Chapter 8

JUDE

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When I got to my house, it was like I hadn’t drank water at all. I was heaving and panting again, my skin drenched in sweat. At this rate, I’m gonna develop asthma.

The lights were completely off. I couldn’t hear any noise emanating from the house. I guess Rick and the others must have gotten bored and slept.

A sigh of relief I hadn’t known I was holding escaped me. At least I couldn’t run into Oliver. He was most definitely sleeping in the guestroom which was downstairs. My room was upstairs.

I padded my way up the stairs, which were the first thing you would see if you entered my house. I didn’t want to think about what happened at Cassie’s place. She must be pretty mad at me.

Dammit Judah. Why did you have to go through with that game?

Why did you join their sleepover?

I shuffled past my mom’s unoccupied room, which made sense. She still hadn’t returned from her trip to Aunt Jessie who lived across the country.

It was partly the reason Rick was able to host this sleepover. You would think I’d like my mom to be far away so I could be free but infact I hated it. Everytime she was away, I would be forced to move past her room(which was before mine) and then I’d get reminded of him.

Every. Single. Time.

It didn’t help that his birthday was nearing.

I hated it.

As I reached for my bedroom door, a voice stopped my train of thought.

A hushed whisper. The tiniest drawl of voice. If it wasn’t in the dead of the night, I wouldn’t have heard it.

My gaze landed on the bathroom at the end of the hall. I crept closer to it.

“I don’t get it,” The voice said, clearer this time. A chill ran down my back. It was Oliver.

The bathroom door was ajar and he hadn’t switched on the light.

Shit. Couldn’t he have used the bathroom downstairs? For the guests??

And who was he talking to?

I was about to assume I hadn’t heard him and go into my room but curiosity beckoned and like the dumb cat I followed it.

It wouldn’t hurt to eavesdrop a bit, would it?

I reached the edge of the bathroom door, careful to position myself behind it.

In the dim moonlight streaming from the bathroom window, I could see Oliver’s figure on its knees. His back was facing me. He seemed to be holding something soft and fluffy.

Was he talking to a stuffed animal?

I struggled to stifle a laugh. He was such a loser. Who still owns a stuffed animal?

“I hate him,” He was saying, “I hate him so much.”

I froze. Was he talking about me?

“Why does he have to keep bothering me? First in school and now…” His voice became muffled.

All the humor left my body. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff.

“I don’t want to feel this way. It was a stupid dare. I should get a hold of myself. He’s nothing. He’s made me cry so many times, made me feel like…like a piece of shit.”

His voice had taken an edge now. “I’m scared, Lumpy. I dont like how he made me feel. This feels even different from Lionel. Why did I take that dare? Why did I want to prove him wrong? I hate the fact I’m feeling this way. Ugh.”

He continued but I wasn’t paying attention. His voice faded into the background of my thoughts.

He hates why he’s feeling this way. What did he mean by that?

And I’d made him cry countless times? He must be exaggerating. I only made fun of him lightly. This dude was such a wimp. I called him a pussy in school, mocked his walking style and compared his voice to a slightly deeper version of a female opera singer. And scoffed at his looks cause his almond eyes reminded me a lot of Ariana Grande.(If Ariana was brown-skinned.)

He doesn’t know how to handle a joke. He’s so sensitive-

Like you were when he died, a part of me whispered.

My heart jumped. I could see myself in Oliver’s place right now, grieving over his death, Rick comforting me but I am dismissing his attempts at consolation.

It’s only death, a voice echoed in my head, nothing serious. You’re so sensitive.

“Why did it have to be you, Judah?” Oliver sniffled. “I wish I had never met you.”

My stomach lurched. I stumbled back, almost tripping over something behind me. I sped into my room and slammed the door, telling myself I would never open it, never allow myself to leave.

And even though I couldn’t hear Oliver, his voice echoed in my head as I relived the memory of his death, calling me sensitive over and over.