After I Wake (20 page)

“When did all of this start?”

“Sunday night. My mom moved out, and my life was immediately… different.” I cringe. It was definitely easy to overlook. He spent so much time distracting himself at the Accolades. I thought he was too busy talking to that boy, but he obviously was doing something else.

“Emmett, no.”

“What? No what, Carter? You need to use specifics.” His voice is so dull, and I am very suddenly scared because the entire situation feels like it's getting clearer and clearer and also worse.

“Please stop cutting. Don't do that. Don't let yourself get this way. It's not your fault. But still, big picture, not your fault at all. Maybe blame your mom a little, but I'm sure she loves you and none of this is your fault. Everything with me was my fault, but Emmett, don't take on blame that isn't yours. Please.”

“Whose fault is it, then?”

“The world, it fucked you up.”

“The world fucked you up too, Carter.”

“I don't think we can be human beings if we weren't fucked up by the world. Normal is an illusion.”

“Of course it is.”

“Don't let it get into your head, though, Emmett. You don't need to be as fucked-up as I am.” I elbow him gently for emphasis. I don't know what kind of emphasis, it's just emphasis.

“You're on your own level, and I couldn't touch it if I tried, Carter.”

“Well, fucking don't try, then. It's pretty simple.”

“I find this ironic.”

“What?”

“You keep saying to me, you know, ‘don't cut Emmett' and ‘get better' and all that stuff, but your shoulder is scabby. You've cut again. Recently.” I nod slowly.

“Yeah, I have. Because cutting is a seed. It lands in your brain and it grows and it festers and you can't stop thinking about it and doing it. I think about cutting every day. Every single day, it crosses my mind in some way, shape, or form. I wasn't, you know, like, triggered, until we got home.”

“What triggered you?”

“I watched a movie that got gory,” I lie quickly, not wanting Emmett to know it was the hysteria and confusion after the accolades that got to me.

“You watch a lot of gory movies.”

“So?”

“Why now?”

“Emmett, I'm not even sure how. It just happened, and I slipped up, but it hasn't happened since, but it just did. Let's talk about something else.”

“Was it me?”

“What?”

“After those awards, you had this creepy look on your face when you were trying to help me.”

“No I didn't. That's just my face. Resting bitch face.” I demonstrate said face and then bite my lip.

“You're a terrible liar. You do not have a resting bitch face.” He raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn't directly you or because of you. It was the hysteria, the heat of the moment.”

“If you say so.” He looks away. It's very dramatic.

“I do. Now I need to go.”

“Where's your mom?” I am texting my mom as he says this. She's still downstairs. I let her know that we're finishing up, and I'll be down momentarily.

“I know. I'm sorry.” We look at each other again. This is becoming extraordinarily awkward.

“For what?” He won't make eye contact with me.

“For hitting you like that yesterday. I shouldn't have.”

“Oh. Okay.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly.

“Did you already apologize?” he asks and I shake my head.

“I don't know. Did I? I can't remember.” Yesterday is a blur of anger and hurt in my mind.

“Me either. Apology accepted, I guess.”

“Emmett, I'm sorry.”

“What now?” Now he just sounds annoyed.

“For saying that I was done. That was rude. You're always welcome at my house, but try to give me a little warning.”

“It's alright, I guess.”

“Emmett.” Holy fuck this is awkward.

“Carter?” He finally makes eye contact.

“Eat another cookie.” He frowns and crosses his arms.

“One's enough.”

“No, it damn well isn't. If you don't want a cookie, eat a banana or something like that.” His eyebrows furrow, and they're so bushy that they practically cover his eyes. Even in his darkest hours, my best friend can look remarkably like a cartoon character.

My phone buzzes in my pocket before I can continue the argument. My mother is downstairs waiting for me. Sometimes it seems like her life revolves around mine. I doubt it. I mean, she does things for herself, but it feels like it's been a while.

“I have to go in a minute, Emmett. Where's your dad?”

“Downstairs. What, are you going to tell on me or something?”

“Yes.” With that, I flee, running down the stairs and stopping in front of Emmett's father before Emmett can catch up. He looks at me quizzically.

“Hello, Carter. What is it?”

“Get your son some help. He hasn't been eating much since Sunday, like practically nothing. And he's been cutting himself.” His eyebrows fly up, and I take a step back as Emmett's father leaves his room to stand at the bottom of the stairs. Emmett hasn't even bothered chasing me and has instead slunk halfway down the stairs. The two are engaged in a heated whispered discussion, and I cross to the front door. My mother is on the couch, and she gets up when she sees me.

I did it for him because I care. This is the biggest possible invasion of privacy there is, and I know this betrays Emmett in the worst way, and I feel so guilty. But I'm doing this for him. I repeat this to myself over and over. For him.

I briefly catch the words “your” and “mother” on my way out, and I close my eyes tightly. It's occurred to me several times over today that I really don't know Emmett. We were friends out of convenience, and everything about it feels false.

My mom and I finally rush out, and I toss a quick good-bye over my shoulder. Emmett leans in the doorway, watching us leave. I hop in the car and fill my mom in on everything that's happened while she idles in the driveway.

“I feel like I don't even know him,” I admit to her, and it bothers me that I have come to this conclusion in this way. “And now I don't know what to do. But he's digging himself into a hole, and I want to help, but I feel so lost. I want him to get help, to get better, but he doesn't want to because he's enjoying wallowing.” A new thought occurs to me.

