Chapter 33 Grayce

“How’s Tate doing?” Alex asked as she slid a shot glass filled with tequila in my direction. I shrugged before picking up the cup to shoot it. The bitter liquid stung going down, but I didn’t bother to chase it with anything. The pain felt good.
“Haven’t heard from him,” I said. “He was discharged yesterday morning. I called a couple of times, but he never answered.”
“I hope he’s okay,” Alex said. I furrowed my brow and scoffed at her.
“Since when do you give a shit about Jaxon Tate?”
“I don’t, not really,” said Alex. “Especially not after what he said about you. But that guy was magnificent at making himself known wherever he was. I find it odd that he’s not out all over campus boasting about his boo-boo.”
“Fair enough.” I reached for Alex’s beer and took a sip. She was watching me, eyebrows raised, and it took everything I had in me not to hunker down and cower under her gaze. If anyone could set your nerves on edge with just a look, it was Alex.
“Something’s up with you,” she said finally. “I’ve never seen you so smitten to drink.”
“I’m good.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and signaled for another shot.
“Maybe you should check on him tonight,” Alex suggested. She poured me another drink, and I swallowed it. “He could probably use some company if he’s been staying holed up in that crummy apartment.”
“Why me? He’s got plenty of friends, doesn’t he? Besides, I figure if he wants to see me or talk to me, he’d answer his fucking phone.” Alex didn’t say anything else as she filled a beer mug for another customer. She cracked open a bottle for me, and I stared at it, cradling it between my hands without drinking it. Suddenly I was no longer in the mood to be there, surrounded by happy people and soon-to-be drunken buffoons.
“I’m going home,” I called, putting a twenty on the counter. Alex smiled at me, understanding, before being called away by another customer.
“Text me when you get home!” she yelled. I shrugged on my jacket before stepping out into the chilly Denver night. The rain had stopped, but it was still icy cold. I zipped up my coat before I started to head toward our apartment. It was a quiet night, and the streets were empty. When I got to the corner of Elm and Walnut street, I hesitated for a moment, and at the last second, I took a left instead of a right. Maybe Alex was right, and I should check on Jaxon. That’s what friends did, right? Good friends did that, even for shitty friends.
I arrived at his building in just a few minutes and rode the elevator up to his floor. I was too tired and a bit too tipsy to take the stairs. When I got to his door, my legs felt like cement, and my head was swimming. I wish I’d gone straight home instead because all I wanted to do now was fall asleep propped up against the wall out in the hallway.
“Jaxon?” I called and knocked lightly. “Are you home?”
When there was no answer after a minute, I took out my cell phone and dialed him up. It rang and rang, but no one answered, so I put it away and knocked harder. For all I knew, he could be at some party with his real friends, and here I was, standing like an idiot outside an empty apartment. I was about to turn around and leave when I heard the deadbolt slide, and the door opened just a little bit.
“Yo,” Jaxon said. He opened the door a little wider, and I caught a whiff of what could only be old laundry and stale food.
“Dude, I can smell you from here.”
“That’s not me, just the apartment,” Jaxon said, but I was pretty sure it was him. He dropped his hand from the door and turned, and walked away. I assumed that was the best invitation I’d get since he’d left the door hanging open, so I stepped inside, resisting the urge to cover my nose and mouth.
Jaxon’s apartment was dark as if he’d been sleeping, but he looked wide awake. I shut the door behind me and fumbled against the wall for a light switch. As soon as I found one to turn on, I saw that Jaxon had already sat back on the couch. He was staring at the TV, which was off, and his expression was blank.
“Um. What are you doing?” I asked. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, and I wondered if he’d heard me.
“Chilling,” he said finally. He didn’t look at me.
“Have you left the apartment since you got discharged yesterday?” I asked. This time, he didn’t answer at all. I crossed the floor, maneuvering my way around football gear strewn carelessly across the living room. I hesitated before taking a seat next to him on the couch. He didn’t look over. For a moment, we sat in silence, staring straight ahead. He was sitting so still that I had to look over once or twice to ensure he hadn’t fallen asleep.
“Jaxon,” I said finally. “Are you okay?”
Silence. I took a deep breath and looked away. The offensive smell was becoming less noticeable, but I still didn’t know how he’d managed to be there for so long with it smelling like a hooker’s locker room. The coffee table in front of us was covered entirely in junk, but as I let my eyes roam over the top of the table, I spotted an open bottle of prescription pills. I reached forward to look at the label: pain pills and the container was almost empty. I capped the bottle and set them back down.
“How many of those have you taken?” I asked. After what seemed like an eternity, Jaxon looked at me.
“Some,” he said. “They’re the only thing that helps.”
“Helps what?”
“The pain.”
“Your back?”
“All of the pain,” he said. Before I could ask him what he meant, he stood up and went to the kitchen for a beer. He grabbed two of them and came back to hand me one.
“Should you be drinking while you’re taking those?” I asked without opening mine. Again, he didn’t answer. I was so used to Jaxon never shutting up that his new demeanor of silence was rattling me. I didn’t open the beer but set it aside. Jaxon didn’t sit back down, just sipped at his drink while he stared at the blank TV again. The silence was deafening. I didn’t know what to say or do.
“Jaxon,” I said finally. I stood up to look him in the face. “Are you okay? I mean, are you really okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” he said. He forced a smile. It was fake, full of pain and anguish.
“Look,” I said. I took the bottle of beer from him. He didn’t object. “I know we’re not best friends . . . I mean, we’re barely friends. But I’m worried. What’s going on?”
Silence. Another silence so nerve-rattling that it took everything I had not to lean in and hug him, just to put him and myself at ease. Even though I was standing directly before him, he wasn’t looking at me. It was like I wasn’t even there. After another few minutes of nothing but quiet, his eyes finally focused on me, as if just noticing that I was standing there.
“Thanks for stopping by, Grayce,” he said. “I should probably get to bed.”
“Jaxon, I don’t think—” I started to argue, but he was already opening the front door for me. I stood there, debating whether it was a good idea to leave him alone. However, I realized after a moment that I didn’t have much choice. Jaxon would sooner physically push me out the front door than he would admit to being hurt, and while I didn’t think he would harm me, I wasn’t about to test him. He wasn’t Jaxon tonight; he was some shell of a man I didn’t recognize, and it terrified me.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I said and headed out the door. I turned around to face him as he closed the door behind me. “Call me tomorrow, yeah?” I asked hopefully. Jaxon nodded, but I wasn’t sure he’d heard what I’d said.
By the time I got home, I was too sober for my own good, and I found myself wallowing in Jaxon’s depression. The moon outside was full and glowing, casting beautiful, dancing shadows on my bedroom wall. I couldn’t sleep. I felt exhausted and drained, but even then, when I closed my eyes, I could see Jaxon’s pale face, the emotionless void in his eyes, and I couldn’t keep them closed for long. My cell phone was charging next to my head in case he decided to call or text, but there was nothing from him. I was worried. No, terrified. A part of me knew I shouldn’t have left him in that state, but he had given me no choice when he practically shut the door in my face. He was obviously upset, depressed even, about his injury, but what could I do? I couldn’t fix it; I couldn’t tell him everything would be okay and life would go on. Only he could try and understand that. No one could do it for him.