Broken Compass

by Jo Raven

  No way.

  So it makes no sense that I find myself waiting for Kash to come back home anyway, my palms clammy and a headache beating at the back of my eyes. I’ve managed to avoid him for so long, and now I’m cursing because he’s late. It’s midnight, and I’m tired, but also too wired to sit in one place.

  I’m pacing the living room like a caged animal when he finally arrives. The lock clicks, and he steps inside, blond hair falling in his face, hiding his eyes, the silver hoop in his nose glinting over his full lips.

  Hurriedly I drop my gaze to his holey cargo pants and gray Converse, unsettling warmth seeping down my spine. I’m not supposed to be checking out my roommate, much less a guy. I have noticed guys before, I’m not denying it. They just don’t do it for me like chicks do, that’s all.

  Kash, though… He’s exotic, with his pale gray eyes and sharp cheekbones, the piercings and tattoos.

  Plus, he’s my savior.

  But he stumbles inside barely noticing me, tosses his keys to the bowl, and misses. “Fucking shit.”

  I grab the keys for him, put them in the bowl and shove my hands into my pockets. “Hey.”

  He nods absently. “Where’s Syd?”

  “She’s asleep. I checked.”

  “Okay.” He stares at me, eyes heavy-lidded. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, about to lose my nerve and trying to think of a way to broach the topic.

  But he lifts a hand and shoves his long blond fringe back, revealing the silver hoops piercing his lobe and the shell of his ear. He tucks the strands behind it, but some slip out instantly, falling back on his forehead.

  Like silk, I think. Silver threads of silk.

  “Kay, look, mudak, I’m just not used to a welcome committee.” He stares at me. “Did you want something?”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, and that word he sometimes uses, that Russian word, almost makes me smile. It happens when he’s tired, or excited. Makes me wonder about his past. And I feel bad, because he’s done so much for us. For me. And in return I’ve mostly ignored him, tried to hate him for getting Syd’s attention.

  Guilt is such a bitch.

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, voice cracking slightly. “I’m just tired. I’m going to bed.” He takes two steps before I find words to reply, and stops, swaying alarmingly. “Fuck.”

  I’m at his side, grabbing his arm instantly. “What is it? Are you sick?”

  He looks awful. Dazed, face pale, spots of red on his cheeks. “Dunno. I don’t feel so hot.”

  “Shit. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Even more alarming is the fact he lets me sling his arm over my shoulders and help him to his room.

  Or maybe not. When did I ever take care of Kash? Maybe he’s not as averse to contact and touching and accepting help as I am. He’s normal. I’m the one who’s out of whack.

  He’s burning hot where he’s pressed to my side, and his breathing is quick and shallow. I’ve never seen him sick before, never seen him anything but strong and in control. It’s disconcerting and a little scary.

  Also strangely charming, as he sinks down on the bed and grunts softly when I pull off his shoes and socks, his eyes fluttering closed, a sigh escaping him. Huh. Would you look at that. Seems as though I enjoy taking care of Kash.

  Nah.

  But his eyes are wide as I help him get under the covers and sit down on the edge of his bed.

  “Are you okay?” he asks finally, and I start to laugh.

  Yeah, I’ve been an ass to everyone. No wonder Kash is looking at me like I’m a pod person. “Yeah.” I reach out, place my hand on his forehead to check his temperature. “You’re not, though. You’re burning up.”

  “I’ll survive. I’m good at that.”

  The edge in his voice catches at something in my chest, and I remember my dream from the other night, when Syd woke me up. Kash was there. He was… a boy. Something about a boarding school, and an uncle, and a broken halo.

  Kash produces a small sound from the back of his throat, and that’s when I realize my hand is still on his face, only it has drifted down to his jaw.

  I’m oddly reluctant to move away. I stroke the light stubble there, and it’s rougher than his hair, ticklish.

  Here’s the thing. He doesn’t move me the same way Syd does, doesn’t get me horny and hard in nanoseconds, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want to touch him more, and I’m done with lying.

