Broken Compass Page 15

  The heartbreak in her eyes does me in. Literally.

  In two strides, I grab her in a hug and feel her tremble against me. “But you’re not alone, Syd. You have us. You have me.”

  She holds on to me, presses her face to my chest, and I want to hold her there forever. “I know. You, and Nate, and Kash.”

  Right. Reality check, West. Hold your horses.

  I pull back reluctantly. “Does Nate even walk you home anymore?”

  “Sometimes.” Her smile is sad. “He doesn’t talk to me much these days. He’s changed.”

  “I know.”

  “It hurts. Whatever’s going on with him. He said… he said it would all be all right, but it’s not, is it?”

  I don’t know how to comfort her. Nate obviously means so much to her. But I don’t say that.

  Instead I ask her the question that has been spinning around in my mind for months now, ever since Nate mentioned it. “Hey, Syd…”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you in love with Kash?”

  She flinches, and her face turns red. “What? No.”

  Okay, good. But her eyes shift away from me, and I get a queasy feeling in my stomach. I need to shut up, but I can’t. “What about Nate?”

  “Don’t ask me that kind of thing, West…”

  I see in her eyes that Nate was right. In part, at least. Because she wants them both, she’s in love with them both.

  Only not with me.

  Shutting my trap, I start walking. No reason to ask why, or to stand around, letting her see how hard the realization twists my heart inside my fucking chest.

  Well, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Deep inside I’d known it all along. Why should she want me, anyway? I’m useless. Crazy. A mistake. A freak.

  So what’s this strange pain about?

  Nate wants her, and he deserves her much more than I do. If she wants him… if she chooses him over Kash, then I won’t stand in the way. If there was any chance I’d do it before, there’s none now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nate

  A strange haze hangs over everything. Cobwebs and dust.

  Or maybe it’s me. I feel like I’m covered in Saran wrap, rolled up like a mummy. One of the walking dead. The world is muted, gray, paused. Sometimes things happen, but I have no real control over them.

  I don’t know when it got so bad. When I got so numb. Detached. Like my thoughts are floating somewhere outside my head, like I observe my body move and my mouth talk, and I’m an empty husk of a person.

  I’m not Nathaniel Brady. I dunno who or what I am anymore. I’m a man-shaped shadow, a ghost. And I don’t even care if that sounds melodramatic, or stale. It’s the truth.

  The fog in my head means I can’t focus on school classes, either. Labs, tests, homework—they fly over my head. I can’t even be bothered to pretend I’m paying attention. Not enough energy for it, when it all goes into breathing, sitting, putting one foot in front of the other and moving as if I’m a real living person and not the shell of one.

  So it takes me a while to realize West has stopped pestering me to talk to him, do stuff with him, study with him, spar together.

  That should have worried me. West is a rock, steadfast and true, my anchor in this strange storm that has taken over my life. He may not know it, but the dickhead is the reason I haven’t given up on breathing yet.

  Him, and Syd. At least she’s still here, thanks to the money I’m giving her, and that’s a relief, even if it means I’m stuck in my hell. I can take it. I can fucking take it, if it means she’ll stay.

  The new mantra is on a fucking loop inside my head, taking up so much space I regularly stumble over furniture, and drop things. The fact I never feel like eating nowadays probably isn’t helping.

  But back to West.

  Today I’ve skipped school completely. The sky is overcast. I see the clouds from my bed, clinging dark and heavy to the tops of buildings. It’s the right mood. My room is a mess, dirty clothes lining the floor, my computer screen smeared with something—I don’t even wanna guess what—and my school books spilled in a heap in a corner.

  I stink. Even through the funk I can smell myself. Old sweat, and vomit. It makes me gag and I sit up, then wait for the room to stop spinning.

  The shower isn’t running. I can’t hear any sound. Could I be so lucky and have the apartment to myself? Even the idea of Kash seeing me like this makes me cringe.

  It’s been a bad couple of weeks. Worse than usual, and things aren’t looking up. I wonder if this is the new normal, and the thought sends a chill through my bones.

