Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) (20 page)

“Libby!” I scream. I’m down on the floor with my knees pushed against my chest. My arms circle my legs, and I begin to rock… back and forth… back and forth… back…

I think Libby is shouting my name, but I can’t be sure. My brain is shutting down again as if it was the end of some nightmarish movie. And the new movie starts playing right in front of my eyes— Faith runs away from me. She laughs and throws quick glances behind to see if chase her…

The pounding on the door wakes me up. I wipe the drool off my face and rub my eyes.
 

“In a moment,” I rasp, and then clear my throat. I try again, “Just a sec!”

My clothes are rumpled and sweaty, but I don’t give a fuck. I open the door, and the bright morning sun blinds me. I shade my eyes with my hand. A teenage girl stands there, cell phone against her ear, one hand on her hip. She opens her mouth, but her expression changes from angry to confused. She glances at the number next to the door and starts to apologize, but I wave her off and close the door. I lock it too.
 

I drag myself to the tiny bathroom. An off-yellow curtain is crumpled to one side, half of it drooping limply down, torn off the rings. Long, rusty stain decorates the bottom of the chipped bathtub. I open the toilet seat and I’m greeted with a matching rusty band inside the bowl. An ant marches up the cracked toilet tank. I piss, flash, and don’t bother with closing the lid. The miniature sink is layered with grime. There is a watered-down liquid soap in an equally filthy plastic bottle. I pump it onto my hands and turn on the water. I glance in the broken mirror and exhale. I look like shit times ten. I wash my face, scrubbing hard, as if trying to wash off the mask of exhaustion and tragic memories. My eyes are blood-shot, and the stitches on my forehead make me think of a monster. A monster that I am. Am I? Could have I saved her? Was it even possible to save her from herself and from her past?
 

I go back to bed and close my eyes. The sleep envelopes me right away, and I dream of my Faith; of the happy and careless Faith—the girl that she was before the drugs and booze.
 

I don’t know how long I stand in the shower. Hot water burns my skin, evoking red splotches all over me. But I welcome the sensation, because it lets me concentrate on something else than Faith’s death. I put my palms on the wall and hang my head down under the water. I watch the water run down the drain by my feet. Someone pounds on the door again, but I ignore it. Maybe the same girl that before? Or maybe another girl. I don’t care, because the only girl that I want to see now is dead.
 

“Colin!” I recognize the voice. It is high and melodic with a hint of something in it… fear? Panic? God, Libby! My grandmother is here. How did she find me? I jump out of the shower, not worrying about turning the water off, and grab a semi-clean looking bath towel. It’s so small that I barely manage to wrap it around my hips. I pull the doors open. Two women stand there, their eyes huge with anticipation: Libby and her mother—my great grandma—Helga.
 

“Colin! Are you okay?” They both rush at me, wrapping their arms around me, hugging me fiercely.
 

I hug them back with one arm, holding the skimpy towel close to my body with the other hand.
 

Helga is very old and very tiny—maybe four feet two, that’s all—but she’s fierce and authoritative. Libby is all motherly love and wisdom. These two raised me since I lost my parents at the age of four.
 

They talk, shout, cry, ask questions. I don’t know what to do first, so I just motion them inside and close the doors.
 

“Wait, wait,” Libby quiets her mother and turns her worry-filled eyes to me. “What happened exactly? After I’ve got your call last night, I tried to contact you at the dorm. Your friend Adam told me about the accident. But he didn’t know where you went. They only knew the police brought you back at night, but then you were gone… I traced your call to here. That’s how we found you. Colin… please tell us everything. From the beginning.” She sits next to me on the bed, and Helga sits on my other side, grasping my arm in her small, wrinkled hands.
 

So I tell them the whole story. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks, and it is embarrassing. I’m a grownup man, not a kid anymore, but I can’t stop. It’s infuriating, but it is good to talk; to get it all out of me; to uncork that barrel of pain and let it flow out and away. They cry quietly, wrapping their arms around me and around one another. And then they tell me that we are going back home to Seattle. For good. I don’t fight it. I don’t want to go back to UCLA. I can’t face it. If I do, that little part that hasn’t been wrecked inside me like everything else is, will shatter, and I will be a broken men with no hope.
   

END OF EXCERPT FROM ALMOST BROKEN UP

Author’s Note

If you enjoyed reading Almost Matched, please share your enthusiasm for this book with your friends and family members.
 

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Book Two, Almost Broken Up, is scheduled for publishing in January 2014.
 

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