He blinks a few times and shakes his head. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
I shake my head and smile sweetly at him. “No. Pixel did, but then I heard you through your door. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t want to be woken up.”
He grabs my hand, clinging to it like Isael does sometimes. “Thank you,” he says.
I pat the space on the bed next to him and call out to Pix. “Here, girl.” She jumps on the bed with a clink of her name tags and curls up next to Adrian. I sit on the other side of him on the bed, resting my back on the headboard. “You wanna talk about it?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“Okay. How about I stay here quietly until you fall asleep?”
“You don’t have to do that, Lola,” Adrian says. “I’m not a little kid.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Adrian lays back down and wraps himself around Pixel, effectively spooning her. I smile. I bet he doesn’t have another nightmare tonight.
With his back to me, I decide if he doesn’t speak, I will.
“I had a fight with my parents the night they died,” I whisper into the quiet room.
Adrian stays in his spot, not turning around to look at me. “What about?”
“They had just told me I wouldn’t be able to go off to college after all. We fought; I screamed at them and ran out of the house. They thought I’d go to my boyfriend’s house, but when they called him later, and I wasn’t there, they worried.” I swallow the dry knot in my throat before I continue with a story I’ve never told before. “So, they went looking for me, driving around in the rain. The downpour was so heavy; visibility was terrible that night.”
“I’m sorry,” Adrian whispers.
“Yeah. Me too. I didn’t see it happen, but I often have nightmares where I can see it clear as day. There’s this guilt I can’t shake off, you know?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Adrian says.
“Wasn’t it? If we hadn’t fought . . . if I hadn’t run off . . . if so many things. But I think the bigger guilt I carry is that the last words I said to my parents were that I hated them for ruining my life.”
Adrian’s chest expands with a deep sigh.
“And I used to love the rain. Now it only brings on the nightmares. It’s one of my biggest triggers for that nightmare.”
“I don’t have triggers,” Adrian says. “They happen . . . all the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and we let silence fill the room for a long moment.
Then Adrian breaks the silence with an attempt to change the subject. “Do you love him?”
I feel like a shit for lying to him. He doesn’t know our relationship is fake. “I care about him.”
“Hmm,” Adrian says. “I guess I’m thankful you’re honest. But, do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Be careful with Karl.”
“What do you mean?”
“He acts like nothing bothers him, but don’t let that fool you into thinking he’s happy. He’s just as messed up as me and more fragile than he lets on.”
My brows furrow together. This doesn’t sound like Karl at all. “Are you sure you’re not projecting?” I ask Adrian, and he shakes his head.
“No. He has rejection issues. First his family of birth, and then anytime he was relocated in foster care, he felt like those families didn’t want him either. Then he gets to our band, and Bren, our parental figure in the band, rejects him. It’s hard on Karl because Bren was—is—his idol, so his rejection stings.”