  A message is flashing on my phone, and I grab it from the nightstand to check it, expecting to find it’s from West or Syd, asking why I’m not at school.

  But it’s neither, and I fight the faint flicker of disappointment. I mean, why did I expect them to keep worrying and checking on me and prodding for answers? Most of the time I act as if they don’t exist. Patience eventually runs out, sooner or later.

  The text is from a random classmate asking if I wanna go to his party. But fuck that. I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty fork. That’s a possibility with the way things are going.

  Rusty forks. Stabbing. Blood. Anything to forget reality.

  Goddammit. I throw the phone on the bed and scratch at the stubble on my jaw. I’m leaving. Money or no money, I’m not staying here another day. Last night…

  Bile rises in my throat so fast I throw myself off the bed and make a run for the bathroom. I barely make it in time to puke in the toilet, heaving and coughing and cursing my life. My puke tastes of booze, sickness and shame.

  It’s always the same.

  The apartment is empty, thank fuck for that, so I can shower, wash the sweat and vomit off me, wash it all away. I even manage to find clean clothes. I pull them on, cringing at the jut of my bones—my hips, my knees, my elbows, my ribs. I’m not hungry, but I’m light-headed and probably should drink water and chew on something to line my stomach.

  But my search for food in the fridge and cabinets comes up empty, and as the hours roll by, I decide to swallow my pride and go downstairs to see if I can get West to give me something to eat. I pushed the last of my money under Syd’s door two days ago, and I’m broke.

  West. I haven’t seen him in days. Has he made it to school this week? What sort of fucked-up friend am I when I don’t even notice if he’s around or not?

  Jesus.

  Worry seeps through the exhaustion, and I drag my feet downstairs, the thought of food already half-forgotten as I try to remember when I last saw West. Between my mantra and the dizziness, it’s not working out so well.

  And then I hear voices. As I climb down, I see two people standing at the door of West’s apartment. I stop, sit down on a step, as much to figure out who they are as to stop the black from crowding the edges of my vision.

  Is that West’s granddad? And his sister. I recognize her now. The grandfather is holding her hand, and now he’s whispering to her so low I can’t hear. She’s looking up at him, and something in her posture twists my already unsteady stomach.

  She reaches up and strokes his cheek.

  Huh. Why do West’s granddad and sister act so chummy with each other? I’m so used to them ordering West around, calling him names, that frankly I’m shocked they seem so affectionate. Very lovey-dovey. Which… gah, no fucking way.

  Nate, wash out your filthy mind. Not everyone is as depraved as you. Figures you’d see perversion instead of family love.

  But hey, we judge others by what we know, right? If we understand the world, see the world through the lenses handed to us by our families, then I’m one hundred percent screwed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kash

  It’s a cool evening, a breeze blowing in as I walk home from work. George fed me a huge plate of something with eggplants, potatoes and white sauce, and it was damn good. Everything tastes good right now. I’m still growing, my pants alrea
dy too short at the cuffs, and I’m hungry all the time.

  Case in point: I was stuffed when I walked out of the restaurant, and I’m starving already.

  A hotdog truck tempts me as I walk by with its aromas of fried onion and sausage. I’m legit drooling. I consider my money, that I’ve been saving penny by penny ever since I got this job, for when I leave town, and then I think—fuck it. Can’t save it all.

  Besides, it looks like I’m not leaving any time soon. The weeks since I told Sydney I’m staying have stretched into months. The summer rolled by quickly as I ran from job to job and sometimes stood on the balcony beside Sydney and smoked.

  I didn’t climb over the rail again to get closer to her. Didn’t try kissing her. It’s not me she wants. And even though I know that, I’m still here.

  Fishing out some change from my pocket, I approach the truck, when a big crow flies down, right in front of me, flapping huge wings.

  I stumble back, a bad feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach.

  “I think he’s given up,” the man in the truck says, leaning out as the crow hops away. I follow it with my eyes.

  “What did you say?” I return my attention to the guy, my throat dry.

