Crave: Part One

  Needing to get this over with, I take a deep breath, step out of the car, and head up the stairs. When I knock and no one answers, I wait for a moment longer before knocking again. Still, no answer. I stare at my feet as they shift nervously beneath me, and when I turn to leave, the door finally opens.

  All it takes is one look to see that Kason’s mom isn’t well. Her skin and even her eyes are . . . yellow. I’ve never in my life seen a person look this way, and I’m immediately concerned.

  “Adaline?”

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  She’s disheveled, in her pajamas, and when I peer over her shoulder, I see all the lights are off in the apartment.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We spoke a couple days ago, remember? You said I could stop by before you went to work.”

  Her eyes shift down in confusion, and she widens the door to let me in.

  “When did we speak?”

  “On Sunday,” I mutter. “Don’t you remember?”

  She blinks a few times as she tightens her bathrobe around her.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I think I need a little breakfast.”

  “It’s after four.”

  “Four?”

  “Are you not going to work?” I ask, because she’s normally dressed and getting ready to leave at this time.

  “I just got off work.”

  “From the call center?”

  She looks around the apartment, completely disoriented. “I think so.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  Dragging her feet, she takes a few steps away from me before asking, “Are we supposed to be doing something?”

  Everything coming out of her mouth is disjointed, and I’m worried something is very wrong. She looks ill. She’s always been on the thin side, but after a month of not seeing her, she’s dropped a lot of weight and her belly is protruding as if she were pregnant. But more than anything, it’s her confused state of mind that’s so alarming.

  “No. Remember I told you that I needed to pick up a few of my things.”

  “I think we have some eggs in the fridge,” she mumbles as she staggers into the kitchen, not making any sense whatsoever.

  Uncertain of what is going on with her, I start walking back to Kason’s room when I hear a loud thud. I rush back to the kitchen and panic when I see her lying on the ground.

  I run to her and drop to my knees. “Sharon, are you okay?” Her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t respond. My heart races in sheer fright as I jostle her shoulder. “Sharon, can you hear me?”

  Oh my God! What do I do?

  Rolling her on to her back, I drop my ear to her chest to hear that her heart is beating. Franticly, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial nine-one-one.

  As soon as the call connects, words fall from my mouth at a million miles per hour. Hysterical and wracked with chills, I pace back and forth, terrified to touch her as she lies lifelessly on the floor. It isn’t until I hear the sirens that I realize I’m crying.

  In a wild madness, the apartment fills with a stretcher and paramedics, but I don’t even remember opening the door to let them in. They hover over her, and I sink to the floor in the corner of the room—petrified beyond comprehension that something awful has happened. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat as tears coat my cheeks, and somehow, I manage to find Kason’s number on my phone and call him.

  “Adaline?”

  “Kason, something’s happened to your mom.” I choke out the words and struggle to take in a decent breath.

  “What are you talking about? Where are you?”

  “I’m at your apartment. She was really confused and not making any sense and then she passed out.”

  “She what?”

  I gasp for air, but my lungs refuse to inflate, and I fight so hard just to draw in little jagged breaths.

  I’m freaking out!

  “Adaline! Are you okay?”

  “I can’t-I can’t breathe-I-I . . .” My whole body erupts into prickling tingles, and the phone slips out of my fingers.

  Everything dims, and all the commotion in the room tunnels far away.

  “Can you talk to me? Tell me your name?”

  I look up to find a man, but he’s static behind the blur in my eyes. Kneeling in front of me, he slips a mask over my nose and mouth as he instructs me to take in a couple of deep breaths. “I need you to look at me, okay? What’s your name, dear?”

  I watch them strap Sharon to the gurney, but she swims out of focus when more tears flood my eyes.

  My attention shifts back to the paramedic. “Ady Rees.”

  “Ady, you’re experiencing a little bit of shock.” I look to my arm to find a blood pressure cuff. “I need you to take some deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?”

  I take a slow blink and then bend to the side to lie down. “I don’t feel so good.”

  There’s a bustling in the room seconds before Sharon is wheeled through the doorway. Then another paramedic comes to my side, and the two men help me to my feet and down the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re taking your mother to the hospital,” they tell me as they help me into the back of the ambulance.

  I don’t correct them. Instead, I sit on the bench next to her and hope to God nothing life threatening is happening. My stomach churns as I watch them shove a needle into the top of her yellowed hand.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I ask, but my voice doesn’t sound right.

  “Can you tell me your mother’s name?” the same man that was asking me questions says, and again, I don’t correct him. I simply respond, “Sharon Stratton.”

  “Is she allergic to any medications?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is she currently taking any medications?”

  “I—I don’t know. She’s my boyfriend’s mom,” I stammer, instantly realizing my slip, but my head is all over the place.

  “That’s okay,” he assures calmly. “Just sit back and relax. Your blood pressure is coming back up.”

