Beneath

28 A PLACE TO REST

C A M I L A

When I eventually calm down, I'm in a drained, numb state. It's better, for now.

I go to shower out of habit. The hot water washes away the gym. I scrub my wrist a little too much. The place I was touched. Old habits, I guess. After, I take the time to diffuse my curls, using the minutes to do some deep breathing.

In the kitchen, I collect the papers and shove them into the garbage. So much for all the memories.

I hop up on the counter and dial the boy's apartment, just needing to hear a voice that doesn't scare me.

Fox picks up with, "Yeah?"

"Hey. It's me."

"Hey, Sport," he says, but his tone's off. I hear it immediately. "Noah's probably not gonna be the best conversationalist right now."

"Why? What happened?" I hop off the counter, turning to face the empty phone receiver. "Freckles, tell me."

"It's... been a long weekend."

That could mean anything.

"What's going on? Is Noah okay? Are you okay?"

Another pause, this one filled with an exhale. "Dayo's been giving everyone a hard run lately. I went home with Noah this weekend. I love their family, don't get me wrong, but that kid is determined to break."

That clicks something in place for me.

Dayo was, what? Eight or nine when their dad died? So was I.

I scratch a flaked-off piece of the fake marble counter, the phone cradled between my shoulder and ear. "Is Noah okay?"

"He's out on the balcony, hasn't said a word to me or Jed all night. He won't talk to you either, Sport. Don't take it personally. Noah shuts down, then recharges like a robot. He'll be back to himself in a few days."

That hits a little too close to home, the idea of being so overwhelmed you can't even sleep. Your brain turns traitor, replaying every mistake, every what-if, every piece of guilt and regret on an endless loop. You get more tired. You still can't sleep. Everything starts to look murky, greyscale, and dark.

"Can I talk to him?" The question is a shot in the dark, a desperate grasp for something to make this better.

There's a silence that stretches way too long. "He knows it's you on the phone, Sport. He's not coming in."

The words crack something already fragile. My heart, I think.

I know it's a defence mechanism. I understand. I've spent nights locked in my own head, aching for someone. Needing help. And when you need, and you don't get what you need, you break a little. Then a little more. And then that's just how you are, going about your life, cracked.

I press the phone tighter to my ear, closing my eyes. "Can I come over?"

"You can always come over, Sport. But I feel like your hopes are a little high."

He's right, and I know it. But I don't care.

I'm going anyway.

.....

The night air hits me, and suddenly I'm running. My hair's a wild mess, my breaths are sharp and quick, but I don't slow down. Not until I'm at their apartment, buzzing up, and then Fox's voice cracks through the speaker, "One sec."

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. My hands rest on my knees as I try to catch my breath. When the doors open, I step out, jog to their door, and knock.