Break by Hannah Moskowitz Read Free Book Online
Authors: Hannah Moskowitz
Hurting him.”
She knows enough to shut up.
We park behind the old fire station. Naomi wants me to get really drunk, but I know they’ll do a blood-alcohol check at the hospital and I don’t want to get in trouble. So we take just one beer each and sip while we sit on the hood of her car. Our feet dangle over the windows.
“You scared?” she asks.
I nod. “This one’s going to hurt.”
“At least it’ll be over quick. And it’ll definitely look like an accident.”
“How bad is it going to be?”
“Well, it’s going to hurt, Jonah. It’ll be bloody.”
I exhale. “Shit.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“It’s not going to be the best video. Who the hell wants to watch some idiot break his hand in a car door?”
She squirms inside my sweatshirt. “Yeah, but the video’s not the point, is it?”
Of course it’s not, but I didn’t think she knew this.
“All right, Jo.” She drains the remains of her beer and clonks the empty can onto the hood. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“That’s the spirit.” She sets the camera up on the tripod and does all her tech-girl shit, because I guess the video still matters a little bit.
I hop down and open the driver’s side door. “Shit,” I breathe.
“It’s going to be fine.” She comes back and places her hand on my shoulder. “Put your hand in.”
I take one last look at my unbroken, imperfect hand and place it in the seam between the door and its frame. I wiggle my fingers.
“Now?” Naomi says, poised on the handle.
“No. Not yet.”
“Jonah.”
“Just wait a second.”
I puff air in and out of my mouth, trying to build up some kind of courage. I can do this. It’s worth it.
You’ll be better because of it, Jonah.
I breathe.
“Now?” she says.
My cell phone starts vibrating. “Hold on.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. NEW TEXT MESSAGE. I swallow. “It’s from Mom.”
Text messages from Mom are always the same thing. It’s always Jesse.
I shouldn’t have left. Shit. My chest starts jumping.
Naomi says, “Does she want you home?”
I flip it open to read the text message.
JESSE 911
Yeah. And I can’t breathe anymore.
Jesse.
I left him at home with Mom and the dirty house and the baby vomit and he had hives when I left, he had hives and
I left him alone
.
Naomi says, “Does she need you to pick up some baby food for your perfect family—”
“Naomi, shut up.”
She bristles. “What?”
“It’s Jesse.”
I hear her pause, and when she talks she sounds like a little girl. “Is he okay?”
I look up. “When I say, ‘It’s Jesse’ in that voice, is he ever okay?”
“God, Jonah, I’m—”
“Shit!” I yell, and slap my hands up to my eyes. The cast scrapes me—goddamn cast—so I slam it against the firehouse wall. “Fuck!” I yell, pounding my arm on the brick, punching it, hitting it, asking it why the hell I’m here and not with my brother. “Fuck fuck shit shit shit shit shit! He’s in the hospital, Naomi!”
“He’ll be okay.”
My throat hurts so badly and pain explodes from my broken wrist down to my fingertips, but I should have been there I should have been there—
“Jonah. Jonah.” She grabs me and wraps her arms around me, her chest against the small of my back. “Stop it.”
I feel her deep breathing against me and it reminds me that this is real. That I’m really here and really this upset, and I really screwed up this badly.
“He could die,” I say.
She turns me around and reaches up to my face. Her hands are so cold against my skin. “He didn’t die. Now stop crying.”
I do, but I don’t feel any better. My nose is running all over my face.
“Get in the car,” she says. “I’ll take you to the hospital and you can see him. Jesse’s going to be fine. He’s always fine.”
Of course he’s always fine. If he ever wasn’t fine, this would all be over. He wouldn’t have any more opportu-nities to get sick. Any more
She knows enough to shut up.
We park behind the old fire station. Naomi wants me to get really drunk, but I know they’ll do a blood-alcohol check at the hospital and I don’t want to get in trouble. So we take just one beer each and sip while we sit on the hood of her car. Our feet dangle over the windows.
“You scared?” she asks.
I nod. “This one’s going to hurt.”
“At least it’ll be over quick. And it’ll definitely look like an accident.”
“How bad is it going to be?”
“Well, it’s going to hurt, Jonah. It’ll be bloody.”
I exhale. “Shit.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“It’s not going to be the best video. Who the hell wants to watch some idiot break his hand in a car door?”
She squirms inside my sweatshirt. “Yeah, but the video’s not the point, is it?”
Of course it’s not, but I didn’t think she knew this.
“All right, Jo.” She drains the remains of her beer and clonks the empty can onto the hood. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“That’s the spirit.” She sets the camera up on the tripod and does all her tech-girl shit, because I guess the video still matters a little bit.
I hop down and open the driver’s side door. “Shit,” I breathe.
“It’s going to be fine.” She comes back and places her hand on my shoulder. “Put your hand in.”
I take one last look at my unbroken, imperfect hand and place it in the seam between the door and its frame. I wiggle my fingers.
“Now?” Naomi says, poised on the handle.
“No. Not yet.”
“Jonah.”
“Just wait a second.”
I puff air in and out of my mouth, trying to build up some kind of courage. I can do this. It’s worth it.
You’ll be better because of it, Jonah.
I breathe.
“Now?” she says.
My cell phone starts vibrating. “Hold on.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. NEW TEXT MESSAGE. I swallow. “It’s from Mom.”
Text messages from Mom are always the same thing. It’s always Jesse.
I shouldn’t have left. Shit. My chest starts jumping.
Naomi says, “Does she want you home?”
I flip it open to read the text message.
JESSE 911
Yeah. And I can’t breathe anymore.
Jesse.
I left him at home with Mom and the dirty house and the baby vomit and he had hives when I left, he had hives and
I left him alone
.
Naomi says, “Does she need you to pick up some baby food for your perfect family—”
“Naomi, shut up.”
She bristles. “What?”
“It’s Jesse.”
I hear her pause, and when she talks she sounds like a little girl. “Is he okay?”
I look up. “When I say, ‘It’s Jesse’ in that voice, is he ever okay?”
“God, Jonah, I’m—”
“Shit!” I yell, and slap my hands up to my eyes. The cast scrapes me—goddamn cast—so I slam it against the firehouse wall. “Fuck!” I yell, pounding my arm on the brick, punching it, hitting it, asking it why the hell I’m here and not with my brother. “Fuck fuck shit shit shit shit shit! He’s in the hospital, Naomi!”
“He’ll be okay.”
My throat hurts so badly and pain explodes from my broken wrist down to my fingertips, but I should have been there I should have been there—
“Jonah. Jonah.” She grabs me and wraps her arms around me, her chest against the small of my back. “Stop it.”
I feel her deep breathing against me and it reminds me that this is real. That I’m really here and really this upset, and I really screwed up this badly.
“He could die,” I say.
She turns me around and reaches up to my face. Her hands are so cold against my skin. “He didn’t die. Now stop crying.”
I do, but I don’t feel any better. My nose is running all over my face.
“Get in the car,” she says. “I’ll take you to the hospital and you can see him. Jesse’s going to be fine. He’s always fine.”
Of course he’s always fine. If he ever wasn’t fine, this would all be over. He wouldn’t have any more opportu-nities to get sick. Any more