  Seriously, it’s a miracle I can still get hard after everything. That I can feel something. Anything at all.

  His hand lifts and rests on top of mine. “Nate?” Quiet. Laced with curiosity. With interest. “What are you doing?”

  I shake my head, unsure myself. I trace his mouth with my thumb, and he says nothing. His lips are soft and warm, and I want to taste them, but I’m not sure what that means and where it would lead if Kash wasn’t sick.

  If I wasn’t sure I’d freak out the moment he as much as moves or touches me.

  In fact, why am I not freaking out yet? Is it because I’m the one initiating the contact, touching, taking control?

  This is nuts.

  “I should get you something to lower the fever,” I mutter, and start getting up, but Kash grabs my wrist, holds me still with startling strength.

  Holds me down.

  “Wait,” he whispers, and I can’t escape that gray gaze that’s burning with fever or something else I don’t wanna think about right now. “Wait.” He draws a slow breath. “You wanted to talk to me about something. Is it about West, or Syd? Or… your dad, or…?”

  “No. None of that.”

  “Then what was it?”

  I hesitate. Feels wrong to ask when he’s feeling unwell, but... “Syd said… she said you get panic attacks.”

  “The hell.” He doesn’t sound angry, only slightly out of breath, and tired. “Yeah. I do.”

  “What is it like? Is it… like your chest is crushed, and you can’t breathe? Like, you’re choking, and you think your heart will give out, and the fear.” I rub at my chest, my heartbeat accelerating at the memory. “That fucking crippling fear.”

  Goddamn. Can’t believe this word vomit. With any luck, with this fever, he won’t remember my question come tomorrow.

  “Yeah.” His eyes narrow. “Yeah. You get them too? Since when?”

  My hand curls into a fist against my chest. “Kash… How can you stop them?”

  “I dunno, man.” He rolls his head on the pillow, his eyes slitted. “I wish I did.”

  “But then… what do you do?”

  “Self-medication. I smoke a lot of weed. I write in a journal.” A shrug of broad shoulders. “It’s supposed to help.”

  A journal. I knew about the weed. I mean, I can smell just like the next guy. But… “So it doesn’t help?”

  “I… I’m not sure.”

  “Nothing helps.”

  “I didn’t say that.” His eyes close. “Being close to Sydney, to Weston… to you. It helps. It calms me down. I haven’t had that many attacks this past year. Nate…”

  “Sleep,” I whisper, itching to put my hand back on his face, on his chest, to feel him breathing. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kash

  The night rolls me through nightmares I know well—as well as some brand-new ones, where I’m buried under tons of snow, freezing my balls off.

  The snow nightmare loops around, returning again and again, even if I wake up from it from time to time to find someone bent over me, holding a wet cloth to my forehead, over my aching eyes.

  The snow rolls back over me. I’m so fucking cold. Dying. I’m dying. I scream and scream but can’t get enough breath in my lungs to make a sound. Can’t move, trapped, as I lie suffocating in my ice coffin.

  I call for my mom. For my sister. For my dad.

  Sadness wells inside me, colder than the ice, drowning me, dragging me deeper, and I thrash, st
ruggling to get free, even though I know it’s too late.

  “Kash, wake up. Come on, buddy.” Someone is shaking me pretty roughly, making my teeth rattle in my mouth. “Open your eyes.”

  Light penetrates the dark, and I gasp as I surface from the ice, struggling to sit up. A room. My room.

  Hands steady me when the world tilts sideways, push me back down on the pillows. “Whoa. Are you okay?”

  “Nyet,” I whisper. “Zhizn’ ebet meya. Chto vam nujno?”

  “What are you mumbling there? Can’t understand a single word you said.”

  Oh shit. Wrong language.

  “I said…” I wince as I roll on my side, the covers up to my neck, my head thumping in time to my heart “I said, life is fucking me over.” My gaze is clearing, and I finally get a good look at the guy sitting beside me. I do a—weak—double take. “West?”

  “That’s me.” He grins wolfishly at me.

