2009

Cenquinsexagintillion.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last three hours.

Cenquinsexagintillion.

It’s a real number.

10^500.

If super string theory is believed to be fact, it’s the number of proposed universes in what is called the multiverse. An infinite number of realities that stretch beyond the one we experience.

I like to think that in at least one of them, Henley and I are together. That she loves me as much as I love her. That she’s brave enough to let me.

It’s 2AM and I’m sitting on the fire escape outside her window. I’ve been here for a while, staring at the sheet she has tacked up to cover it. I can’t see her, which, while frustrating, makes it marginally easier for me to convince myself that I haven’t totally and completely crossed a line by creeping around outside her window like some sort of weirdo.

Today was the last day of school and Henley wasn’t there. The only class I bothered to show up for was calculus and when I finally accepted the fact that she wasn’t going to show, I walked out, Mr. Kitteridge shouting after me about an unexcused absence or some shit.

Whatever. I’m never coming back here. I’m through pretending. None of these people matter, anyway. Half the time, I’m not even sure they’re real.

I know that’s sound crazy. It’s been a while since I’ve slept. Honestly, what I do probably wouldn’t even be considered sleeping by most standards. I don’t sleep. I drift. Untether my brain and let it bob along a current of consciousness that never stops flowing.

When I really try, I can push myself deep enough to compete a REM cycle but to tell the truth, it takes so much effort that I’m usually more tired when I wake up then I was before I closed my eyes.

It used to freak my parents out. They took me to all sorts of doctors. Psychiatrists. Sleep specialists. Neurologists. Medication. Hypnosis. Therapy. They stopped just shy of a full-blown exorcism, until finally, they just gave up. Accepted the fact that I was never going to be normal like Declan. That I wasn’t going to be the son they’d hoped for.

I’m not saying they don’t love me. I know they do… but sometimes, when my dad looks at me, I get the feeling he’s afraid of me. Like I’m a stranger, living in his house, walking around in his child’s skin.

That’s why I pretend. Why I try to fit in. Not for myself. For them. So they won’t worry about me. Won’t be afraid of me.

I hear his footsteps, ringing on the ladder rungs below me, before I see him. I should get up. Climb the ladder to the roof and hide out until he’s inside. I should do that. I should care that he’s going to see me sitting outside his sister’s window, but I don’t. So, I just sit here and wait for him to appear because these days, there’s not much I do care about.

“You waiting for me?”

I look away from the window in front of me to see Ryan a few feet away. The dull glow of the streetlamp behind me casts shadows across his face but I can hear a hard edge to his tone that tells me he knows why I’m here, he’s just hoping I’ll lie about it.

“No.” I’m finished lying.

I expect him to come unglued. The implications are clear enough. Ryan isn’t stupid. He knows the truth. I’d be willing to bet he’s known for a while. Probably figured it out, even before my dickhead brother opened his big mouth, but until now, he’s been willing to go along with the lie because it’s easier than the alternative.

Instead of taking a swing at me, Ryan slumps against the grimy brick wall behind him, his mouth set in a grim line. “The other night, I came home, and she was upset. Crying.” I look at his hands. Watch them clench into fists. Half hope he’ll use them on me. “You do something to her?”

“We argued about Jessica,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “About how many girls I’ve been with.” When I say it, his lip curls slightly like I’m something dirty. Ryan knows what I am. Until now, he’s never had a problem with it, but I guess finding your whore of a best friend squatting outside your little sister’s window changes things.

“And?”

“And she broke-up with me.”

“Then why was she the one who was crying?”

I don’t have an answer for that. Not one I’m willing to share with her brother. “I don’t know.” I pass a hand over my face before shaking my head. “All I know is that it’s been almost a week and she won’t talk to me.”

“You try to fuck her?” He pushes the words through clenched teeth. This is what he’s worried about. That his best friend tried to hurt his sister. “Is that what this is about? You try—”

“No. No.” I shake my head, remembering the way she came at me. How angry she was when I told her no. Refused to take what she was offering. “I’m in love with her.”

“You’re in love with my sister? You?” Ryan laughs at me, like what I said is so far beyond ridiculous that it’s not even possible that I’m telling the truth. When I don’t answer him, he stops laughing. “Yeah, well tell me this—if you’re so in love with her, why the fuck were the two of you lying and sneaking around? Why not—”

“She didn’t want anyone to know we were together.” I still don’t understand why she insisted on lying. Why I’m supposed to be ashamed of her. “She made me promise.”

Ryan stares at me. Finally, he sighs, lifting a hand to rub it across his mouth. “Jesus Christ, she’s stubborn,” he says holding out a hand to help me up. “Just don’t give up on her, okay? Give her some time. She’ll come around.”

“I’m in love with her.” I say taking his hand before pulling my feet underneath me to stand. Finally being able to say it out loud, I feel more relieved than I thought I would. “I’m pretty sure that means I’m not going anywhere.”