  “I said, did you want something, man?” he asks, and I shake my head, feeling cold.

  Turning, I start walking toward home. Soon I’m jogging, and even that isn’t enough. I don’t believe in omens and signs. But I can’t stop running, faster and faster, my Converse thumping on the sidewalk, on the street, until I think my heart will give out.

  Something’s wrong, something’s fucking wrong, I can feel it. My sensitive boy, Mom used to say.

  A pity this dubious talent of mine has always proven so useless.

  Flinging the building door open, taking the steps two at a time, I climb up to the second floor and fish for my key in my pocket.

  Then it’s in my hand, and I’m unlocking and stepping into the apartment.

  And come face to face with Nate’s dad.

  He frowns at me, a drink in each hand, as the door swings open right by him. “Careful there, boy. This is damn good whiskey.”

  I stand frozen at the door opening. I only saw him with his dad and his friends that one time, months ago. And if they meet when I’m in bed, I never hear anything. The apartment is always quiet.

  This is the first time I’ve come home early in weeks. I wonder if they changed their meetings to an earlier time to avoid me.

  Why, though?

  “I’d offer you a drink, but you know.” He tsks. “Your heart condition.”

  “What?” It takes me a moment to remember what he’s talking about. “Oh right.”

  Nate’s lie. The one that got me off the hook last time his dad invited me to join the party and drink with his creepy friends.

  “Of course if you changed your mind…”

  About my heart condition? God, this guy’s so oily and weird, and his leering buddies don’t seem any better. I’m suddenly so grateful to Nate for his help all those months ago, and speaking of whom…

  “Where’s Nate?” I ask.

  His dad lifts a brow, sitting down with his friends. “Turned in early, I believe. That boy can’t hold his liquor.”

  Shit.

  Without another word, I cross the living room and go in search of my friend.

  “Nate.” His bedroom is empty, the usual mess of dirty clothes piled on the floor, sheets and covers hanging half-off the bed, his phone on the floor. I gather it up, put it on his desk. “Nate? Where the hell are you, man.”

  I open the door to my closet-room, not really hoping to find him there—and I don’t. I glance around, checking like every time to make sure my stuff is still there and nobody took it.

  All good. It’s all there.

  Relieved, I stand in my room and think. Where else can he be?

  Bathroom. Stepping out of my room, I try the bathroom door and it opens. Nobody is inside.

  “Looking for something?” a female voice asks, jerking me around. “May I use the bathroom if not? You know…” She waves at the door with a faint smile. “The bathroom.”

  Jane. Nate’s mom.

  She’s on drugs. I know the look in her eyes, the dazed delight. I’ve seen it on the faces of the junkies hanging around my dealers. And she’s only wearing a semi-transparent nightgown, and…

  Fuck. I quickly look away and step back, keeping my gaze averted. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Because this is Nate’s mom, goddammit, and I have no business staring at her nipples through the sheer fabric, of the dark triangle between her legs.

  Makes me feel kinda sick to my stomach.

  Where the hell is Nate? There’s only one room I haven’t checked, and I hesitate. Jane is in the bathroom, and she’s locked the door. Nate’s dad is sitting with his friends in the living room. But what would Nate be doing in his parents’ bedroom?

  My brain refuses to look at the possibilities. All I know is that I need to find him.

  So I open the door and step inside. The room smells stuffy and weird, and it’s dark.

  But a fresh breeze hits my face, smelling of car exhaust and moist earth, and I realize the window is wide open, the curtains swaying. A shadow cuts a darker shape against the opening.

  “Nate!” I hiss, and make a grab for him, but he’s half outside already, sort of kneeling on the sill. He’s dressed only in his underwear, I realize, and silvery lines—old scars?—gleam on his back. “Dammit, what are you doing?”

  “I’m getting out.” His voice is quiet, dead.

  “Christ, we’re on the second floor. Nate.” I grab his arm, and wonder if I can hold on if he falls. “Come back inside.”

