Adam - A Novella

14

Caleb coming back to school was the only thing that made my mood shift.

I saw him enter my fourth quarter class at the end of April. Except this time, when he entered, he smiled and came over to me, sitting in the desk next to me. When we got our new classes, people took the opportunity to move as far away from me as possible. Avalin has been completely ignoring me, and she blocked me on her main, but has been sending me funny videos from her alt with an "ILY" every night. I don't know what she thinks I am to her, but I genuinely appreciate how fast she's adapting.

He sat next to me and focused on the board, and I felt myself smile. The classwork still made no sense, so at least I could have a nice distraction from my inevitable failure.

"Hey." He muttered and dangled one arm near mine. I grabbed it instantly, the joy from the physical contact seeping into my brain. "Are you okay? Why haven't you been answering me?" I stared at him, and noticed the eyebags were starting to get deeper again. Guilt gnawed at my soul as I wondered if he was losing sleep worrying about me.

"We'll talk later."

"Ok." It didn't feel ok, but it wasn't ok, and that's ok. I squeezed his hand, and he turned it in my grasp and squeezed mine back. I could hear an increase in muttering among the students who now looked like they wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I'm glad Thomas isn't in this class this quarter.

Walking through the halls holding Avalin's hand was nothing like holding Caleb's hand. Maybe it's the emotion behind it now, or the change in facial expression from the passerby. When I felt extra nervous, which is a new feeling for me at school, his hand tightened around mine, like a snake suffocating its prey. The euphoria it gave me was a new feeling as well. I preferred that better; I pulled his arm at an angle to force him to press against me.

"What's been going on?" His arm shot up to my forearm, over my grafting scar, and my heart beat faster than it already was. I stared into his eyes and fought off the feeling to embrace him. The way the blue in his irises seem to change shades in the light, the way his eyebrows tensed in worry. I almost didn't want to tell him, but he needed to know. He deserves to know.

"My father is back in the house." His eyes seemed to change shape, from the almost O-shape to a rhombus, his eyebrows forcing tears out of his swollen ducts.

"Oh, Adam." He moaned gently, with empathy rather than sympathy, and I couldn't help but cry. I reached to embrace him, but he was already busy wrapping himself around me, breathing gently on my neck like he did on the bridge. "Are you going to be okay?"

"No." I wasn't trying to be moody, or attention-seeking, but honestly, no. I could already feel my heart wrenching with depression, when I was regressing to his child, to Cool Adam. When the only feeling of warmth I could feel in cold nights was the comfort in memories I'd have from the moments like this; when his heartbeat synced with mine, breathing slowed to be closer to my sleepy pace, when his warmth mixed around in the environment and suddenly, the world no longer felt cold. I rubbed my teary cheeks in his scratchy yet soft locks. I felt his breathing rapid and shallow as he began to silently cry, and my depression became shameful. He was worried about me. He was in an emotionally vulnerable state for me. I tightened my grip around him in guilt, and he cried louder.

"Adam!" The clunky phone held up to my ear on a really hot summer's day burst with sound as a young, distressed voice yelled my name. "Adam?"

"Hi. Is something the matter?" A sniffly child moved a bit, causing the microphone to send weird scratchy feedback to me.

"My mommy said my dad is coming back. We have to move." I lurched forward, my mother's phone almost flying out of my tiny hand.

"What? Are you okay?"