chapter sixteen

Sebastian

"What the hell did I miss?" I ask Saanvi. She's in the upstairs hallway, and Harris is slumped against her, an absolute mess of a man. And that's not hyperbole. There's blood splattered all over the front of his shirt, and small bruises are forming beneath his eyes, and the wet sheen on his chin just might be vomit.

"I'll tell you in the car," she says. Her eyes are as serious as they are hollow. She looks the angriest I've ever seen her—is it just me, or are her hands shaking?

"Here," I tell her, "I'll carry him."

"You can carry me?" he asks. He looks absolutely defeated. "Are you ... are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course." Hopefully.

"But, but, your chicken arms."

"My what?"

"We've gotta fuckin' go," Saanvi says. "If you and your chicken arms can lift him, then do it."

As I attempt to scoop Harrison up bridal style, I realize that I don't actually know how to lift someone. Also, Harris may be short, but he's stocky and strong, mostly lean muscle. I squat down and try to scoop him up like that, but he's not the most cooperative.

"It's okay," he mutters, his eyes closed. His head lolls to the side. "Your chicken arms."

"Oh my god, where is this chicken arms shit coming from?"

Someone approaches behind us on the stairs. I turn and see—much to my surprise and chagrin—Evan standing there, his hair disheveled, his brow furrowed.

"Is he okay?" he asks.

Saanvi takes a step forward. "You punched him in the fucking face and left him alone with Liam mother-fucking Grande. What do you think?"

Evan pales. "Wait, Liam? Did he—"

"It's none of your fucking business what he did or didn't do," Saanvi says, stepping in front of the pair of us. Evan tries to meet my gaze. I look away.

"Move." Saanvi crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Or so help me, I will kick your bony ass down those steps."

"Sebastian," Evan says, his voice strained. His gaze is pleading. "Is Harris okay?"

"I–I don't know," I mutter.

"I'm fine," Harris whispers, pressing his face into my chest. But he's so obviously not. I don't know what to do.

Evan takes a step forward. I hold Harris just a little tighter. "Let me carry him down the stairs," he offers. "It's the least I can do."

Saanvi looks back to the pair of us, frowning. I can tell she's considering it. I am, too.

"Fine," I say. Can't hurt. Well, shouldn't hurt. Kind of does though. "Thank you."

He walks forward and squats down, just like I'd thought to do but couldn't manage. He makes scooping Harris up in his arms look easy, despite how heavy he is. "I'm so sorry about hitting you," Evan says, adjusting his grip before walking down the stairs.

Saanvi's eyes stay narrowed, even when we're out at the truck. Evan places Harris in the backseat, buckling him up and asking him to stay awake before looking back to me. "Hey Seb, you might wanna grab some plastic bags or something before you go."

It takes a moment to register. "Right, right." I run back inside the house, all the way to the kitchen. There's a variety of alcohol littering the island counter; people are packed into the open floor plan, drunkenly dancing under green LED lights. It's a dizzying cacophony of pure noise and inebriated nonsense.

Plastic bags, plastic bags, plastic bags. Just my luck—Elana Doorsey is leaning against the farmhouse sink, her head tossed back as she laughs.

I'm surprised when she sees me and waves. "Sebastian!" she shouts. A strap of her tank top slides off one slender shoulder. If I weren't gay, I'd probably think she was hot, some kind of dream Pinterest girl. Unfortunately, I am very gay, and also very, very panicked right now.

"Um, hi," I shout, striding right up to her. Her two friends glance at each other, then walk away. "I need some plastic bags."

It's as if she didn't hear me. "That cliff diving was so cool," she says, running slender fingers along my arm. It tickles in a weird way. "You should let me come with you some time. Or you could join me at Wetspring."

"Yeah, uhuh. Can I have some plastic bags?"

Elana pouts. "Aww, are you leaving?"

"Yeah. I just need plastic bags."

"Ugh, fiiine." She squats down ridiculously low to open the cabinet beneath the sink. I stare at the pile of ice in the sink, and at the pile of Trulies sitting atop it. A few Target bags in hand, Elana stands up seductively, almost like she's scooping her ass up from off the floor. I almost want to laugh, but it feels mean.

