Before You Break

My thoughts were all over the place tonight.

I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Qui

And that girl who’d showed up. Was she an ex? Did he still want her? The powerful way he’d stared me down and then looked at her—pain mapped all over his face.

And then the way he’d held her in the parking lot. I couldn’t turn away from that window. It was all tender and intimate, and it tied my stomach up in knots. But then he’d pushed her away and sped off, leaving her standing all alone.

Joel had done a fair amount of groveling after that night I spent in the bathroom with Qui

Joel wasn’t a jealous kind of guy, and at first, I liked that about him. But after what Qui

I imagined it felt amazing to have someone want you so much that they staked claim on you. Like Be

I’d wondered on more than one occasion if Qui

He was so intense in the hallway at Zach’s. It had been like he was crawling beneath my skin, trying to get inside me. Unless I’d been imagining it and my crush was purely one-sided. I mean, the guy watched me dry heave, for fuck’s safe. How sexy could that have been?

I wasn’t sure why I kept thinking about that gorgeous boy. It was stupid and dangerous. Besides, he was never with any girls—at least not recently—and even if he was, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t choose someone like me. I was probably too tame, too straitlaced for him. I liked things orderly, tidy, with few surprises.

What I saw in Qui

All of these fantasies about Qui

And here I was six months later, not even sure where I stood. I knew he enjoyed our sex life, because he’d told me it was some of the best he’d ever had. He denied up and down that he was screwing around with other girls when I’d asked him, but there was something in his eyes that said different.

I thought about telling him that we should date other people to see if he would take the bait, but ultimately, I decided I didn’t want to play head games with him. Besides, if I was fantasizing about this other guy, did I really feel that deeply for Joel in the first place?

My phone line lit up and snapped me straight back to reality.

“Suicide prevention, this is Gabriella.”

“Hi, um . . . Gabby?” The low drawl of his tortured voice made my heart practically crash straight out of my chest.

It was him, the guy I’d been wondering about. The one who I’d hoped was still alive. “Daniel?”

I heard him let out a gasp. “You remembered my name?”

“Well, not too many people call me Gabby,” I said. I needed to continue talking to keep him on the phone this time. “I’m glad to hear your voice. Last time you called . . .”

“Yeah, I hung up, sorry about that,” he said. His words were a bit slurred, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink. “I just wasn’t ready to talk. And I’m still not sure if I am. But tonight I had . . .”

“Had what, Daniel?”

When he didn’t respond I tried filling in the words for him. “Suicidal thoughts?”

“Yeah, sorta,” he said. “I just figured . . . things would be so much easier if I weren’t around.”

I’d heard this same sentiment from many of my callers. They just wanted to know someone cared. Needed them. Would listen. “Easier for whom?”

“For the people I hurt. And for me,” he said. “But I’m also not sure what’s waiting for me. On the other side. Probably some form of hell. And I’m a chicken shit.”

My heart clenched for him. He thought he was worthless. Bad. Would go straight to hell. What had this guy done?

“Why do you think you’d go to hell? Everyone makes mistakes. We hurt people when we don’t mean to. Or sometimes, we even do.” I’d had to convince my parents of this fact, because suicide was a sin so ingrained in their religion. A religion I couldn’t stand behind any longer. Not when my brother would be condemned for taking his own life after having longstanding mental health issues. “It’s a part of being human, Daniel.”

“Not this kind of mistake. I don’t think I can ever be forgiven.” And then more quietly, he said, “Or even forgive myself.”

“I’m here to listen, Daniel. And I’m not going to judge you.” My fingers gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I was desperate to hear his story. For him. And for me, too. So I could help him heal. Or direct him to someone who could. “You can pour it all out and never worry about ru

“Shit.” His voice came out gurgled, like he was on the verge of tears. And then with one big huff, the floodgates opened, and he let them flow. He was sobbing and panting, so I kept silent, my heart lodged in my throat.

“It’s okay,” I whispered after several long minutes. “It’s good to get those emotions out.”

When his breathing finally slowed and he pulled himself together, he said, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” I said, my words clogged with emotion. “I’d like to hear your story, Daniel. We all have one, you know.”

I heard him shifting and wondered where exactly he was. I figured inside somewhere because I hadn’t heard any car horns or other people in the background. I pictured him in his room, much like Christopher had been that fateful night. “If I tell you, you might not think I’m such a nice person after all.”

“What could you possibly have done to make you think that?”

“My best friend,” he choked on the word. “I betrayed him and then . . . I killed him.”

What the hell? Killed him? I was out of my league here.

Am I talking to a murderer? No, I couldn’t believe that. This was Daniel. The person who somehow evoked memories of Christopher. My sweet brother whose life ended too early.

He was calling the hotline because he was hurting. Desperate. In agony.

“Killed him how?” I tried to make my voice sound level. I gripped my pen cap and it left an indentation in my palm. “Was it an accident?”

“That’s what people think, yes,” he muttered. “But I should’ve been more careful, been paying better attention.”

My hand went to my eyes, rubbing them to keep my emotions at bay. I needed to stay strong. For him. “Oh, Daniel.”