Before I Fall

What are you telling me? I ball my fists up so tightly I can feel my nails dig into my skin. Are you saying shesthat shes I break off, still unable to say it. Saying it will make it real.

Kent looks like each word is something sharp he has to bring up from his stomach. It wasit would have been instant. Painless.

Painless? I repeat, my voice shaking. Painless? You dont know that. You cant know that. Theres a fist in my throat. Is that what they said? They said it was painless? Like it was peaceful? Like it was okay?

Kent reaches for my hand across the table. Sam

No. I scrape my chair back from the table and stand up. My whole body is vibrating with rage. No. Dont tell me its going to be okay. Dont tell me it didnt hurt her. You dont knowyou have no ideanone of you have any idea how much it hurts. It hurts

Im not even sure whether Im talking about Elody or myself. Kent stands up and wraps his arms around me. I find myself with my head buried in his shoulder, sobbing. He keeps me pressed tightly to him, and hes making little noises into my hair, and before I totally let go of everything and succumb to the blackness washing through me, I have the strangest, dumbest thoughtthat my head fits perfectly in Kents shoulder.

Then the thought of Elody and Juliet becomes too much, and a heavy veil drops down over my mind, and I cry. Its the second night in a row Ive totally lost it in front of Kent, though, of course, he couldnt know that. I should be grateful he doesnt remember that only last night we sat together in a dark room with our knees almost touching, but instead it makes me feel even more alone. Im lost in a fog, in a mist, and at some point when I start to come back to myself I realize that Kent is literally holding me up. My feet are barely skimming the ground.

His mouth is buried in my hair and I feel his breath close to my ear. A zip of electricity goes through me, which makes me feel awful and more confused than ever. I pull away, putting a little bit of space between us. He keeps his arms on either side of mine, though, bracing me, and Im glad. Hes solid and warm.

Youre still freezing, he says. He puts the back of his hand against my cheek for one millisecond, but when he pulls away I can feel the outline of his hand, like its scalded me. Your clothes are soaking.

Underwear, I blurt out.

He wrinkles his forehead. What?

Myum, underwear. I mean, my pants and fleece and underwearits all full of snow. Well, mostly melted water now. Its really cold. Im too exhausted to care about being embarrassed. Kent just bites his lip and nods.

Stay here, he says. And drink up. He nods to the hot chocolate.

He guides me back into the chair and disappears. Im still shivering, but at least I can hold the mug without slopping it all over the table. I dont think about anything but the motion of the mug to my lips and the taste of the cocoa, the ticking of a cat-tailed clock, and the drifting white outside the windows. In a few seconds Kents back with an enormous fleece, faded sweatpants, and folded striped boxers.

Theyre mine, he says, and then turns bright red. I mean, not mine. I didnt wear them yet or anything. My mom bought them for me He catches himself and swallows. I mean, I bought them for myself, like, Tuesday. Tags still on and everything.

Kent? I interrupt him.

He sucks in a breath. Yeah?

Im really sorry, butdo you mind being quiet? I gesture to my head. My brain is full of fuzz.

Im sorry. He exhales. I dont know what to do. I wishI wish that there was more.

Thanks, I say. I know hes making an effort and I manage a weak smile.

He lays the clothes down on the table, along with a big, fluffy white towel. I didnt knowI thought if you were still cold you could take a shower. He blushes at the word shower.

I shake my head. I really just want to sleep. Ive forgotten about sleep, and I feel a huge lift when I say it: all I have to do is sleep.

As soon as I fall asleep this nightmare will be over.

Still, a twittering feeling of anxiety rises up inside me. What if the day doesnt rewind this time? What if this is it? I think of Elody and feel the hot chocolate coming back up in my throat.

Kent must see the expression on my face because he crouches down so were at eye level. Can I do anything? Can I get you anything?

I shake my head, trying not to cry again. Ill be okay. Its justthe shock. I swallow hard. I just want toI want to rewind, you know?

He nods once, and puts his hand over mine. I dont pull it away. If I could make it better I would, he says.

In some ways its a stupid, obvious thing to say, but the way he says it, so honest and simple like its the truest thing there is, makes tears prick in my eyes. I take the clothes and the towel and go out into the hall to the bathroom we broke into to find Juliet. I go in and shut the door. The windows still open and flurries of snow whirl in from outside. I shut the window. It makes me feel better already, like Im already starting the process of erasing everything thats happened tonight. Elody will be fine.

After all, I was the one who was supposed to be in the front seat.

