“This didn’t seem like something to discuss over the phone.”
He pulls his pillow to his chest and lets out a breath.
“It’s not something to talk about in person either,” he mumbles.
“I’m not going to ask you how you are because I already know the answer to that, but the guys were saying that you weren’t going to go to her funeral and—”
“I’m not,” he cuts me off.
“What?”
“I’m not.”
“Zeke.”
He shakes his headand laughs.
“Don’t Zeke, me. I’m not going.”
“Look, I know you’re hurting right now,” I move across the room and find myself next to him on his bed, “but she was your mom. She was your world.”
“And she’s gone. There’s no point in dwelling on it with a funeral.”
I reach for his hand and give it a light squeeze.
“Zeke, you have to go. You’ll regret it if you—”
Before I know it, I’m being pushed back onto his bed, and his lips are crashing over mine. His hands find their way up my shirt before I have time to comprehend what’s happening.
“Zeke.” I push against his chest as his lips travel down my neck. His hands explore my body as I press against him again. “Zeke.”
“What?” He pulls away.
I’m looking at the boy I fell in love with, but he’s not there. His mind is drowning in this person I don’t know, this person I don’t want to know. His eyes are distant and cold.
“I’m not here for that,” I respond.
“You said you wanted to be here for me, make me feel better,” he argues. “That’s what I want to feel better.”
“Drowning your pain in sex isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s not going to heal the pain in your heart; it’s going to bury it—”
“If it means not feeling it, that’s good enough for me.” His lips cover mine again. This time, I don’t just push him off; I move toward the other end of his room.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I needonething from you right now. One fucking thing!”
I wince at his words. He’s hurting; I know he is, but I won’t let him take it out on me.
“You need to let us be here for you.” Tears burn my eyes. “We love you. Your friends, me, we want to help you, but you have to let us in.”
“I don’t need you here.”
“Zeke.”
“No.” His face twists with anger. “You knew her for what, two months? So, you don’t get to tell me how to cope. If I want to have sex, I will. If I want to drown myself in alcohol, I will.”
“I can’t do this again.” My words are shaky. “I won’t sit back and watch another person I love turn to alcohol as a way to deal with their pain. I lost my mom that way; I won’t sit around and slowly lose you. You can’t fix this pain with sex or alcohol, Zeke. And I won’t be the person you turn to—”
“Who said I was talking about with you?”