We part in my dimly lit stairwell with a kiss that has me seriously reconsidering Gavin’s offer to stay at his place tonight, but I stand firm, opting to throw on some flannel PJs and get some homework done.

My chest aches in his absence, which only solidifies my need to give us some space. I try to pep-talk myself—you know, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that crap—but it doesn’t take the edge off.

Closing the door to my apartment, still a bit forlorn, I realize I should probably schedule a few appointments with my therapist. I haven’t seen Dr. Klein since school started, mostly because I needed to save money, but also because I thought I was doing well. But now that everything seems upended, from my new relationship with Gavin to having Wheeler creep around, I’m sure I could use some maintenance. It’s not fair to Harper that I’m constantly going to her to help me through all my issues.

Two hours later, I’ve made a small dent in my workload, and I crawl into bed, only to toss and turn despite my exhaustion. When I eventually fall asleep, I have a nightmare about being strangled and wake up in a cold sweat.

Finally, in the early morning, I dream about playing in the backyard fort with Jax. When we were little, people used to ask if we were brothers. I always thought that was funny because I was never interested in dresses and dolls, which pissed off my mother to no end. I generally preferred traipsing around in the mud with my twin, even if he was a giant pain in the ass.

When I get up, I decide it’s time to call Jax. He sounds thrown off to hear from me, but that’s probably because he has some random girl in his bed, and talking to his sister at the same time is a tad awkward. I hear her giggle and ask for her underwear. Ew!

I sigh. “Jax, stop being such a whore.”

“I know,” he admits. “But at least none of them can say I’ve promised anything.” He muffles the phone and tells Casey bye.

“My name is Candy,” she says in the background, sounding dejected.

“Jesus! You can’t even learn that poor girl’s name?” Thinking back to my one-night stand, maybe that’s better. I hope that guy doesn’t remember who I am. “Listen, I called to make sure you have a game Saturday because I don’t want to haul my ass out all the way to BC only to find out the times got switched.”

“You’re coming?” I hate that he sounds so surprised.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t attended any games this season. I’ve been really slammed.” When we were growing up, I never missed any. Not one.

“I didn’t expect you to want to come after our fight.”

“I’m your twin. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Can you get me three tickets?”

“Definitely. Hey, Orange Juice,” he says, using the nickname he gave me when we were kids, “I really am sorry.” He pauses to exhale. “I hate that all this shit went down, and I know I didn’t handle it well.”

“It’s okay, Apple Jacks.” I haven’t called him that in years. “I closed you off too. Let’s just move forward, okay? I know I don’t say this enough, but I love you, and I want us to be close.”

“Wow. You’ve gone soft on me. What are we gonna to do next? Make friendship bracelets?”

“Fuck you. And stop trying to screw every woman in New England. You’re going to catch something, and your ween is going to fall off.”

“My ween?” He laughs so loud my ear rings. “See, you just need to find me a nice girl so I can settle down. How about one of your roommates? They’re all hot.”

“Keep your dirty mitts off them, perv.”

When the laughter stops, he’s quiet. “Clem, I honestly didn’t know Mom wasn’t paying your tuition. Let me help.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my eyes sting with tears.

I clear my throat. “I don’t want your money. I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now, and I think I can handle it.”

I cover the phone to sniffle.

“I knew you’d be like this,” he mumbles. I can almost see him shaking his head. “Look, I don’t doubt that you can take care of yourself. You’re the most capable person I know. But BU is expensive, and it’s not your fault our parents are self-absorbed fuckers.”

“I appreciate the offer. So much. But I can handle it.” I hope.

He sighs. “Okay, but if it gets to be too much, or if you need me to spot you some money for a while, I’m more than happy to help.”

“Thank you, little brother.”

He laughs into the phone, and I smile. I should call him more often.

* * *

After our date this past weekend and what happened with Wheeler on Monday, I thought Gavin and I were getting close, but he’s surprisingly out of touch this week. We plan to meet up for dinner on Tuesday, but he texts that he’s slammed and can’t make it. I end up calling him because I just want to hear his voice—totally sappy, I know—and ask if I can bring him dinner, but he says he’s eaten. He sounds irritable and stressed.

I’m about to say goodbye when I hear someone’s voice in the background before he muffles the phone. For some reason, all I see is red—red lips, red hair, red coat. I get off the phone almost positive he was with Angelique.

My stomach sours as I try to come up with a scenario that would explain why they’re together when he has work to do, so much that he won’t let me come over. He’s never had a problem working on an article when we’ve hung out in the past.

I don’t call the rest of the week. Part of me says I’m a jealous lunatic while the other part of me is freaking out like it’s a damn five-alarm fire. After all I’ve told Gavin, after what he learned from overhearing my argument with Jax, after our nights together, I know I’ve bared myself to him. And I’m scared. The nasty urge crosses my mind to wonder if he’s going to sell me out to the press, especially now that he has so much dirt on me and my family.

