I Know It's Over (23 page)

“How old is your friend?”

“Seventeen. It’s tough for her, but her mom helps out a lot. Her and her ex still hook up sometimes.” She rolls her eyes in frustration. “I’ve told her she should stop so many times that she doesn’t even mention him anymore, but I know it’s still happening.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot. But not with us.” I fold my arms over my knees and look at the carpet. It’s peach like the walls, with fresh vacuum tracks, and I don’t want to be sick on it. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I’m spinning out. You can go if you want to.” I hold my head and shut my mouth tight.

“Are you going to be sick?” She looks at me closely. “Can I get you something?”

“No.” I prop one of the pillows up against the wall and lie back against it. “I just need to sleep it off. Thanks.”

“Okay.” She gets to her feet, then spins abruptly towards me. “It sounds like you need to get some stuff straight with your ex-girlfriend before you start following people up to bedrooms, but I guess you already know that.”

“I know.” My eyelids are ready to slam shut.

“You probably won’t even remember this tomorrow.” Jillian takes a step towards the bed and hovers over me. “How many times have you done this before—with some girl you barely knew at a party?”

I shake my head at her and she sits down on the bed and stares into my eyes. If we hadn’t already been through this, I’d think she was going to kiss me. “I brought you up here to distract me,” she says, smiling faintly to herself. “It didn’t work the way I was thinking, but it’s okay.”
Distract you from what?
I must say it out loud because she slides one hand under her chin and says, “My mom’s in the hospital. I’m staying at Owen’s because I had to get away for a while.”

“Why?”

“I’m sick of all her problems. After a while I feel like they’re actually making
me
sick, like I can’t remember what normal is.” She glances at the bedspread and then quickly lifts her head. “She tried to kill herself. She talked about it before, but she never actually tried it until a couple days ago. My dad’s with her in Windsor, but I couldn’t take it anymore.” Jillian’s shoulders sag. “Anyway, so maybe that makes me shockproof, like you said.”

“I’m sorry.” I sit up and rub her shoulder. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Oh, she’ll be okay and then one day she won’t. That’s how it works with her. It never really changes.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything—I don’t want to talk about it.”

So I reach out and hold her hand instead. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t even be doing that, that every single thing I’ve done tonight would make Sasha hate me again, but I do it anyway. Jillian stares down at our hands and moves towards me. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she says.

Our heads settle back on the pillow and she drapes her arm across my chest. Jillian’s breathing is real shallow, but she doesn’t cry. It’s so hard to do that with her. Almost as personal as what we were doing before. It reminds me of all the simple stuff between Sasha and me. It hurts so much that it’s impossible to let go.

And neither of us do.

eighteen

My left arm
is deadweight when I wake up. It’s seventeen minutes after three and Jillian’s breathing softly next to me. She looks really innocent in her sleep, much younger than when she’s awake, and I gaze down at her pink toenails and take in a huge breath of relief. Things went farther than they should’ve between us, but it could’ve been a lot worse. I slip out of bed, swinging my left arm in the air to get the circulation working.

I don’t feel completely normal yet, but I’m on my way back. I can see again, for one thing. What I need now is water or better yet, Coca-Cola, and I brush my hair into place with my fingers and head downstairs.

The kitchen is quiet and the supply of soft drinks exhausted so I rinse off one of the dirty glasses on the counter and fill it with plain old tap water. It’s the best water I’ve ever had and I gulp down two glasses before slowing down. It’s funny just how bad you can feel and continue to walk around as though nothing’s the matter.

I swing into the living room. Two girls are dancing and smoking while all around them people lie passed out on the floor and the couch. Meaghan, that ninth-grade girl who was on Marc’s lap, is there too and I’m sure someone will fill me in on the rest of that story later. I head for the TV room and almost trip over Keelor. He’s sitting on the floor, Vix’s head in his lap, watching a skin flick with a room full of semi-conscious guys and girls.

“Keelor.” It’s been hours since I’ve said anything and it comes out louder than I want it to.

He puts his finger to his lips and points down at Vix, who is nestled happily in dreamland. He shifts her weight as gently as he can and she stretches out on the floor without opening her eyes.

