Broken Compass

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.