"Here you go," she says, smiling. "See you around."

It feels impossibly tight as I try to weave my way back towards the front door. Seriously, like, there's a lot of shoving. I'm walking out right as Evan is walking in. His expression looks downright furious. "Hey, Evan." I stick my arm out to catch him, because he doesn't seem to hear me. "Is everything good?"

His mouth opens and shuts a few times, and then he shakes himself off. "I'm gonna grab the guys and go have a talk with Liam Grande," he says. And, fuck, I hate myself for thinking this, but it's kind of hot in a weird way.

"Did Saanvi—"

"Yeah. Fucking creep. He tried to do the same to me once, but this sounds so much worse." He shakes his head, then looks up to the ceiling. "I just ... I feel terrible."

"Don't feel terrible," I say.

"No, I feel awful," he says, reaching up and rubbing his forehead, causing the smooth skin to crease. "I hit Harris for one, which is so uncool, and I was so mad that I didn't go check up on him immediately. And I left him with Liam."

Something he said clicks. "He tried to do the same thing to you?"

"It was in January. We were kind of talking...." His voice drops to a whisper. "That's part of why I broke up with you. I'm sorry, it just felt wrong. I was a terrible boyfriend, but I couldn't keep doing you dirty like that."

If Harris hadn't already told me that Evan and Liam had hooked up, I would have been completely blindsided. But all I can say now is, "It's okay. I know."

"You know?"

"Harrison."

He sighs. "Right. Just, I promise you, I didn't hook up with Liam while we were together. We almost did, and I felt terrible about it. And then, a few nights after I broke up with you, we were smoking and he tried.... Well. I started dating Rachel a few weeks after."

I'm not going to think about his timeline right now. Or how my ex was talking to someone else while we were together. Really, right now, I just feel awful. Awful for Evan, sure, but especially awful for Harris. Sweet Harris, who always goes out of his way to make me feel comfortable and ask for my consent. Fuck. No wonder why it's so important to him.

Has this happened with him and Liam before? I'm almost scared to ask.

"I ... I've got to go," I tell Evan. The fear of having to think about it is turning into the anger of knowing.

He nods. "Same. Saanvi said Liam might need to go to urgent care, so I think me and some folks are gonna go make sure he needs to."

"Y'know what, valid. Bye, Evan."

"Bye, Seb."

I don't look back on my way out the door.

"There you fucking are," Saanvi says when I open the back door of the truck. She's sitting in the driver's seat, knuckles completely white on the wheel. A few mosquitoes buzz around the interior door light.

Harris is slumped against the opposite window. I scooch my way to the middle seat, plastic bags in hand while I buckle up. "Here, Harris," I say. "Do you need to throw up?"

"No," he grumbles, waving me off with a limp hand.

"Don't let him fall asleep," Saanvi says. "I'm pretty sure that's a rule."

"Isn't that for a concussion?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Seb, I don't know. Just do it. Please." She looks at the truck's pitch black dash and holds a hand out back to me. "Keys. Give me your keys."

"You hate driving the truck," I point out.

"Shut the fuck up and please take care of your boyfriend."

I hand her my keys. "He's not my boyfriend," I mutter.

"Yeah, well, whatever." She starts the truck and checks the street behind us. There's not another car in sight. "Shut up and take care of your 'it's complicated' if you don't want to be cleaning puke up from off your leather seats tomorrow."

"Do you need to puke?" I ask Harris.

"No." He shakes his head slightly. And then, with no warning, a deep shudder rips out from him, and his shoulders begin to shake.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Sorry."

Hesitantly, I unbuckle and place a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be sorry," I tell him. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I'm–I'm a mess," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Sorry, do I turn here, or—" Saanvi starts.

"Left on Elm," I tell her. "It's 2302."

"You memorized my address," Harris says, still crying softly. Each breath from him is harsh and gasping. "You're my favorite stalker."

"You are so weird," I tell him, torn between smiling and crying myself. "Let's just get you into bed."

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

I keep my hand on his shoulder the whole way home. The plastic bags, thankfully, go unused.

A/N: almost half of all the chapters are up, ahhh

it's technically not friday here but it's friday somewhere sooooo, enjoy!