Chasing the Browns

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Terror seized me as I forced myself to look away from the blood.

It all made sense. The constant tugging on the sleeves; the way he snatched his arm away whenever I grabbed his wrist; the day Rita had softly taken his wrists in her hands that day in Biology…

She took hold of his wrists gently and whispered something to him. He smiled a little, and they hugged.

She’d known about it. She’d always known about it.

‘N-Nicholas,’ I whispered. I didn’t know what to say.

‘Lea.’ His voice was almost nonexistent. ‘I-I don’t…I don’t want you to see me like this.’

How come he’d told her and not me?

‘It’s too late, Nick.’

‘Go away, Lea.’ His voice was barely a whisper.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

His lips trembled and his grip on the blade tightened. Blood seeped out of his clenched fist. He turned away, gripping the sides of the sink, hard. His shoulders were tense, and his back was towards me, obscuring my view, but I could still hear the tears he was trying to hold in, even if I couldn’t see them.

This was the Nick I knew. Broken, aching, wounded.

And it broke my heart to see him like this.

I was surprised to find tears in my eyes, swimming in my vision, as I made my way towards him. Tentatively, I placed a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Nick,’ I whispered.

He kept his head down, red-rimmed eyes averted, staring at the bottom of the sink. At the blood. ‘Go away, Lea,’ he said again.

‘Nick—’

‘Go away,’ he growled. But his measly attempt at anger couldn’t hide the pain behind it. I saw his shoulders shuddering with the effort to keep it all in.

‘No!’ I said fiercely. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Nick. I’m staying,’ I whispered.

He suddenly turned and held me tight, close. I waited for the tears.

They didn’t come.

I wrapped my arms around him. All of a sudden, he felt so lost, so small in my arms. ‘It’s OK, Nick,’ I said quietly.

‘No, it’s not.’

‘It’s OK to cry.’

There was a long silence filled with his heavy, laboured breathing – and, as much as I hated to admit it in the moment, the lack of distance between us felt good – and with every second that passed, his grip on my back got tighter and tighter.

Why didn’t he want to tell me?

Why would he tell her and not me?

Was this because of Rita? Is that why she knew?

‘Nick,’ I wheezed. ‘Nick, c-can you let go a bit? I can’t breathe.’

He let go. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I—’ he broke off, choking on a sob. Then the tears came. They were slow at first. His lips trembled as tears leaked out of his eyes, and he grabbed onto the sides of the sink as the wave of emotion washed over, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. The blood-stained blade clattered to the floor as he sank down against the wall, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he curled up into a shaking ball, his shoulders shaking hard with his sobs.