  I close my eyes, and when the ambulance comes to a halt, the doors fly open and she’s immediately pulled out and wheeled in to the ER. One of the paramedics tends to me, checking my blood pressure once more before removing the oxygen mask and escorting me inside.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  I take a seat on a couch in the waiting area and nod, because I do. Warmth has returned to my skin and the dizziness has subsided. The paramedic walks over to the attendee sitting at the desk, and I reach for my phone, but it isn’t in any of my pockets. I must’ve left it back at the apartment in the middle of all the chaos, and I don’t know what to do because I don’t have anyone’s phone number memorized. Not even my mother’s.

  “Adaline.”

  As soon as I see Kason rushing in, I’m flooded with emotions all over again, and without a single thought, I pop off the couch and run to him. The moment his arms are around me, I burst into tears as he holds me tighter than he ever has before.

  I know I should pull away. I shouldn’t be this close to him, but after what just happened, I need the sliver of safety I find in his embrace. He doesn’t linger in it for too long, though, and I want to shrink away completely when I hear the fear in his voice. “Where’s my mom?”

  I step back and away from his hold. “I don’t know. They rushed her in before I was allowed out of the ambulance.”

  “Wait right here.”

  He walks over to the desk, and I sit back down, confused by the maniacal feelings that are running rampant through me right now. I don’t know what to think or how to feel—about anything. It’s a swarm of intensity that has me frightened, and deep breaths do nothing to grant assuagement. And now, seeing Kason, hugging him . . . I shouldn’t have done that.

  A nurse comes out to speak to Kason. I wish I knew what she was telling him. He looks in my direction for a second before
turning back to her. After a few concerning nods, he comes over to me.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “They’re going to take me to see her. Will you wait until I come back before you leave?”

  “Of course,” I tell him when I see the worry for his mother etched all over his face.

  “Promise me, you won’t leave.”

  “I promise. I can’t go anywhere anyway. I left everything back at your place.”

  It’s easy to see his reluctance when he walks away from me, but he shouldn’t worry about me in this moment. He needs to focus on his mom.

  I watch as the nurse leads him past the double doors, leaving me all alone as I try to process what could possibly be going on with his mother that would explain everything that just happened. Curling my legs up to my chest, I rest my head on the couch cushion and close my eyes, burdened by the urge to stay and hold up my promise when I know I probably shouldn’t. Because this isn’t my life anymore. It’s his, and the last thing I want to do is give him any remnant of false hope by staying.

  I slowly stir awake as Kason gently whispers my name. Blinking the fog of sleep away, I slowly push myself up from the couch. Kason sits next to me, and it takes me a moment to collect my bearings.

  I look out the windows to see it’s dark outside. “What time is it?”

  “Around seven. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

  Stress stains Kason’s face as he stares at the floor, and I’m conflicted over what I should do. It’s clear he’s in need of affection, but I’m not sure I’m the one to be giving it to him.

  “Is your mom okay?”

  He nods, but his hands are clenched so tightly over the edge of the couch cushion his knuckles are white.

  “What happened?”

  “She’s just a little sick,” he tells me, but I don’t believe him.

  “Kason . . .” When he turns his head to me, I add, “I know we’re not together, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t still care about you. I care about your mom, too. But I know what I saw, and it scared me. I want to know what’s wrong with her.”

  He lets go of a tense breath before saying, “She has liver disease. She’s been sick for a long time, and now it’s failing her.” He chokes on the last two words and then clenches his jaw to keep his emotions at bay, but his pain is evident.

  “What does that mean?”

  “They said they are going to start her on several medications that will give her relief from some of the symptoms so that she won’t feel so sick. But they can’t fix her liver.”

  “So . . . I guess I don’t understand what . . . I mean . . .” My words fumble because there’s no easy way to ask what it is I’m trying to.

  Kason doesn’t let me falter when he answers my unspoken question. “It means that . . . eventually . . .”

  There’s no debating myself when I slip my arms around him. His head falls to my shoulder as every muscle in his arms flex hard as he tries to hold himself together. With fistfuls of my shirt gripped in his hands, he doesn’t need to say another word. I hold him with as much strength as I can, but I find myself cracking too when I think about how hard this must be for him. Kason has no other family aside from his mother, and I can’t stomach the thought of him one day being all alone in this world.

  A couple of tears slip down my face and seep into his shirt as we both cling to each other. But in our case, instead of our touches soothing, they only serve as reminders that loss comes in many forms—not just death. It’s heartbreaking as we try to seek comfort from each other, and even though I feel it failing, it doesn’t stop us from trying. So that’s what we do. We hold on to each other with the hope that the sadness will diminish as the minutes tick by, because what other choice do we have?

  Eventually, energy drains, and we naturally fall away from each other as our bodies slack in exhaustion from the day’s intensity.

  “Come on,” he eventually says as he pushes off the couch. “I’ll take you back to your car.”

  Words abandon us on the drive to his apartment. It’s uncomfortable being in his car again after all this time. His scent surrounds me, taking me back to when we were so happy. And now, we’re lonely and broken. But my brokenness is insignificant compared to Kason’s. My heart aches for what he must be going through, and I feel guilty that I’m here, adding to whatever sense of loss he must be feeling.

