Z brightens at that. “Oh. Cool.”
But just as quickly, the light fades from his eyes.
“Frank’s on another bender,” he says, casual, like he’s commenting on the weather. “I’ve been staying in thewoods most nights. It’s actually kind of peaceful out there at night. Makes me think.”
“About what?”
“About how you’re probably better off where you are.” His voice goes soft. Gentle. “I mean, look at you. New laptop. New cat. Clean room. And you said that new stepmom of yours has been cooking real meals, right?”
I nod, something uncomfortable squirming in my gut.
“That’s good. That’s—” His voice cracks slightly. “You deserve that, Harper. You always deserved better than what I could give you.”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharper than I mean it to. The cat meows, and I set her down. She immediately scampers towards the closet as I lean into the camera. “You gave me everything, Z.”
“Did I?” He looks away from the camera, and even in the shitty lighting, I can see the hollows under his cheekbones. When did he get so thin? “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like the only thing I gave you was a reason to stay in hell with me.”
“That’s not?—”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad.” He turns back to the camera, and his eyes are so sincere it hurts. “I’m saying it because maybe this is what was supposed to happen. Maybe you needed to get out. At least one of us gets to see what a real life could feel like. I’ll live vicariously through you.”
But his face tells a different story. His face looks like he’s barely holding on.
“Have you been eating?” I demand, because I can’thandle this—can’t handle him being noble and self-sacrificing when he’s clearly falling apart.
He shrugs. “Here and there. Frank took the last of the grocery money for whiskey, but I’m managing.”
Managing.The word sits wrong, settles heavy.
“Z, that’s not managing. That’s?—”
“I’m fine, Harper.” His voice firms up, gets that edge it gets when he’s decided something. “I’mfine. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. That was always your problem—taking care of everyone else when you should’ve been taking care of yourself.”
The words should be comforting. Caring. So why do they make me feel like I’m the one doing something wrong?
“I never should’ve asked you to stay as long as you did,” he continues, and now there’s something raw in his voice. “I should’ve pushed you to leave sooner. But I was selfish. I needed—” He stops himself, looks away. “Doesn’t matter what I needed.”
We sit in silence for a moment. In the shadows of his mostly darkened room, his eyes look sunken. Desperate. What happens to someone at the end of their rope when the last little bit gets taken away?
What if that someone is the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered?
“You’re shivering,” I say, noticing the slight tremor in his shoulders.
“Fall came early here.” He pulls his jacket tighter. “It’s starting to get cold at night now.”
Bobcats. There are bobcats in those woods. And Z is scrawny, always has been, and now he’s not eating and?—
“The woods aren’t safe, Z.”
“Safer than Frank’s house when he’s like this.” His smile is sad. “At least the bobcats are honest about wanting to eat me.”
My stomach churns. Here I’ve been sleeping in a bed that’s too soft, eating walnut chocolate chip cookies Helen made from scratch, while Z is literally starving and sleeping rough and?—
“I’m gonna get back to you,” I hear myself say. “I promise. I’ll get you out of there.”
His face does something complicated. “Harper, no. I told you—you’re better off?—”
“Fuck that.” The words come out fierce. “I’m not better off. I’m—” My voice cracks. “I’m dying here, Z. Everything is wrong. I don’t belong with these people.”