In Your Corner | ✓

Sixteen

I've just pulled up outside the garage for my late shift on Friday, when my phone vibrates with a message.

Josh: I don't really want to go to work

Sighing – and hoping my Dad won't kill me for being late – I read the text again, trying to figure out how to reply to him.

It's a little difficult to gauge things with Josh. So often, he doesn't really want to talk about it, but in those moments when he's clearly really panicking, it's me he reaches out to.

I just struggle to know how to reply. I've never hated my place of work and I've never had something like this happen to me, let alone at work. Sure, as a woman, I've experienced sexual harassment, but I think I'm in the lucky bracket who hasn't been assaulted, so I just don't know quite how he's feeling.

Before I can actually muster up a reply, another message comes through.

Josh: I know I just need to suck it up, but I'm actually shaking

Taking a deep breath, I click on his contact and press my phone to my ear, because I feel like I'm running out of options here.

He picks up right away. "Nat."

"Hey, Josh. Talk to me," I utter softly. "How's your breathing?"

It's pretty choppy, by the sounds of it. "Uh, not great," he replies between breaths. "I just, you know, I just..."

"Hey, it's okay," I murmur soothingly, racking my brain for the kinds of things I used to say to Ruby. "Take deep breaths, Josh. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Try to really feel your breathing slowing down."

"Nat, I- I- can't..."

"Breathe with me," I instruct, loudly breathing in and out slowly over the phone. Luckily, it slows my own racing heart, because I'm beginning to panic a little myself.

It sounds like it works, though, because his breathing starts to sync up to mine.

When he's a little calmer, he starts to talk again. "I need to go. I'm going to be late."

"Have you told them?" I ask quietly, aware the question might upset him.

"No. Told them I was sick," he explains, still taking deep, exaggerated breaths. "I haven't said the words out loud once, Nat. You're the only one who knows and it's only because you..."

He doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"Where are you right now? Are you still at yours? Or there already?" I ask, wondering if he needs me to pick him up. He doesn't sound like he's in a fit state to drive right now, or to go to work, for that matter.

"I'm at mine. Don't come, Nat, I know you're working tonight. I'll be fine. I just can't tell anyone that I don't want to go. Just wanted to say it," he rushes out.

My heart aches for this bruised boy, who's just so lost and lonely right now.

"I'm going to be fine once I get there," he continues. "It's just, you know, actually going."

"Keep me on the phone, then," I suggest, because I'd never want to tell him to avoid it, not if he think it's going to be okay. "Go to your car and drive with me on the hands-free. I'll be right on the end of the phone."

Josh takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Okay. Okay. I'm going."

I hear a lot of rustling around on the line, as though he's grabbing his stuff. The faint nose of a door slamming and then another one not long after that, indicates that he's left the house and is on the way to his car.