Idiot, he is the press. I roll my eyes at myself.

I’m tempted to numb myself out and take my pills, and as luck would have it, my therapist can’t fit in an appointment for two weeks. The secretary always asks the obligatory, “If this is an emergency…” In other words, if I’m about to slit my throat or jump from a high-rise, they’ll move some other crazy person’s appointment. Of course, I’m not that batshit, so I take the first available slot and hang up.

When Gavin calls on Thursday, he’s obviously preoccupied. Gone is his casual flirtatiousness and that laid-back laugh. He says he’s working on a big article, and I let it go at that. If this is about work, I can live with it, but the nagging idea that his ex has something to do with his quick trip to Mars eats away at me.

By Friday when he doesn’t ask me to work out with him, I know something is wrong. Like a muggy night that smells of mossy soil before the rain, I sense it coming.

Maybe he couldn’t handle me breaking down after that conversation with Wheeler. Maybe he thinks I really am too fucked up. Maybe he’s rekindled things with Angelique. The last insidious idea makes me ill. Whatever it is, whatever has come between us, I’m getting the big brushoff.

When I finish working out on Friday night, I can’t stand it any longer. The warning bells going off in my head, the ones that led me to Daren’s room the night I found him in bed with Veronica, tell me I should see Gavin face to face, that this will help me figure out what’s really going on. Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I steel myself for whatever lies ahead.

Gavin said he would be working late tonight. As I walk home from the gym, I decide to stop by the Free Press office, which is down the street from my apartment. When I walk in, a harried-looking girl in overalls and glasses asks if she can help me.

“I’m looking for Gavin Murphy. Is he around?” My voice comes out cool and calm despite my internal turmoil.

She crinkles her nose. “I haven’t seen him lately. I don’t think I’ve seen him in at least a week.”

“You’re here a lot?”

Her shoulders sag, and she groans. “I never leave. Sometimes, I sleep on that futon,” she says, pointing behind her.

“Fuck.”

“I know, right?” She’s almost cheerful because she thinks I’m commiserating with her when I’m wondering where the hell Gavin has been.

Why did he say he was working? I suppose it’s possible he’s working from the dorms and is emailing his assignments, or maybe he’s doing something for the Globe. I start to leave, but curiosity gets the best of me.

“Hey, can I ask another question?”

By the time we finish talking ten minutes later, I think I might throw up. As I walk down the street, I watch my feet amble along the sidewalk. I’m so distracted, I end up back on Commonwealth Avenue instead of Bay State Road, and by the time I’m underneath the blue awning of Warren Towers, I’ve cooked up a dozen hair-raising ideas in my head, and none of them are good.

I mean to go home. I mean to walk away, to close myself off before I get hurt. But I can’t. It’s like I’m driving by an accident, and bodies are everywhere, and I have to watch. I know that Gavin and I are a train wreck about to happen, and I have to see it happen. I have to know for sure. Just like with Daren.

The feeling in my stomach is too familiar. I’m suffocating from the similarities, and everything in me screams that this is the same.

That night, Daren and I were supposed to hang out, and he had been acting strangely all week, so I was looking forward to having a movie night so we could talk. His car drove up and a few minutes later the light from his TV flipped on, casting a blue hue through his window. But he didn’t return my texts, and he didn’t return my calls. In that instant, I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know how wrong. I didn’t know I’d find him in the arms of my best friend.

Shaking my head to clear that ugly memory from my thoughts, I step off the elevator and find myself standing in front of Gavin’s door, but I’m scared to death to knock.

“Hi, Clem!” Carly’s wide smile greets me. “Murphy’s not in. I think he went out of town. Maybe Rhode Island. He was in a hurry when he left. See,” she says, pointing to the dry-erase board that reads, Be back in the morning. Call Mark if you have an emergency at x1333.

She looks at me sideways, probably wondering why I don’t know that my boyfriend has left town and will be gone all night or maybe even the entire weekend. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.

“How are you?” Carly asks, still studying me.

“I’ve been better.” I wander back to the elevators and press the call button.

“I’ve been wondering if I could ask you a favor.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she continues. “I volunteer for a non-profit at school that helps troubled children. I wanted to ask if you’d perform at our fundraiser. Maybe sing a song or two. You and Murphy can do one together if you want.”

I nod absentmindedly. Gavin has been lying to me.

Carly hands me her phone. She’s talking, but I haven’t a clue what she’s saying. Oh, she wants my number. I stare at the device a second before I can process what to do.

“Do you want to play with Murphy? Should I book both of you?”

“What?”

“Would you like to perform with Murphy?”

“No, definitely not. I… I don’t need an accompanist. I play the piano.” Or at least I used to in a prior life.

“Okay, cool. I’ll call you with the details.”

I don’t remember saying goodbye. I don’t remember walking home. I barely remember walking into my apartment. As soon as I close my bedroom door, I head straight to the top drawer of my desk, pull out the prescription bottle and pop the little pill that makes me numb.