  “What are you doing here?” He never visited once since we moved. I always thought it was because of the growing distance between him and Nate.

  “Visiting you.” He frowns. “You’ve been out of it for two days, and Nate and Syd work afternoons, so I volunteered to babysit.”

  “Very funny, Weston,” I grate, and close my eyes. Then I open them again. “What the fuck? Two days?”

  For the second time I try to sit up only to have West push me back down.

  “You can’t get up yet, dude. You’re still sick.”

  No shit. I’m fucking cold. My head’s killing me. I feel like there are spikes being driven through my eyes. Yeah, I’m sick.

  Last thing I need. “What day is it today?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Fuck… I need to call George. My boss. He must be shitting bricks. I’m gonna lose my job.”

  Or he’s already replaced me. He’s fond of me, but he needs someone who’s reliable and doesn’t vanish into thin air.

  “Kash? Breathe.” West bends over me, blue eyes studying me, pinning me like a moth. They’re so fucking blue, a darker star around the pupil, gray with green flecks around it. Pretty. “Look man, it’ll be fine. I’ll call work for you. They won’t fire you for being sick. No way.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Trust me on this. You rest and get well.” He’s braced one hand beside my pillow for support, and is still levelling that sky-blue gaze at me. “You gave us a bit of a scare.”

  “I did?” He smells good, I think, real good, and suddenly I’m aware of how close our faces are. His breath smells of coffee and mint, his T-shirt of soap and… bleach? “Uh, sorry?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He draws back a few inches and pulls my covers back up to my chest. His hand stays there, resting over my pounding heart. His mouth curls up at one corner.

  And it all reminds me of Nate—last night? Two nights ago? When was he in my room? Fuck, this sense of having skipped time is jarring.

  Nate, checking my forehead for a fever.

  Nate, leaning over me, his thumb brushing my mouth.

  Jesus Christ.

  “How come you’re here, mudak?” I swallow hard, my throat dry as a bone. “What about your sis and your granddad?”

  He looks away, straightening, his back stiffening. “They’ll have to survive without me for a few hours. Not that they notice when I’m there, unless they fucking need something from me.”

  Well, shit.

  “I called you, you know,” I say, my hands clenching on top of the covers, trying to distract myself from all the confusing thoughts and my body’s strange reactions to these two guys. “Many times. Why won’t you ever pick up?

  “Things… haven’t been that good at home.”

  “What happened?”

  He doesn’t reply. West’s home situation is so complicated I can’t get a good feel of it. His relationship with his sis and granddad is weird, to say the least. There’s something off there, something that goes deeper than a simple dysfunctional family’s problems, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  “I was worried… I thought maybe Nate’s dad would try something with you.” I force my hands to relax.

  “No. He hasn’t touched me, if that’s what you mean.”

  I nod. Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. “I was going to come over, see you, but I’ve been feeling off for days. Too tired to do anything but work and go home.”

  “It’s okay, Kash. No need to explain. You’ve done a lot.”

  “But not enough.” I swallow hard.

  “Yea, it’s enough. I swear, man, we can take care of ourselves. We’re all practically adults here, and you may be older, but not by all that much.”

  If only he knew…

  “You should eat,” he says. “Drink some water. You’ll feel better.”

  I groan at the thought of sitting up, let alone eating. “Can’t.”

  “Don’t be a baby.” He grins. “I cooked. And you’ll fucking love it.”

  Intrigued, I let him haul me up to go take a much-needed leak, then prop me up on pillows in a sitting position even as dizziness makes my head spin.

  “Where’s Syd?” I ask as he passes me a glass of water.

  “She’ll be back from work soon.”

  “And Nate?”

  West frowns and takes the glass from my shaky hand. “I don’t have a fucking clue what Nate is up to. He’s made it clear I’m cut off from his life.”

  “Oh come on.” Seriously, these guys may have this magnetic pull, but they’re also dumbasses. “You can pretend all the hell you want, but you care for Nate. And he cares for you. We all do.”

