WAKE (Wattpad edition)

24. Not on his good behavior.

{Jon}

A rap on the door and a cheery "Rise and shine!" disturbed Jon's uneasy sleep. He buried his face in his pillow, mumbling "Five mo' minutes, Mom." His mouth was tacky and dry, and his whole body was aching like he had the flu. He gradually registered the noises around him: unfamiliar teenage voices, a toilet flushing on a floor above him and feet thumping through the ceiling. It felt like the house slowly lowered on top of him—he wasn't home. His mom wasn't here. He was at the addictions place.

He'd met the other people in group therapy yesterday, learning their names by habit even though he didn't have the energy to care about them or their stories. As they went around the circle to share, it was so fucking clear that he didn't belong here. Everyone else had a list of problems as long as their arm, and no one had parents who were still together. Jon pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking dully at his skinny body and the criss-crossed lines on his arms.

He shouldn't have belonged in a place like this, but here he was.

His fingers found the cuts on the top of his arm, the ones he had done before he went crazy with bugs. He ripped the scab off one, sucking in his breath. He let his air out slowly—his head cleared and the spiral of depression quit sucking him down. He put his elbows on his knees and his hands over his face, breathing while he bled. He used to pray when he first got up, just something about the day. But he was too far down now for prayers to reach anyone. This was as good as it got for him, and Cary was right. It did work. In a minute, he would be able to put his clothes on, get his shit together, go out and eat his breakfast with a bunch of strangers and take his tapering-off dose of whatever. Eight more days and then the future was an empty drop off the ledge that he couldn't think about.

There was another rap on his door. "Jon, your dad's here for a visit. Time to get a move on."

It felt like his heart jumped into his throat, choking him. He lifted his eyes to the door—could he just say he didn't want to see him? He was barely keeping together here as it was. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the floor and pressed them against his arm to clean up before he went out.

It gave him a bleak stab of satisfaction to find that they had kept his dad waiting on the front porch like a salesman. Pete turned when he came out the door, but Jon didn't put his eyes to his face to see if his dad was frowning or what.

"Hey son," Pete's voice was tentative, like he was trying to smile. "I came to see how you're doing—if you're feeling any better."

"There's phones for that." It came out flat. The last thing he wanted was for his dad to see him like this, while he was still sorting out how to be in this broke-down, addicted body. Five minutes ago, he had downed his dose and checked the time to count the hours until the next one, his need for more opening like a black sucking hole.

"Your mom sent you an extra pillow."

His face stung, and he clenched his jaw. "I'm fine, I don't need anything. This place is going to fix me—don't worry. You don't need to check up on me."

"Have you had breakfast?" He could hear the strain in his father's voice. "They said I can take you for pancakes."

He crossed his arms tightly over his front, hesitating.

"Do you have a coat?" Pete asked. "It's chilly and your arms—are bare."

Jon exhaled through his tight throat. There it was. "Stop trying so fucking hard, Dad. I know you don't want to be seen in public with me like this. I get it. I'll come home when I'm better."

He barely made it to the privacy of his room before his wobbling legs gave out on him. Curling on the worn rug, he buried his head in his cut-up arms and tried to silence the ugly sounds of Jon White falling apart.

{Cary}

Cary was nursing his first coffee of the morning when the front door thumped shut. Mel looked up from the funny pages spread on the table as Pete came in.

"You're back early," she said.

Cary followed Pete with his eyes. Jon's dad paced to the counter and then turned to her, his hand against his mouth.

"How did it go with Jon?" she asked tentatively. Cary held still, his cold fingers touching the heat of his mug.

Pete uncovered his mouth. "He's so angry." His voice was almost gone. "He's so angry—dear Father God." He closed his eyes and covered them with his hand. After a minute, he tried to clear his throat. "We didn't have breakfast. He said he didn't need anything from me. That he didn't want to be seen in public with me."

Mel made a soft sound like she'd been struck. Cary flinched, trying make himself invisible.

Pete's shoulders slumped. "Mel, what if he doesn't—what if he doesn't want to come back?" He opened his eyes and they were damp. "He could choose anger. He could walk away from us and go."

Mel drew herself up. "We're not giving up, Peter. You're his father—he loves you. Make it hard to leave."

Pete touched his eyes to the space above the door, his face white and drawn. "He doesn't love me."

"He does," Cary said softly. Both their faces turned to him and his shoulders crept towards his ears. He should have kept his mouth shut. "He loves you. Takes a lot to kill that."

"I don't see it," Pete said hollowly.

He cleared his throat. "Well. Jon's real good at hiding, Mr. White. Sorry, but you did do that. He don't show what's really him unless he's too hurt and tired to be good. You're gonna have to make him believe you want him just how he is. Not on his good behaviour. He's been angry—and hurt mostly—a long time. Since I've known him."

Both Pete and Mel looked stunned by this news, and Cary's eyebrows drew down. "I guess you're going to have to get to know the Jon he didn't let you see."

Pete took a breath, hope painful in his face. "Do you have—any influence left with him? If there's anything...you could say to keep him from—damaging himself when he's so angry..."

Cary crossed his arms over his chest, sitting back. There was no way he thought Jon would listen to him.

"I know he's just—someone who used to be your friend but—could you try?"

It was painful to watch hope battle with fear in Pete's face. "Not 'used to be,'" Cary said. He ducked his head in a nod. "I could try."