“Have you seen Jillian?” he asks, following me into the kitchen. “I thought maybe you guys left. Where’ve you been for the past two hours?”

“She’s asleep upstairs. She’s fine.”

Keelor flinches. “You were upstairs with her all this time?”

“Nothing happened,” I tell him. “We were just talking.”

Keelor’s mouth hardens. “You mean that, right? You wouldn’t mess with my cousin. She’s going through a lot of stuff. I can’t talk about it, but the last thing she needs is anybody messing with her.”

“Yeah, she told me about her mom.”

Keelor blinks in surprise.

“I was losing it and I told her about Sasha,” I continue. “Seriously, we just talked and fell asleep.”

Keelor drops back against the counter with his mouth open. “I thought you didn’t want anybody to know about Sasha.”

“I was out of my head—it was bad. I still don’t feel right.” I grab the glass I was using earlier, refill it, and guzzle more water. “I’m gonna catch a ride with the next person who leaves.”

“Okay,” Keelor says uncertainly. I don’t know if he’s worried about me or if he’s suspicious of my story.

“Look, you can ask her later. She’ll tell you.”

“No, I believe you,” Keelor says. “I think Jonah’s taking off soon—you can go with him.”

I catch a ride with Jonah and tiptoe into my house. I’m not breaking curfew or anything, but I don’t want Mom to see me like this. Once I’m safely in my bedroom, I hobble over to my bed and pass out on top of the covers. My dreams are endless. They blend into each other so it seems I’m having one epic dream all night long, only it doesn’t make any sense. When I finally wake up, I feel like I’ve been asleep for days, but my clock radio says 7:39. The doorbell’s ringing and I roll over onto my chest and ignore it. The moment it stops, I immediately drop back into unconsciousness.

“Nick.” That’s Mom’s voice and I roll over and open my eyes. “Nathan is downstairs,” she continues. She’s wearing her purple terry-cloth robe and has sleep stuck in her throat.

“Nathan?” I rub my crusty eyes and sit up in bed. My tongue tastes like a Dumpster.

“I’m going back to bed,” she says. “I’ll let you handle this.”

I stare after her for a few seconds before forcing myself out of bed. Last thing I knew I was eating oranges and arguing with Bridgette in some pointless dream. So far this isn’t much of an improvement. Nathan over at my house before eight a.m. on New Year’s Day can’t be good news.

I go downstairs, still in yesterday’s clothes, and find Nathan sitting in the kitchen, staring at the gurgling coffee machine. “Sorry, I know it’s early,” he says, his eyes darting over to me. “I tried to call you—your cell must be off.”

I rub my eyes again and sit down next to him at the table. “It’s
really
early. What’s going on?”

“The New Year’s Eve party last night.” He taps the table. “I had a blowup with my dad about it. I got home a couple of hours ago and mentioned some things he didn’t want to hear. I just need somewhere else to be for twenty-four hours while he calms down.”

“Yeah, sure.” The gurgling coffee looks and smells disgusting. The only thing I want in the world is orange juice so I get up and pour myself a tall glass while Nathan’s waiting for his coffee. “So what’d you tell him exactly?”

“Nick.” Nathan frowns and lowers his head. “I don’t think you really want to know.”

He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. I look at the coffeepot filling up with dirt brown liquid and gulp down orange juice. How much are you supposed to know about your friends? Should I be asking him whether he’s a top or a bottom or what?

“Okay,” I tell him. “I don’t need to know.”

“You don’t
want
to know,” he repeats. “But it’s okay.”

“Look.” I put my glass down and face him. “I don’t tell you everything either, right? Maybe you don’t need to know absolutely everything about me and I don’t need to know absolutely everything about you.”

“Yeah, but Nick…” Nathan’s eyes are somber. “Someday I’m going to be with someone—I hope so anyway.”

“I know,” I snap. “I get it, Nate, but I don’t need to know the details.”

“Because you think it’s sick.” His voice is calm, but his eyes are angry.

“I never said that. Why’d you come here if that’s what you think?”

“Because you’re my best friend. I don’t want to have to go somewhere else.”

My fingers are wrapped tightly around the glass. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to think about it either. “You don’t have to go anywhere,” I tell him. “Where are you getting this bullshit from? Are you forgetting what I said to your dad?”