  “You’re feverish,” West says, heat under the calm of his voice. “But you don’t know how I feel about Nate.”

  “Fine. So how do you feel, then?”

  My bedroom door creaks as it swings wide and there’s Nate leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, one brow lifted. “Yeah, West, how do you feel about me?”

  They’ve moved out of my room, but I hear them perfectly, and it’s not going well.

  “Aw, did you miss me, West?” Nate is saying in an exaggerated sugary voice. “I’m home early, honey. Wanted to surprise you.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” West growls. “Stop acting like that.”

  “And act like you, all pissy and shit?”

  “What do you want, Nate? You’re the one who acts like an asshole, who doesn’t want to be around me anymore. So guess what: I’m not here for you. You can go to hell for all I care.”

  Ah shit. Not going well at all. My door is half-closed, but it’s not like they’re trying to keep their voices low or anything. Anger and sorrow and hurt bleed through every word.

  “Fuck you, West. You don’t walk away from this like that.”

  “Why, are you the only one allowed to walk away when shit gets tough? Let go of my arm.”

  “Don’t. West, wait.”

  “You don’t want me around. So I won’t stay.”

  Dammit, I have to calm them down. Throwing off the covers, I cautiously sit up, then have to brace my hands on the edge of the mattress, lightheadedness making my stomach roll.

  “All you had to do,” West says, “was to talk to me. To tell me what was bothering you, what I did wrong, how I hurt you. But you didn’t. You haven’t. What is it that’s preventing you from being my friend? That’s turning you into someone you’re not?”

  “This is who I am now,” Nate says quietly.

  “No, man. It’s not. I’ve known you for years. The Nate I know has a fucking heart and wouldn’t forget about me, wouldn’t ignore me for a year.”

  “You know how bad things were at home.” Still in that quiet, resigned voice.

  “Yeah, well, you know what? You’re not the only one with a fucked-up family. I’m going.”

  I lurch to my feet, even though my head is still spinning, and grab the doorframe before I pitch forward and faceplant. “Stop, you guys. Stop.”

  But West is already
leaving, and Nate’s face is a picture of despair, right before he turns it away from me and hides what he truly feels once more.

  George answers my calls after hours of trying and he sounds harried. “Who is it? What d’you want?”

  I explain the situation. I can’t even stand upright properly yet, but I hope to be back on my feet by tomorrow.

  “That’s fine, kid,” he says. “Glad you called. I was worried something happened to you. The number you gave me isn’t right. I kept ringing a deep-voiced lady called Jeanne who seemed to think I was making advances.”

  I snort. “Sorry.”

  Yeah, I’d given him a made-up number. I thought I’d be moving on soon enough, and didn’t want to be tracked.

  “Come back tomorrow,” George says. “This place’s a mess without you.”

  I rub a hand over my mouth, a smile escaping me, before I disconnect the call.

  West had been right.

  Damn, what a fucking mess this is, him and Nate fighting, not giving an inch. I can hardly drag them to another party and have them make up, can I? What’s wrong with them? Why can’t they realize what they stand to lose? They’re so alike, the both of them, too proud to talk it out.

  We’re all practically adults here, Weston had said. And he’s right. They need to fix this on their own this time, no matter how much I wanna grab their stupid heads and bang them together until they see reason.

  My head throbs steadily, a hammer of pain banging inside my skull, and although I managed some of West’s pasta after he left, I feel too exhausted to sit, so I lie down again in my sweat-soaked sheets.

  Let’s hope I’m well enough for work tomorrow. At least the two students I’ve been tutoring are now away on summer vacation with their families. I wonder if I’ll see Sydney more, and my heart jolts in my chest.

  God, I hope she comes home before I fall asleep. I want to see her. Need to hear her voice, and touch her skin. I dunno what’s this thing that’s come over me today. Maybe it’s this lost time that’s made me more aware of what I have, these people I care about. Of missed opportunities and second chances.

  But when a knock comes on my door some time later as I’m half-dozing on the bed, it’s not her.