The Boy In My Head

17

My head swirls, and I start to get hot like I'm going to hurl. Then, the world starts moving unnaturally. In what feels like slow motion, the fountain closes in on me. I'm briefly aware of the water as it envelops me, of the chill on my skin and the sting as I inhale and water rushes into my lungs, but there's nothing I can do about it. I don't even realize what's happening. For a moment, I feel strong hands grip my wrists. A man with dark hair pulls me out of the water, and that's all I see before everything goes black.

I'm aware that time has passed, but I don't know how much. I blink a few times until the bright lights above my head come into focus. I'm lying on my back, and my headache is completely gone. I look to my right to assess my surroundings and see that it's dark outside the windows. I spot my watch on the table next to the bed I'm in, and I mentally tell it to bring up my GPS location so I can figure out where I am, but nothing happens. I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better look at the room. It's small with stark white walls, and there's a door with a big window that lets me see out into a hallway. A hospital room? I can remember passing out, but I don't recall how I got here. Outside the door, I see a man standing with his back toward me, and he's talking to a nurse. His hand is cupping the side of his neck the way it always does. After a moment, he turns and locks his gaze on me. A sweet smile forms across J.P.'s face. "Why do you do that thing?" I ask as he enters the room. He looks momentarily confused. "With your neck. You always rub your neck with your right hand." Realization spreads across his face as he grasps what I'm talking about. "It's just something I do when I'm nervous, Rachel." "But you always do it. Are you always nervous?" He moves across the room and pulls one of the chairs closer to my bed. He sits in it and adjusts himself quietly before answering. "Only around you." "Uh," I glance around nervously. What does he mean? "What?" "I do that around you because I'm always nervous around you."

"You shouldn't be. We've known each other for years." "I know. But you make it really hard to talk to you." "What does that mean?" I ask, honestly curious. "It's not just me. Everybody has a hard time talking to you because you shut them out." I recoil, a bit offended. "I don't shut people out. People just don't want to talk to me. In case you haven't noticed, J.P., everyone hates me." "Not they don't," he insists. "You just don't let anyone else in." Now I'm confused. What is he talking about? And how did the conversation so quickly turn to focus on my flaws? "Okay, name one time," I challenge. "Those girls at Aline's pool party. They welcomed you and probably would have been your friends if you didn't run away right away." I'm stunned that he found an example so quickly, but I'm not sure if that counts. Those girls didn't even want to talk to me. When I don't say anything, he continues. "How about me? Like you said, Rachel, we've known each other for years, yet we still can't talk to each other."