allowed myself to have, not even with myself.
“Kyle… I told you, I won’t tell anyone these things you’ve shared, but you really should at least talk to the guidance counselor.”
“Oh, which one? Mrs. Grames or Miss Chewer? I can talk to them. They’ll recognize me from Saturday services when I was a kid. If not them, maybe a local therapist like Dr. Kramer or Mr. Spears? Funny, I know them through Dad too.”
I saw the moment of realization in his expression, when he understood exactly why this had been so hard for me. “I get what you mean.”
“Welcome to Wyachet, Teach.”
His gaze shifted around the room. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this, Kyle. But I didn’t say that because I planned to share anything you gave me in confidence. There are other ways you can get help. You don’t have to do this on your own.”
“I’m starting to realize I can’t do it on my own,” I confessed, enjoying even just the relief that he knew…that someone fucking knew.
The world felt different to me.
A secret revealed lifted a veil of fog in my mind, as though making the world around me, particularly James, appear sharper than ever.
Even though it was just a crack of the door that I’d opened for him to see, God, what it had done for me. I was relieved when Wednesday afternoon came and we were finally walking down the hall together, to his car.
Despite what I would have to discuss, I enjoyed walking alongside him like that, knowing there was so much more between us than anyone else could have figured. When we reached his car, I slid into the passenger seat, recalling the last time I’d been in there. Feeling as though I’d taken it for granted and wanting to memorize that new-car smell…and just a hint of that familiar scent of his cologne tickling at my nose.
Turning to one another, again, something felt different, if only because of my vulnerability now that he knew the worst.
I turned up his music on the drive over, and we chatted about nothing of consequence. He asked about Tex, before the conversation shifted back to his class.
As we headed into the library parking lot, I noticed Ms. Eiken’s car was parked outside. Even working with her, there was a surreal calm to the experience. Like with the rest of the week, I didn’t feel a need to race to the moment where we discussed my pain, but certainly there were moments when I feared it was because I never really wanted to get there. Because I wanted to pretend for a little longer that I could have told him that and it wouldn’t have changed anything.
Yet even by the subtle looks we exchanged as we shelved books, I knew nothing could ever be the same again. When Ms. Eiken headed out to pick up her kid from baseball practice, we waited to hear the front door click shut before turning to one another.
The moment I knew would come had finally arrived.
“It’s funny,” I said. “I thought there was enough time between handing you those notes and now for me to be ready for this conversation, but…”
“Kyle…”
My eyes watered. “It’s not so bad. I got Tex now.” But even as I said the words, a tear escaped my eye and traveled down my cheek. I scrambled to wipe it from my face.
“You’ve never talked to anyone about this?”
I stiffened my jaw and shook my head. “Nah, I’m good. I’m fine. I survived it. Doing just fine now.”
There was suspicion in his expression, which I was quick to call out. “You don’t get to decide how I deal with shit.”
“That wasn’t what I was doing. I’m worried about you.”
“I know. Just…being so open with someone makes me feel so on edge.”
So weak.
“Can I ask about the hospital bill?”
I quieted.
James was always so fucking perceptive. He got me in a way that kept catching me off-balance. Of course I expected him to ask, but I could have seen anyone else, even after seeing that, just assuming it went hand in hand with the shit I’d told him.
“Can I not answer?” I half joked, wanting to back out. But I’d gone too far already. There was no point in hiding anything else. “Even with things the way they were, I was always a little rebellious. Feels like it’s something in my DNA. Just didn’t take crap, even from him, which I paid for more often than not. And don’t think