I Wish You All the Best(77)

“Benjamin!”

Mom. And Dad’s right behind her.

“Stop right now, young man!” Dad shouts.

“Leave me alone,” I try to say, but when Mom grabs my wrist, I can’t help but seize up.

“Ben, we’re sorry. We just wanted to support you … to prove to you—” Mom’s stammering, and I realize she’s actually scared.

Maybe because for the first time in a while, she isn’t getting what she wants from me. And for a second, I see the woman I loved. The woman who might still love me. “Just come home, okay? We can talk this through. We’ll go meet with that doctor, and maybe he can help you through some of these things.”

Her nails quietly dig into my skin.

“No,” I say; my voice sounds strange. Even to me. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Ben, you’ll come home with us right—” Dad starts to say, but I cut him off.

“I’m not your son. If you ever come near me, or Hannah’s house again, I’ll call the police.” I open the door to Nathan’s car slowly. “I’m not joking. Don’t ever talk to me again.” I climb into the passenger seat, feeling the lurch of the car as Nathan backs out of his spot.

I catch a glimpse of Mom and Dad in the rearview mirror, staring at the car, mouths open.

And I honestly hope it’s the last time I see them.





When we get to Nathan’s house, I walk up the stairs to his bedroom, like I own the place or something.

“I’m going to talk to my parents real quick,” he says. “I’ll be right up.”

I almost go with him, because the second his hands leave me, I miss his touch. But I can’t let his parents see me like this. I climb the stairs slowly, but when I finally make it to his room, I’m lost. I don’t know where to go, if I should lie on the bed or throw open the window and crawl out onto the roof.

Before too long I hear the sounds of his footsteps coming up the stairs, the creak of the hardwood floors underneath his feet.

“Want to lie down?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, and I get that ache in my jaw. I know if I keep talking, I’ll just start crying.

Nathan sits against the wall and grabs a pillow, laying it in his lap. “Come here,” he says, patting it.

I’m not in the mood to argue or question it, so I crawl up the bed and lay my head down. He says, “My mom did this for me when I was younger. It always made me feel better.” His hands move to my hair and begin threading through the curls. It’s a sort of relaxing I’ve never felt before.

It’s taking everything in me not to fall apart right now. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says. I listen to his breathing. “Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Can I stay here? Just for a little bit?”

“Of course, as long as you need to. Anything else?”

I shrug. I’m not exactly partial to anything right now.

“I know what we need.” His fingers don’t stop, even as he leans over to his nightstand to grab something.

The press in my ear surprises me, but Nathan slides the earbud in smoothly. He hits play on his phone, and there’s this really haunting sound, almost like a horror movie. Then this acoustic guitar kicks in, and a guy starts singing with a voice that sounds just as sad.

“Who is this?”

“Troye Sivan.” Nathan chuckles.

It’s nice, but not what I’d expect from Nathan. This seems too somber, but the closer I listen to the lyrics, the happier they seem.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to, but my eyelids are getting too heavy to keep open. “Nathan?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m glad we met.”

“Me too, Ben.”

“You’ve made these last few months suck less.”

“Same here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nathan’s fingers brush my neck. “It’s not your fault, Ben. None of it is.”

My eyes finally close, and I let myself cry.



I don’t get out of bed much over the next few days. I just lie there under the sheets, my fingers tracing the faded crescent shapes on my wrist Mom left behind. They still sting if I press hard enough.

My phone keeps vibrating from its spot on the nightstand, the lock screen filled with unanswered messages. I stare at the way the screen lights up, Nathan’s name flashing again and again. I pick up the phone and stare at the texts. Every single one he’s sent over since Saturday morning.

I stayed in his bed, stayed with him, as long as I could. And if I had my choice, I wouldn’t have left. But I knew if I didn’t go home, Hannah would probably have filed a missing person’s report or something. When I came back, she and Thomas were home. They both tried to talk to me, but the second I saw Hannah, I got angry all over again.

I went up to my room, slamming the door behind me. And I hardly saw them for the rest of the weekend. They made sure I ate, and that was it, I didn’t leave a lot of room for them to stick around and talk to me.

At least they didn’t make me go to school today.

Nathan: Good afternoon!

Nathan: Just want to see how you’re doing!