Beautiful Boy(34)

"What are you doing?" Her voice was bright and excited, even through the phone.

"I was laying down."

"Oh." She paused, probably waiting for me to say something else, but I didn't. "I thought you had errands to take care of."

"I did. Now I'm tired and my leg hurts, so I decided to take a nap." My  eyes squeezed shut, hating the way the lie burned my tongue on its way  out. I wasn't tired, and my leg didn't hurt. I didn't want to take a  nap. But I couldn't tell her the truth.

"Well, I can stop by if you want. If it'd be easier. Shari picked a  winner, but I don't know who won. She sealed the prints off in envelopes  and made me promise not to look until you were with me."

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the mattress, feeling the  soft carpet beneath my foot and the absence of sensation beneath the  other. I had no idea what to say to her, because no matter how badly I  wanted to see her face, I knew it'd be a bad idea.

"I'm sorry. This whole thing was so stupid. It doesn't matter who won or what pictures we took. It was silly and immature and-"

"Novah-"

"-I'll just throw them away."

"Please stop talking for a minute." I waited until I was met with  silence through the line before continuing. "It wasn't stupid. It was  silly, but that was the point. You wanted me to have some fun, and I  really appreciate your effort."

"But you didn't … have fun, I mean."

"It's not that." I blew out a long breath and stared at the wall, the phone pressed against my ear.

"It doesn't take a genius to know you're going through something right  now. And I hate how you're all alone while I'm sitting at my house … not  doing anything. My hands are tied here, Nolan. I can't do anything for  you because you refuse to open up. Just know I'm here whenever you need  me."

"Novah-"

"Get some sleep and relax your leg. I'll talk to you later. Tomorrow is a  new day, and I don't have any plans. So call me if you want to get  together." Her voice wavered, growing weaker and shakier with each word.  And then the call ended.

I dropped my cell to my bed and punched the mattress repeatedly with my  fist, wishing it were something harder. I'd made her cry, and that was  the exact opposite of what I wanted. My decision to stay away from her  for the rest of the day was to prevent this, yet somehow, it'd happened  anyway.

I picked my phone back up and typed out a message, hoping it would help smooth over the pain I'd caused.

Me: I'm really sorry.

Novah: No need to apologize. You're entitled to bad days. It's none of my business.

Against my better judgment, I put my shoes back on and headed to her  house, hoping she would still be there. I had no idea what to do once I  got there, but I had to see her. I had to make sure she was okay. I no  longer cared about my shitty mood or the sounds of my father's voice  screaming at me in my head. All I cared about was Novah.

Shock covered her face as she opened the door. She stood in the foyer,  her body rigid like she'd seen a ghost. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me over."

She shook her head, dropped her eyes, and let her gaze roam my body. "I thought you were tired. What about your leg?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Come sit down." The door opened wider as she moved out of the way,  giving me space to walk in. "You should get off your feet. Do you need  anything? Ice? Tylenol? Heating pad?" She swiftly moved to the couch and  began to fluff the pillows, completely unaware of the fact I hadn't  followed her. "I have no idea what helps with that kind of pain."

She straightened and glanced up at me, finally realizing I hadn't  progressed past the entryway. Her movements stilled as she gawked at me.  The questions in her eyes did not go unnoticed, but I wasn't sure how  to answer them, either.         

     



 

"I'm fine, Novah." Her line of sight fell to my pant leg, as if trying  to physically see my pain. "It doesn't hurt anymore. I laid down for a  bit, and now it's fine."

The way she nodded before glancing around the room let me know she'd  seen through my lie. Her movements became rigid as she finished  adjusting the pillows on the couch, almost screaming of how  uncomfortable I'd made her.

"Listen, I'm sorry." I finally made my way to her and held her trembling hands. "Today was a lot for me, okay?"

"I only wanted you to do something to make you happy. From now on, I'll  let you figure out what you enjoy on your own, and I won't push you  anymore."

"You didn't know this, but until today, I haven't touched a camera since our project together in school."

Her eyes widened. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Not at all?"

"Well, I mean, I have my phone, and I've taken pictures when I've needed  to. But to just sit there with a camera like that, one that's bigger  than the palm of my hand, and actually capturing a moment? No. I  haven't."

"Do you not like it anymore?"

I shook my head and took a step back, wondering how to explain it to her  without revealing just how dark my mind was. "Part of me does. But a  bigger part of me uses it as a way to separate who I used to be from who  I've turned into."

"I don't understand … "

"The boy who used to love the camera was carefree. Yeah, he had his  struggles, which sometimes seemed too big to handle, but in hindsight,  they were so small. That boy grew up and saw war firsthand, death,  horrific hatred."

The crease between her brows turned to a deep valley as she took in my  words. It was clear she had a hard time comprehending what I'd tried to  say.

"I know you think that boy is still in me, but he's not. I've told you  before and I'll tell you again: he's gone. He's buried in the trenches  overseas. And in his place is me-this empty, lifeless person who has no  direction in life."

She reached out and pressed her palms gently to my chest, then leaned in and kissed the clenched space over my hammering heart.

"You're wrong, Nolan. You're so damn wrong." She turned back to the  coffee table, picked up her phone, and unlocked the screen before  handing it to me. "I was in the middle of writing this to you when you  showed up. Since I planned to send it, I might as well let you read it."

Our texts were pulled up on her screen, and down at the bottom was an  unsent message. I want to be there for you, but it tears me apart that I  can't. Sometimes I want to smack you, and other times I want to hold  you close. You mean the world to me, Nolan, and the thought of never  meaning that much to you scares me shitless, no matter what I do or how  hard I try. I know being with you and falling for you like I have will  only hurt me in the end, but I'm willing to accept it if it means your  hurt will stop. I don't know what to do anym-

I stared at the screen long after I finished reading. I couldn't meet  her eyes, because I knew I'd break down. The suffering I'd caused her  became too much to bear, and I knew I should let her go. But I couldn't.  Finally, before the screen went dark, I noticed the name at the top of  the message screen: Beautiful Boy.

"Why do you have me listed in your phone as this?" I gave the phone back  to her, as if she could read it, but I knew the screen had locked, just  as I knew she understood my question without having to see it.

"Because originally, I had you as ‘asshole,' but then I decided to change it when I realized I'd misjudged you."

"And ‘Beautiful Boy' is what you came up with? I could've found  something better and more fitting than that." Even though I'd said it  with a laugh, I was serious. There were plenty of other adjectives I  could've come up with more suitable for me than what she had chosen.

"I wish you'd just look in a damn mirror. But then again, that probably  wouldn't even work. You're so blind, Nolan. You've convinced yourself  the real you, the one I saw so many years ago, is gone. But he's not.  Yes, you were right when you said he's buried, but not in any trench,  and not in any other country. He's buried inside you, beneath the layers  upon layers of self-hatred. You've gotten older, but you haven't grown  up. You've regressed into a toddler who puts the blame on everything  else."

I stepped back. Her verbal assault left my chest aching like she'd  physically punched me instead of lecturing me. Her words stung harsher  than a slap across my face. But I didn't stop her. I allowed her to get  it all out.         

     



 

"You lost your leg eleven years ago. When are you going to stop being  pissed at the world for it and learn to stand on your own two feet?  You've witnessed some of the most heinous things imaginable, and I won't  stand here and tell you that you need to forget it, because I know it's  not possible. The things you've seen and had to do … I can't imagine. But  guess what, Nolan? You're alive. Make this life mean something. Don't  let it go to waste."