“No, but I can tell when we talk sometimes, Nick. You don’t really want to know. You say the right things, but you don’t want anything to happen. You want me to be normal.”

I don’t want him to be normal; I don’t want to be normal myself. The word doesn’t even mean anything. “I’ll be okay,” I say. “I’ll get used to it eventually.” I lower my voice. “I just don’t want a clear picture in my head.”

Nathan shakes his head and tries to suppress a smile. “You picture all your friends in the act?”

“You know what I mean.” Only when they’re giving me play-by-plays. “So are you staying or what?”

Nathan puts both hands flat on the table. “There was a guy last night, a journalism major. We hooked up for a while—nothing heavy. I’ll probably never see him again.”

I nod like it’s all good. Fuck Nathan for being right. “Is that what you told your dad?”

“Yeah, basically. He was the first person I kissed since I was fourteen. Pretty sad, huh?” Nathan’s eyes are tight on mine. “I didn’t even really like him that much. I think I just wanted to be close to somebody for a while.”

“Everybody needs that.”

“Try telling that to my dad.”

The coffee is finished brewing and I grab a mug for Nathan and fill it. “I have to get some more sleep. I didn’t get home until almost four.”

Nathan yawns. “I haven’t even been to sleep yet.”

“Okay.” I hand him his coffee. “Let’s go.”

We head up to my room and I pull my sleeping bag out of the closet and toss it onto the floor along with an extra pillow. I climb into bed and shut my eyes, but Nathan hasn’t finished talking yet. He asks me about Marc’s party and I tell him most of what I remember. I hesitate when it comes to Jillian, sleepy as I am, and Nathan says he knows I’m leaving something out. He thinks it’s about Dani, but I break down and admit what happened with Jillian.

“I feel like shit,” I confess. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“You and Sasha aren’t together,” he reminds me. “Technically you didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s only saying that because he’s my friend. He knows it’s wrong as well as I do.

I open my eyes and look at Nathan; his eyes are closed too. “I don’t want to be with anyone else,” I say. “I just want to be with Sasha.” It’s a lie and it’s true. I don’t know how it can be both, but that’s the way it feels.

“You shouldn’t be with anyone now, Nick. You’re too fucked up to even know what you want.”

“I know,” I whisper. It’s the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

It helps having Nathan around, but after he goes home to face his dad the next day, I can’t avoid the fact that Sasha hasn’t called. I shut my bedroom door tight, grab the phone, and sit on the floor. It takes me a minute to dial and when I do, her mom picks up. “Nick, I don’t think you should make a habit of calling here anymore,” Mrs. Jasinski says.

A habit, is that what this is? Before I can reply, Sasha’s voice sings into my ear: “Nick?”

“Yeah.” Everything I wanted to say suddenly seems stupid. I can’t tell her how she’s always in the back of my head or how happy she made me when she told me she missed me. “You never called.”

“I just got back from Lindsay’s this morning.”

“Did that help?” I ask, evening out my voice.

“Dad hasn’t spoken to me since I got back, but I don’t know if I want him to so…” Sasha sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The pause between us lasts seconds too long and I breathe in and out, gripping the receiver. “Sasha.” My voice dips. “Do you want me there with you on Wednesday?”

“I think it’d be harder.” Sasha clears her throat.

“Okay.” I’m holding my breath. “I just need to know you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’ll try,” she says. “How about you?”

“I miss you.”

“Nick—”

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I know it’s over. Will you just let me know you’re okay afterwards?”

“Yeah,” she promises. “I can do that. Take care, okay?”

“You take care. Call me anytime.” I’m not ready for the conversation to be over. I haven’t asked if she’s going to be awake or even if she’s scared, but I hang up. It’s the story of us, I guess. I was never ready for anything.

nineteen

The only class
I can deal with is Visual Arts. Ms. Navarro lets us sketch anything we want all period to get us warmed up and Nathan sits across from me, drawing an old woman in a clingy, long dress. Her face is full of lines, but her body is young. He’s always drawing freaky stuff like that. Mostly I do scenic stuff or real people. I can do them from memory pretty good, but Nathan has real imagination.