  He parks next to my car, and when I follow him up the stairs to find his door unlocked, I apologize. “Everything happened so fast.”

  “It’s okay.”

  This time, when I step inside, flashes from this afternoon come rushing back. I can see his mother lying on the kitchen floor.

  “Adaline?”

  Kason steps up behind me as I look down to where she collapsed. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared.”

  “I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been here.” He pauses with a questioning expression. “What were you doing here anyway?”

  “I’d left a couple things in your room that I wanted to get.”

  Defeated, he heads to his bedroom with me trailing behind. I stop at the door. I’m too overcome by the memories this room holds. He goes straight to his dresser where he has my sweatshirt folded next to a couple pairs of my earrings. He doesn’t pick them up, though, rather he braces his hands next to them and hangs his head, and I’ve never felt so confused.

  I want to run to him, scream at him, kiss him, slap him.

  More than anything, I simply want to go back to when we were good.

  I look at his bed, and I can still remember how it felt to be wrapped up in his sheets with my head on his shoulder while he talked so sweetly to me.

  “I miss you,” he says before facing me, and suddenly, I’m reminded why we’re no longer together.

  My heart can’t take the weight of all this, and I walk away.

  “Adaline, wait.”

  “You hurt me!” I snap when I turn around to see him following me.

  He stops in his tracks, his chest rising and falling with disappointment in his stance. “I never wanted to.”

  “But you did.” Tears well up, turning him into an iridescent obscurity. I blink. Tears fall. And he comes back into clarity. “I trusted you.”

  “I know you did. I know I fucked up, and I’m so sorry. God, Adaline, I am so sorry.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  He opens his mouth but fails to speak.

  “Just say it. Put me out of my misery and tell me what I did wrong. Because all I can do is go back and forth, picking apart everything I ever did, trying to make sense of it all,” I tell him, my voice trembling with tears on my tongue. “I don’t get it. If the only reason you cheated was for the sex, it doesn’t make sense, because I was ready to give you that. I was ready to give you everything. But for some reason, it wasn’t enough for you.”

  “It was,” he responds fervently as he steps toward me.

  “Then why? Tell me. Help me understand what I did.”

  “You did nothing. I swear to you.” With his brows cinched, his face pains, and his voice cracks. “It’s me.” He turns away, pressing his palms against his eyes, and paces a few times back and forth before muttering, “It’s all me.” He drops to the couch, head in hands. “I’m so lost.”

  And he looks like it, too. Like a lost child, desperate for someone to save him, but from what? What is he not telling me?

  Warily, I go and sit next to him, and when he lifts his head, tears flood his eyes. My ribs crumble, exposing my heart to the wild elements, no longer protected.

  I touch him, hand on knee, and he grabs it quickly. His fingers tense around me. Whatever it is that’s causing him this much anxiety, I wish he’d tell me.

  “Kason, please,” I beg. “Just talk to me.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Why is this so hard for you?”

  “Because . . .” A tear rips down his face. “There’s something a
bout me . . . and it’s embarrassing . . . and I’m scared to tell you. And as much as I want to keep hiding this from you, you deserve the truth.”

  What could he possibly be hiding that he’s this terrified to tell me?

  “Kason.” I wrap my other hand around his that’s still holding on to me. “It’s only you and me here. No one else,” I assure. “You can tell me anything.”

  “Can I?”

  “Like I told you before. Even after you did what you did, I still care about you. Whatever it is you’re scared to tell me, don’t be.”

  With uncertainty, he wavers, but I don’t push him as my stomach flips around in worry.

  After a long pause, he squeezes my hand a little tighter and finally speaks. “I cheated on you because I thought it would fix me. I never did it to hurt you. I did it because I thought—God this sounds so fucked up—but I thought it would help me not to hurt you.”

  His pain-ridden eyes meet mine, and my head shakes in confusion.

  “What does that even mean?”

  There’s no question how badly he’s struggling, but I’m scared to say anything for fear he’ll shut down, so I wait until he eventually says, “I’ve been dealing with these . . . compulsions.” He stops for a moment, his brows furrowing in discomfort as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I never really thought much of it because I’ve always felt them. I can’t think back to a time when they didn’t exist for me. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that it started getting worse.”

  “What started getting worse?”

  His head drops, and he won’t even look at me when he mutters, “My need to umm . . .” He hesitates. “My need to get myself off.”

  His words catch me off guard, but I see how uncomfortable he is right now, so I keep my bearings when I ask, “What do you mean when you say that you’ve always dealt with this?”

  He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and then sits up with an unparalleled amount of shame in his eyes, which still refuse to turn my way.

  “God, I don’t know how to talk about this.”

  “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me,” I say to try to reassure him. Whatever this is, it’s eating him up on the inside, and I want to help him. “Will you look at me?” It takes him a moment, but he does. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me and nothing that you can’t trust me with, okay?”