I hang the hand towel Juliet left by the sink and strip out of my clothes, shaking. The shower is too hard to resist after all, and I turn the water on as high and as hot as it can go and get in. Its one of those rain-forest showers where the water pours on you straight from above in a long, heavy stream. When it hits the marble tiles under my feet, it lets up big clouds of steam. I stay in the shower so long my skin gets pruny.

I put on Kents fleece, which is supersoft and smells like laundry detergent and, for some reason, freshly mowed grass. Then I snap the tags off the boxers and slip my legs into them. Theyre too big on me, obviously, but I like how clean and crisp they feel on my skin. The only other boxers Ive seen are Robs, usually crumpled up on his floor or shoved under his bed and stained with things I have no desire to identify. Last, I put on the sweatpants, which pool over my feet. Kent has given me socks, too, the big fluffy kind. I ball up all of my clothes and leave them just outside the bathroom door.

When I go back in the kitchen, Kents standing there, exactly as I left him. Something flickers in his eyes when I come in, but Im not sure what it is.

Your hairs wet, he says softly, but he says it like hes actually saying something else.

I look down. I showered, after all.

Silence stretches between us for a few beats. Then he says, Youre tired. Ill drive you home.

No. I say it more forcefully than I meant to, and Kent looks startled.

NoI mean, I cant. I dont want to go home right now.

Your parents Kent trails off.

Please. I dont know which would be worse: if my parents have already heard and are sitting there, waiting for me, waiting to grill me and ask me questions and talk about hospitals in the morning and therapists to help me dealor if they havent heard yet and I come home to a dark house.

Theres a guest room here, Kent says. His hair is finally drying into little wisps and waves.

No guest rooms. I shake my head resolutely. I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

Kent stares at me for a second and then says, Come with me. He reaches for my hand as he passes and I let him take it. We go up the stairs and down the hall and to the bedroom with all the bumper stickers on it. I should have known it was his. He fiddles with the doorIt sticks, he explainsand finally pops it open. I inhale sharply. The smell is just the same as it was last night when I was here with Rob, but everything is differentthe darkness looks softer, somehow.

Give me a second. Kent squeezes my hand and pulls away. I hear the rustling of the curtains and I gasp: suddenly three enormous windows, stretching from floor to ceiling and taking up one entire wall, are revealed. He hasnt turned on a light, but he may as well have. The moon is huge and luminous and bounces through all the dazzling white snow, growing brighter. The whole room is bathed in a beautiful, silver light.

Its amazing, I say. I breathe out; I didnt even realize I was holding my breath.

Kent smiles quickly. His face is silhouetted in moonlight. Its great at night. Not so great at sunrise, though. He starts to draw the curtains closed.

Leave them open, I cry out, and then add, please. I suddenly feel shy.

Kents room is enormous, and smells like that same incredible mixture of Downy laundry detergent and grass shavings. Its the freshest smell in the world, the smell of open windows and crisp sheets. Last night I couldnt make out anything but the bed. Now I see the room is lined completely with bookshelves. Theres a desk in the corner, stacked with a computer and more books. There are pictures framed on the walls, blurred figures moving, but I cant make out the details. A monster beanbag chair squats in one corner and Kent catches me staring at it.

Ive had it since seventh grade, he says. He sounds embarrassed.

I used to have one like that, I say. I dont add why I chucked it: because Lindsay said it looked like a lumpy boob. I cant think about Lindsay now, or Ally. I definitely cant think about Elody.

Kent draws the blankets down on his bed and then stands back, turning away so I have some privacy. I climb into the bed and lie down, my limbs heavy and achingly stiff, feeling a little self-conscious, but so numb with exhaustion I dont care. Theres a curved wooden headboard and a matching footboard, and as soon as Im stretched out, Im reminded of being in a sleigh. I tilt my head so I can see the snow drifting down, and then close my eyes, imagining that Im flying through a forest on my way to somewhere good: a trim little white house in the distance, candles burning in its windows.

Good night, Kent whispers. Hes so quiet Id forgotten he was standing there.

I snap my eyes open and sit up on one elbow. Kent?

Yeah?

Can you maybe stay with me a bit?

He nods, and rolls the desk chair over to the side of the bed without speaking. He tucks his knees up to his chin and looks at me. The moonlight coming in through the windows turns his hair a soft silver.

Kent?

Yeah?

Do you think its weird that Im here with you? I close my eyes when I say it so I dont have to look at his face.

Im the editor in chief of the Tribulation, he says. And I once went three hundred and sixty-five days wearing Crocs. I dont think anythings weird.