chapter twenty-one

harris

Sebastian and Saanvi leave after a couple movies and a few games of Parcheesi that felt less competitive than usual. I didn't have the energy to stir up my usual trouble, I guess. Probably why things felt so boring. And maybe a little tense.

I feel twice as terrible than I normally would have, though, simply because I was off. Grandma noticed, Saanvi noticed, and Seb? Seb noticed. He couldn't keep his eyes off me the whole time, and it wasn't in a cute or hot or yayyy way. He was concerned. So concerned, he kept moving game pieces that weren't his, and kept not hearing when Saanvi and Grandma would try to correct or cajole him.

I heard them all in the bathroom too. I wanted to go catch my breath, and so there I am in Mom's bathroom, focusing on the little pink and yellow tiles we grouted together right before middle school started. Sitting on the toilet with my pants still up, my head in my hands, clutching my hair with fists. Trying to breathe. I just wanted to breathe.

Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.

Get the fuck over yourself, Harris.

Nothing. Happened.

Quit overreacting.

Nothing.

Happened.

"He's out of it tonight, huh?" Saanvi says. She's met with a moment of weighted silence.

Then Grandma says, "Yeah. That Liam boy dropped by earlier. You kids wouldn't happen to know if anything happened between them, would you?"

Another beat of heavy silence, then Seb says, "I ... no. I don't think so."

I left the bathroom pretty quickly. Just to be safe.

And now, they're gone, and Grandma's asleep in the guest room, and I'm tucked into my own bed, still in my pajamas despite the intense layering of blankets going on atop my usual duvet. I'm usually a pretty hot sleeper, but right now, I can't seem to get warm.

The hairs on my arms are raised. Goosebumps have popped up along my skin. I'm sweaty, yes, but this is just ... not the shit. Something is off. I don't know what it is.

It'll be quick, I promise.

Liam.

Maybe ... maybe that's it.

I roll over onto my other side. I want to know what happened that night, in a very, very small way. Everything is a blur. I think I could recall more the morning after than I can now—and even that hadn't been much. It feels like watching things in double speed and slow-mo all at once, the frames of reality meshing and blurring together to the point that I'm not sure anything is real. Sound doesn't sync up, things are fuzzy, and all I can really remember is the harsh burning of some kind of strawberry drink at the back of my throat. That, and the weird bulging feeling in my chest as I tried my best not to throw up.

I almost want to ask Seb exactly what happened that night. I could ask Saanvi too, but we're not as close yet. I like her for sure—definitely a lot more than Liam—but there's something about Seb that makes me trust him intrinsically. Even if Saanvi would probably be a little bit more blunt with what went down at Elana Doorsey's party, Seb wouldn't hide anything from me. And he'd be gentle. Sweet.

Not that I think there's much to tell. Or much to want to know, rather.

My phone is at two percent—I'm too lazy to plug it in right now—but I can see a multitude of missed texts from Evan ... and Liam. I decide I'll respond to Evan's later. I'm a little scared to open Liam's.

I can't really afford to not though, can I?

Liam: hey

Liam: things got weird the other nite, im sorry

Liam: can we pls talk

'Things got weird the other nite.' 'Things got weird the other nite?' Is that it? Is that seriously all I get? It feels like my intestines are grinding against each other. It's such a Liam text. Why does it make me so vehemently uncomfortable?

Another text comes through. And then another. And I swear, my heart stops beating.

Liam: i know i overstepped again n im srry

Liam: im here, open ur window

I shut off my phone immediately and roll away from the window, squinting my eyes shut and bracing myself to hear Liam's knocking.

Usually, when he shows up to my window this late uninvited, it's to try and get me to do something stupid, like swim in the quarry or sleep with me. He's always fucked up on something. I never do anything with him when he's like that. It's basic human decency. But the more I'm thinking about the few things I can remember from 'the other nite'—Liam's teeth on my neck; the violent burning of vomit in my throat; his fingers too rough and too cold against my skin—the more I'm wondering how much that basic human decency is reciprocal.

There's a part of me that's saying I'm wrong. There's another part that's screaming I'm right. I'm just here, paralyzed in bed. Waiting for the knock. I don't care which part is right—Liam is not coming inside right now.

I, just. I can't.

My breaths are so short, so shallow, that I'm not even sure if I'm breathing at all. My chest and my stomach are both squeezing inwards, pushing all the oxygen out of my body. I'm laying down, but I'm dizzy. My jaw is so tight, there's a tense, stinging buzz in my temples.

I've almost managed to convince myself that Liam never actually sent me that text, that he's not really here crouched in my window well, that I've made it all up because I've been out of it and nothing is really wrong, because I'm crazy and it's all in my head.

But then, he knocks. Raps his knuckles lightly against my window, faint and delicate and barely there. So soft, I'm quick to convince myself I heard nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I hear nothing.

But then, there it is again, a minute later. More insistent now. Maybe a little more impatient. I squint my eyes shut harder. He'll go away. If I don't respond, he'll go away.

There's silence.

He's gone. He has to be. I sigh through my nose and try to relax. It's okay. He got bored and left, and I'm alone. I'm okay. It's okay.

But then.

A hard knock, rapid and frustrated and too loud for this time of the night. My phone screen lights up with a little buzz—definitely a text from him telling me to open the window. To let him in. So we can talk.

But ... I'm scared.

I'm scared of him. Since when have I been scared of Liam? Not uncomfortable, not wary, not concerned or scared for. Scared of.

I don't know how long it takes to make myself move, but when I finally do, it's to grab my phone and toss all my blankets on the floor, on the side of my bed hidden from the window. My bed frame is too shallow for me to sleep comfortably beneath it, but the concrete floor is cool to the touch, and I don't mind it once I hastily fan my blanket out overtop it. I pull my thin duvet over me and fluff my pillow, then slide my arm beneath it, pressing it tight against the side of my head with my shoulder.

Then I unlock my phone—ignoring a gut-tumbling amount of new texts from Liam—and block his number. I follow it up immediately with his Snap, then his Instagram.

You just need a break, I tell myself, turning my phone face-down on the concrete floor and shutting my eyes once more. A Liam break. That's all.

I wish Sebastian were here. I don't remember much from that night, but I do remember how he held me till I fell asleep. The chilly tips of his fingers brushing my hair away from my forehead, his touch so gentle that I must have I melted into him. We laid there, face to face, his nose close to mine but angled slightly above, so that I could feel every warm exhale. Our knees touched, which was somehow quite comforting, and I could have sworn he smelled different than usual. Cologne or something. I liked it.

I wish he was here to hold me like that again.

There's more knocking on the window. I don't know how long it goes on for. It's angry, though, that's for sure. He must have realized that I've blocked him on everything.

I lay there on the floor with my eyes shut tight, my covers pulled up to my chin, the chill of the concrete floor seeping through my blanket. After a while, the knocking all blurs together, one big endless loop that's suddenly more like white noise than a threat. I'm not even sure if it stops before I fall asleep, or if I'm only able to drift off in relative peace because Liam grew tired of my lack of response and left. I don't know.

All I do know is that the tension leaves my shoulders, the goosebumps dissipate, and I drift off, dreaming of Sebastian's warm breath and chilly fingertips and comforting knees.