Melt by Selene Castrovilla Read Free Book Online Page B

but he was determined to get it all out and I knew it would stay between us until he did. And anyway, I’d promised him that he could.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He took my hand and it was so exquisite feeling that sensation again. It was so exalting it was almost torture, because I knew I’d have to eventually let go. And he looked me in the eyes—he looked at me with all his pain, and I held his stare even though it made me want to cry—and he went through each thing he’d done, starting with schoolyard fights in which no one had been seriously hurt, escalating to when he’d beaten another boy so bad he’d been in a coma for three days. He said that was when he’d been sent to jail. He said he didn’t know why he’d done that, the only explanation he could offer was that he walks around on the edge. That’s how he put it, that he teeters on the edge constantly and sometimes people just push him over.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â God, he looked so sad. I should’ve been horrified, probably, but all I could think about was how sad he looked. He’d been so concerned about damaging me, yet he was the one who seemed broken.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He was telling me these stories about how he’d hurt people and the more violence he confessed, the more bound I was to him. It was his honesty.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He was exposing his soul to me.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I couldn’t possibly turn him away.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He told me he drinks and smokes weed. He said he wasn’t going to lie and say he’d quit, because he wouldn’t. He said he wasn’t proud of himself doing these things, and he’d try to cut down, but he couldn’t give them up completely because they were sometimes the only things that got him through.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Got him through what, I asked.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He stared at me for a few beats, wordless. It was like he was running something through his head—or maybe, he was running away from it. Finally he answered, “You know, through life. In general.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â But I sensed it was something way more specific.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Back in the kitchen, Dad blinks, blinks.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Mom flips at the griddle.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I lean back in my chair, think back to what happened two weeks later.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Joey and I were hanging out with a big group of kids at the spot they go to drink. It’s this little bridge connecting two parts of Highland Park divided by water. They like it because if the cops come by, they can pitch their bottles right over the side. Mom and Dad would’ve died if they knew I was there, but I wasn’t doing anything except talking. I just wanted to be where Joey was, get to know his crowd.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I have to say, they seemed to have more depth than Amy. At least while they were coherent.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I was talking to a couple of girls in denim jackets about song lyrics in heavy metal, and how intense they could be. I told them about the poems of Robert Frost and Robert Browning, and how profound I found them. But as the girls got more and more wasted on beer their attention and eye contact drifted, and finally they wandered away. Then I got hit with the sickening sweet scent of weed—god, I hoped I didn’t stink of it when I got home. It smelled kind of like the lilac bouquet in the living room, though, and for a second I thought maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t know the difference.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Yeah, right.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I moved away, slid down the bridge railing a bit, craning for Joey. There were at least three dozen people there now, and he’d melted into the throng. Everyone was stoned and laughing, the mix of voices getting louder and louder as the six packs and liquor bottles emptied. I leaned against the metal, stared out into the dark