“I think he likes the attention I'm giving him, and I want him to have his space to get better and stuff, and leave him alone, but I'm too worried about him at this point to leave him alone. He's making really not smart choices.”

“Like what, Carter?”

“He cut more. There were more lines on his wrist today. He hasn't eaten since the weekend. It's freaking me out because it's like he's imitating me, and he doesn't need to go there. I don't want him to.” I told his father that to save him. I'm saving him.

“What do you think needs to happen?”
He needs to be saved.

“Well, I told him to get help, but I want to make sure he gets it. I want him to get better. Can you, like, talk to Emmett's dad and have him get Emmett help?”
He needs to be saved.

“I can't interfere with family like that, Carter. I care about Emmett too, but if you keep telling me how this is stemming from his family, you need to leave it to them to try and resolve their problems.”
Nonono he needs to be saved so he can be okay.

“Ugh, I hate it when you're right,” I groan. My mom laughs.

“Carter, I'm your mother, of course I'm always right. I can't help it.” We make good progress home, and I settle in to do my homework, which takes hours because my handwriting is still a little rough. But it's certainly getting better.

He's too good to go down that path I went down he's too pure for that. He needs to be okay, he needs to be saved and I promise it's for him.

 

 

E
MMETT
ONLY
replies with “ok” after I send him approximately twenty-seven text messages while completing the rest of my homework. I ask him how he is, if he's eating, if he's feeling better, but he's so out of sorts, I don't know how to reach him. I just do my homework and listen to my mom cooking downstairs. It smells amazing.

I eat dinner with my mom. She's made pasta with huge chunks of tomato and basil and mozzarella, and we both know it's my favorite meal. She's trying to make me feel better; she even made garlic bread. I appreciate the gesture and tell her so.

“Have you given any thought to college?” She tries to draw me into casual conversation, drawing me out of my thoughts about Emmett.

“I haven't given it any thought at all. To be totally honest.” I haven't the slightest idea. There is a vague inkling I discussed college with someone before, but more recently, I've been so distracted by getting better, then the Accolades, and now Emmett, and still continuing to get better that college hasn't occurred to me.

“Now that I think about it,” I continue, picking up where I left off, “everyone's talking about college and applications and early decision and all that. You have to write a college essay over the summer to be ready, apparently, so I'm behind the curve.”

“Not really, Carter. I think you'll have a very strong application. You had very good grades before the incident, and you've made up every single piece of work you missed. You're a published author, you just got one of the best awards you can get as a modern poet, and you've made a remarkable comeback. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. But we really should get going on it.” I nod and mumble something around my food.

“I'm not one of those moms who think their kids are precious things that can do no wrong. I've never believed in that. What I say is the truth because kids need to hear the truth, everyone does. I think you can get into a good school, and I can help you with your application. And you can have a teacher tutor you, right? There are teachers at school who help students, so I'm sure one can help you with your essay. And you can get a good recommendation from someone too. Carter, you are going to do just fine, I promise,” she continues while I nod and chew and swallow my food.

“That's all good, but I have no clue what to do with the rest of my life. I've never actually anticipated a future and stuff. The college and job and career and also falling in love and having a family, Mom, I've never given that any consideration.”

“You never had to until now. And you can always go into colleges not knowing what you want to do. But it may hit you out of nowhere, and you'll be glad it did.”

“Did you always want to be a lady who sold computers and gave tech advice from home, though?” She sighs.

“I'll admit that was not my initial intention, but you have to understand, Car, that I didn't want a career so much as I wanted a family and that was fairly acceptable seventeen years ago. I wanted you to have siblings, and I think I always knew I'd find a way to work at home so that I could be there for my kids.”

“Why didn't you ever meet someone else after dad died?” I feel a little bad for asking, because we rarely talk about him, and I never knew him, and I know Mom misses him.

“I didn't think, and I still don't, that there would ever be someone who had the same dynamic as Jimmy and I. We loved each other a whole hell of a lot and to love anyone else feels wrong. But I've accepted it, Carter, and I am content. But you've never expressed any interest in having kids, at least that I've seen, and I don't anticipate seeing you have them until a long, long time from now. I can see you doing big things in your life, but how big they are is up to you. You could be a teacher, and every student you help, every small accomplishment, is a very big thing. Because no matter what you do with your life you are making differences in the world. It's really pretty cool the way the ripple effect works, if you think about it.”

“That's awesome. Just curious, how many kids did you want?”

“I was hoping for three, a couple years between each of you. I would have liked that.” I am quiet for a moment as I digest this new information.

“Do you regret not having more kids?”

“Not at all, Carter, you're all I needed. We have a dynamic that we can't change or replace, just like I had with your father. Dynamics are cool.”

“I think you're quoting a TV show that used to show up on my blog. This guy thought that everything was cool.” I can't help but grin.

“Alright, that means I'm hip.” She grins.

“Mom.” She raises an eyebrow at me and keeps going.

“I'm groovy.”

“Mom, no.”

“I am rocking and rolling.” She's laughing now.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Carter, I am with the times.” My mother is dancing in her seat.

“Mom, stop. You're being embarrassing.” I'm laughing too, but my mom is not stopping. She gets up and dances to the side of the table, pulling me up and dancing with me.