled away, went to the bathroom, and locked the door.

I wanted to call Nicholas. He was the only one who could calm me down. But I didn’t want to have to tell him what had happened—not like this, with this distance separating us. Not when he didn’t have any idea about my nightmares either.

I splashed water on my face and tried to look relaxed. When I went back out, I ignored my mother and lay back down over the sheets.

Noah, please, don’t…

My father’s words went on echoing in my head until finally, somehow, I managed to go to sleep.

There were five days left until we went home. I was exhausted, not just physically but mentally. I desperately needed to sleep for twenty-four hours straight, and I would only be able to do it with Nick holding me in his arms. Luckily, I hadn’t had to share another room with my mother, but the bags under my eyes were the perfect reminder of what had happened, and she wouldn’t forget it.

Then again, there was the slight problem that I hadn’t told her I wanted to move in with Nick. I knew she would lose it, but I had made my decision, and there was nothing she could do to make me change my mind.

My mother was more suspicious than usual, as if she could tell something she didn’t like was going on, that something wasn’t right. I tried to bring her nosy questions back to neutral territory,but I knew once we got back to California, there’d be hell to pay. That’s why I was counting the days till I saw Nick again. With him, I’d have the strength to face her.

After all those years, with my father dead, my mother still couldn’t protect me, because it was all in my mind, inside me…and even I had no idea what to do about it.

14

Nick

In just two days, Noah would be back. I don’t think I’d ever been so anxious to see anyone in my entire life. I was torn between wanting to kiss her all over and wanting to choke her for leaving me here, and I didn’t know which urge was stronger.

She had been weird the last few times we’d talked. She told me she was tired and was dying to see me, and I was counting the hours until it happened. I had fixed up the apartment—it was trashed before—had bought food, had even wiped the cat down with moist towelettes, for which he’d scratched me all over, and I’d had to count to a hundred not to throw the fur ball off the balcony.

I wanted us to have the best night of our lives when she returned. I wanted her to realize all she’d missed out on when she’d left me back here. I wanted her life to depend on me the way mine depended on her.

I’d spent basically the whole month at home or at work, trying to get ahead. I wanted to be done with school as soon as possible. If I kept my head down, I could graduate early, and as long as my grades were good, I could get my father to finally take me seriously.

The next night, as I was getting out of the shower wrapped ina towel, trying not to get water all over the apartment, someone rang the doorbell.

I cursed softly and went to answer: it was Lion.

“I need your help,” he said.

As he walked in, I turned around and kicked the door closed with my heel. I hadn’t seen him for a week, and the person standing before me bore only the slightest resemblance to my old friend.

“What the hell happened?” I asked, walking over to the sofa, where he’d sat down. He didn’t look at me: he just sank his head desperately into his hands.

His hair looked bad; he hadn’t shaved; I doubted he’d even showered in several days. I could tell by his eyes, he’d been drinking, even if he wasn’t drunk.

“I’m in trouble, man.”

Shit… It had to be bad, then. Lion’s problems were always major, never piddly shit.

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