  “I can’t.” He’s so still. “I can’t do this anymore. Let me go.”

  “No way, man.” I grab his leg with my other hand. “Not letting you go. Come on, Nate. Work with me.”

  He doesn’t resist as I haul him back inside. We both drop to the floor, panting.

  I’m shaking with reaction, and my mouth tastes of bile. “Jesus Fucking Christ. Don’t scare me like that ever again.”

  “I can’t stay. I can’t.”

  “You’re not, mudak. We’re going. Come on.” I get to my feet and drag him out of the bedroom.

  “Going?” He’s shivering so hard he can barely stand, or talk. His teeth chatter in his mouth.

  With a growl, I haul him into my room, leave him standing there as I gather my stuff. My duffel bag fits everything I own—my clothes, my shoes, my laptop and my bag with my last valuables.

  Then I pull him into his room and open his closet, looking for clothes and a bag. “Grab what you need.”

  “What are you doing?”

  This is the first time since I found him hanging out of the window that he sounds halfway sane. “What do you think? I told you.” I find pants and a T-shirt and shove it at him, then then rummage through his clothes. “Grab whatever is important to you. Don’t forget your phone. I’m getting us out of here.”

  “What about Syd and West?”

  Fuck. Good question.

  We slink out of the apartment quickly, in a moment Nate’s dad and friends are in deep conversation, heads bent together as the TV plays in the background. His dad looks up when I open the door, and I just wave at him, hoping he doesn’t notice Nate who’s huddled behind me.

  He doesn’t. We slip out to the quiet, dark landing, and down the stairs. We step outside, and Nate shivers harder.

  “Hold on.” I grab his phone to text Sydney and West, letting him lean against the wall. I write, ‘We are leaving. Come with us?’

  Sydney’s text arrives seconds later. ‘For good?’

  And Weston’s comes next, ‘Where are you?’

  I text them both that we are outside, and then give Nate his phone back. He pockets it, his gaze empty.

  Cars pass by. A night bird trills in the tree beside the entrance. Another car slows down, the driver giving us long looks. I hope we don’t look l
ike hookers.

  I pull Nate to the shade of the tree, to hide us from passersby.

  That’s where Sydney finds us. She’s out of breath, her eyes wide. She has a sports bag with her. “I’m going with you,” she whispers. “Please?”

  I nod. How can I say no? I’m in way over my head, have been for months. I should have known it would come to this.

  Then Weston walks out of the building, and the first thing I notice is that he has no bag with him.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, his gaze falling on Nate. “What happened?”

  “West. You’re coming with us, right?” Sydney turns those pretty, hopeful eyes on Weston. She never gives up hope, does she? “Get your things.”

  “Are you coming with us, West?” I ask. “We should get going before Nate’s folks realize we’re gone.”

  “What happened?” he insists, walking past her to face us. “Nate? What’s going on?”

  Nate says nothing. He’s breathing hard, though, his face white, his gaze a thousand miles away.

  I’m about to step in, tell West something to get him off Nate’s case, because my gut tells me he isn’t processing things right now and needs his space, but West all but shoves me out of the way.

  “Dammit, man.” West hauls him into a bearhug. “Goddammit.”

  Man, I sure share the sentiment.

  Though I’m shocked to see Nate accepting the hug, leaning into West, letting him take on his weight.

  No idea why I should be shocked. Those two are thick as thieves.

  Which makes it all the more strange when they finally break apart, and Nate says, “West isn’t coming.”

  “What? Of course he is.” Sydney grabs West’s arm. “Right? You need to get out of that toxic place, West.”

  He shakes his head, his face stony. “I can’t leave Grandpa. He’s sick, and my sis, well... She’s a danger to herself. I can’t just leave, Syd.”

  “No.” She shakes her head, eyes large and wet. “Please.”

  “I’ll be here. I can meet you at school and wherever you are. Kash.” He turns to me and for a moment his face seems about to crumble, but he clenches his jaw and grits his teeth. “Take them, keep them safe. And let me know where you are as soon as you can.”