10

-Malcolm-

FUCK.

FUCK.

Fuck.

I'm going to invent time travel for the sole purpose of hunting down whoever invented alcohol and murdering them. Because fuck them. Fuck them sideways.

I haven't even opened my eyes yet and the pounding in my head is enough to make me want to cut it off at the neck.

I groan and roll over. Big mistake. My stomach flips and bile rolls up my throat. I try to crawl to the edge of the bed, only to find it's about five times too small, and half topple out of it, catching myself just in time before I hit the floor.

What the fuck? Who shrunk my bed?

"Good morning," says a bright and cheerful voice that I instantly recognize and hate. How can he be so chipper when the world is literally heaving apart.

"No, it isn't," I croak.

I crack one eye open against the loathsome morning sunshine, still half hanging out of the bed, and see an upside down North in baggy sweats and a hoodie, holding a glass of water. Seeing it, I suddenly notice how thirsty I am; my throat feels like I tried to drink the Gobi desert.

Then I realize that no one has shrunk my bed because this isn't my bed. We're not at my place.

"Do you need a hand there?" North asks, walking over to me.

"No, I'm fine," I say automatically and struggle to push myself back onto the bed without emptying my roiling guts onto the brown carpet. Although by the look of it, I doubt it'd make it any dirtier.

North watches me with sympathy clear on his face, and I want to shake my finger at him. Nuh-uh. I don't like that, I don't do being looked after. I'm the one that looks after North, not the other way around. All I need is a drink, some healthy food, and a brisk run outside, then I'll be as good as new.

I spring to my feet with grace and agility. At least that's what happens in my head, but it doesn't exactly go as planned. Halfway to sitting, my stomach rolls, my head pounds, and I end up flopping back down onto the pillow, groaning.

"Oh god. I feel like the underside of a garbage truck."

North comes over to me and holds out the glass. "Here, drink this."

I take it from him with a wobbly hand and tilt my head enough so I can get my lips on the rim.

"Just little sips," North says.

Accepting defeat, I do as he says, taking small amounts of water into my mouth and swallowing. It soothes my throat and tongue, but the water gathers in my belly and sits there like a stone.

"I'm gonna puke," I groan.

North picks up a bowl from the floor by the side of the bed. It's clean but wet inside, like it's been recently washed out. I blink at it, trying to get my thoughts into a logical order. Have I already been sick? Wait, how did we get to North's dorm room? The last thing I remember is being in the bar with the other Green Hawks, and watching North as I pressed my foot into his—

Oh fuck.

I grip the bridge of my nose as the memories come flooding back. Did I really try to give North a foot job under the table? In front of everyone? Jesus fucking Christ. How the hell did I get so carried away?

"How many drinks did I have last night?" I ask. It must have been a lot for me to be such a fucking idiot.

His attempt to hide his smile fails miserably. "Four shots."

"What?" I drop my hand. "That's it?"

Is he serious? It's been a while since I've had anything to drink but fuck me, that's humiliating. I flop my head onto the pillow, making the world tip dangerously. "Fuck. Just kill me now, please."

"It's not that bad," North laughs.

"I tried to jerk you off with my foot in a bar surrounded by our teammates. It is that bad."

"Yeah, that part was a bit . . . interesting."

He laughs again but it's not as light, and it trails off a bit too sharply.

I squint at him. Something's wrong. Even through my monster of a hangover, I know every inch of his face well enough to know. He's distracted, his smile isn't as wide, his eyes track away, avoiding me, and avoiding something. Something that's playing on his mind.

"What is it? Did I do something?"

North's smile dims a little more. Shit. I did do something, didn't I? My already rolling stomach tightens, threatening to spill across the bed sheet.

"What happened?" I ask, dreading the answer.

He shakes his head. "Do you remember anything after we left the bar?"

I try but it's foggy through the haze of alcohol. After the bar, we walked somewhere for a while. Here? And I had my face pressed against something warm and soft.

And I was horny. I remember that clearly. Very horny. The sick feeling rises up my throat. I didn't make him do anything weird did I? Something kinky he wasn't comfortable with? But I can't remember any action, and when I look down, I'm still dressed in my clothes.

"You walked me home, and . . . you made me get into bed?" I hazard a guess.

He nods.

Yes, he made me get into bed, and I wanted to pull him in and have sex, but he said no.

That makes me flush. Thank fuck one of us was being sensible.

After that I remember talking, something about cowboys and how hot North was, and . . .

I go cold as it comes back to me in a sickening flash. No, I didn't, did I? I told him about my father.

He's still watching me. I didn't do anything bad to him, the thing he's holding back is pity. That's somehow even worse.

North knows about my dad and it feels like the bottom has fallen out of the world. Which really doesn't help my stomach. I grab onto the bedsheet on either side of me.

"How much did I tell you?" I ask roughly.

He hesitates. "You told me who gave you your scar, but not why or how," he says. "It didn't feel right to ask."

I close my eyes and wish the mattress would swallow me whole. The fucking scar. I'm never going to have another drink in my life. The bed dips as he sits and I feel like I'm out in the middle of the sea somewhere, rolling over the waves.

"Is that why you never let me see it? Because you don't want to talk about it?"

I scoff. "I don't let you see it because it's fucking disgusting."

"It's not disgusting. It's just a scar," he says.

I open my eyes again and stare at the ceiling. God, I feel so fucking tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of holding everything back. I don't know if it's the hangover or what, but I feel torn open, defeated, emotionally drained. My eyes water and I don't know why.

"Mal," North says, "the only thing that's disgusting is that your dad would do that to you."

His voice has gone cold. I've never heard it like that before, even back when we first started this and I was being an asshole to him all the time. Even when we were fighting, he never sounded like this. He sounds angry.

Then he sweeps the hair away from my face and I can't help but lean into his touch, letting out a ragged breath.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here. But no pressure."

To my shock, I find I do want to talk about it. I want him to know. It's like I've had this weight on my shoulders my whole life and now it's finally too heavy for me, and sharing it with North might just make it a bit easier to carry.

I take a deep breath and start talking, staring at the beige wall by the bed. It's easier to get it out if I don't have to look at him, if I don't have to see the look in his eyes, whatever it might be. That might be the straw that breaks me completely.

I don't know where to start, so I just start at the beginning.

"I was just about to turn ten. My mom had promised that I could have my first big birthday party, invite everyone in my class, big bouncy house, all that dumb shit. I'd already picked out the cake I wanted and everything. She was going to do it all herself. This was before my dad hit it big with the real estate stuff, and we didn't have a whole lot of money, so it was a pretty big deal for me. I was so fucking excited." I stop to take another deep breath, feeling winded.

"But then she had to go into the hospital a week before. She'd been sick for a while but we, my father and me, and I suppose her, too, didn't realize how bad it was. She was run-down and tired all the time, but I just thought it was going to be one of those things that you get over." I throw a quick glance over at North. He's nodding along, probably wondering where this is going. I fix my eyes back on the wall.

"I still thought she was going to get over it and come home and arrange my whole stupid party, and that's all I was thinking about. Until my dad came back from visiting her one night. He told me she wasn't going to be coming home for a while. I asked about my party and he said he didn't have the time or energy to organize it so it was canceled. I cried. I was more upset about that than my mom being in the hospital. I was a selfish, stupid kid, and I don't think I really understood what was happening. I was excited for my birthday party and now I wasn't getting it. So I had a tantrum. My dad absolutely lost his shit. I guess he was stressed from everything going on and he didn't need an asshole kid crying about a party when his wife was sick. I get that now. He snapped, said I was a selfish brat, and when I wouldn't calm down he hit me. Just the regular stuff, with his hand. So I cried more. So he hit me with his belt."

I swallow. The wetness gathering in my eyes up to this point finally overflows and slides down the side of my face. It's fucking stupid and it's only because I feel so ragged and hungover. I want to wipe it away, but I don't want to draw attention to it.

"He got me across the back with the buckle. Split my whole back open. He was fucking stressed so maybe he didn't realize which end he was using. But that sure shut me up. I think I was too shocked to cry. I don't remember any pain, just that it was numb and wet and hot. It bled a lot and I had to be carted off to the hospital so they could stitch me up. I don't know what he told the nurse about what happened, probably lied. But he dropped me off and left me there."

My jaw is so stiff with the strain of holding everything in that I'm speaking through clenched teeth. This next bit is the worst part.

"Afterward, my father picked me up from the hospital. He waited until we were in the car, and then he told me my mom was dead. She died while the nurse was stitching me up. Up until that point, I still didn't realize how bad it was. And then suddenly she was just . . . gone. I never got the chance to see her. I never told her what a great mom she was, and how much I loved her."

The snot is starting to run now, and I sniff and wipe my arm across my face, abandoning the attempt to hide it. I'm such a fucking mess. North is still silent.

"And that was it, my father didn't say another word about it. We never spoke about what happened, about Mom, or what he did. He never apologized."

Now that I'm past the worst of it the words are pouring out of me, like I've nicked an artery and the blood is just gushing out all over the floor. I've explained what happened with my scar, but I can't stop talking. more things bubble to the surface along with the water dripping from my eyes. It's like I've sprung a leak and I'm not going to stop until I'm empty.

"We were never the same after that. When I was in high school I met this guy. He was older than me, and he was so fucking cool. It seemed like he knew everything and had all the answers. I fell for him hard and just latched on to him. I was convinced that he was going to make my life so much better. I did anything for him, whatever he wanted. I did it. Even when I found out he was married with kids, I would bend over backward to please him, because I needed him to love me so badly. Call it daddy issues or whatever. I thought the sun shone out of his ass. But it didn't matter. He got what he wanted from me and then threw me away. I guess the shine wore off for him. Who wants a clingy kid hanging around anyway? I was absolutely heartbroken. And I decided I was never going to let that happen again, I was never going to give up my power like that. I guess that's why I act like such a fucking asshole all the time."

I stop talking, entirely empty.

North's just staring at me with his mouth open. I've never told anyone about all this before, and I wait in silence for him to say something.

Finally, he shakes his head. "Mal, I'm so sorry that happened to you."

I shrug, wiping my face with my forearm. "Worse shit happens to better people. It's not like none of it was my fault."

"Don't say that."

I just shrug again. North comes over and sits directly next to me.

"No, I mean it. Don't say that." He takes my face in his hands and meets my eyes, holding me there when I try to turn away again. I blink, trying to clear my eyes. I probably look like a fucking disaster. "None of those things were your fault. You were a kid, and they were both fucking adults who treated you badly. Your dad was supposed to look after you, that was his fucking job, and what happened is entirely on him. And to be honest, that other guy sounds like a fucking sexual predator." His eyes are fierce, boring into mine. "You're not fucked, Mal, you just need therapy. And I don't want you to ever think that you're not worthy of love." He gulps. "Because you are. I love you."

My mouth opens but no words come out for a moment.

"What?" I say.

"I love you."