The steaming mass of scrambled eggs sits in a puddle of its own juices and jiggles as it's placed before me. Beside the eggs an untoasted piece of white bread absorbs the excess liquids. To my right, Damien digs into his own food, forking the eggs onto the soggy slice of bread.
Damien's mom—her short, dyed blonde hair curling behind her ears—looks at me expectantly over reading glasses. I try for a wide, convincing smile. "I'm so hungry, Ms. McDougal, this is great. Thank you."
She returns the smile and sits down at the opposite end of the table. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her stout nose. Her attention returns to the magazine left open before her. "Absolutely no trouble at all, Will." She says, not looking up. "You're always welcome. It's nice to have you with us."
I mutter more thanks and force myself to pick up the fork despite the revolt in my stomach. Something strange has been going on with my appetite. Like I know I haven't eaten, but no matter what I still feel full. I decide to blame it on the cigarettes.
"I've already made the couch up for you," Maggie says, taking a break from glaring suspiciously at Damien to address me. With her dark hair and dark eyes, she looks like the female version of her nephew. "You need anything else, just ask." When I try to thank her again, she waves me off with a careless grin. "Please, you're the only one of Damien's friends I don't hate."
Damien rolls his eyes. His cheeks bulge with food.
Maggie narrows her gaze. "Catherine, I think your son is high again."
Damien's mom peers up from the magazine. Her eyes narrow. "Is that true, Damien?"
Damien sets down his food. "No, Jesus. It's a normal time for dinner, why can't I just be hungry?" His voice is a pitch higher than normal in his scramble to defend himself. "I've been at school all day, Will knows, he's been with me."
"It's true," I lie. "He hasn't touched the stuff." In reality, I was helping him with eye drops outside the front door twenty minutes ago, and giving my approval when the red shots streaking around the dark brown of his eyes finally subsided.
Maggie ignores me. "It's not very mature of you to bring your friend into this."
Damien shakes his head, but returns his focus back to the food. "Whatever."
"Well," Damien's mom says, already engrossed back into what she's reading. "If they're both denying it, not much I can do, is there?"
"And also, Will," Maggie's scrutiny turns on me, like she's lost a battle but not the war. "I noticed some cigarette butts around Damien's window ledge. As you know, my ex-husband was a smoker, and I would really appreciate it if you could avoid doing it around the house while you're here. You know, if you can't stop altogether."
"Oh yeah, no problem," I respond, taking a hard gulp of the eggs. "I was thinking about quitting, actually." It's a product of complete improvisation.
Damien shoots me a curious look. He raises a single eyebrow.
Maggie offers me a warm smile. "That's great, honey. You know, it really is a disease, people just don't think of it that way because it's everywhere."
I shrug and look down at my plate. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Never really thought of it."
She takes a sip of her tea. "Well, good for you. Nobody stays young forever, even though that's what everyone believes at your age. These things always come back to haunt you."
Beside me, Damien begins to finish his food, and, with horror, I realize I've barely eaten half of mine. I send him a pleading look. He stands up, urging me to do the same."If it's alright with you guys, Will and I have a lot of homework to catch up on so I think we'll just finish this in my room." Damien announces as he chews on his last bites of bread.
Maggie continues to eye us, and after a moment of hesitation, she shrugs. "Alright, just bring the plates back. I'm not cleaning them for you."
Her words bring me a disproportionate amount of relief, like I've been released from some contract.
Later, Damien's fork scrapes against the empty porcelain plate. He sighs and balances the plate on his stomach. "Fuck, I'm still hungry." He reclines across his bed with his feet folded before him.
I sit on the floor. The base of my skull rests against the cushioned edge of the mattress as my face tilts up to the ceiling. I'm trying to ignore the unforgiving turns of my stomach, which apparently isn't the mood to do its job.
"Do you think I'm a stoner?"
I tilt my head to look Damien in the eye, but nausea accompanies the movement. "Well, you smoke a lot of weed, man."
"No, I mean, like, a stoner stoner," he says, as if this clarifies anything. "Like, do you think people see me in the hallway and think I'm going to be the exact same after high school?"
My forehead furrows. "No, nobody thinks that."
Damien folds his arms behind his head as an added cushion. "It's just that grades actually matter this year, right? Mine are pretty shit."
"You think that's because of the weed?"
He shakes his head from side to side. "I don't know, maybe. I'm also a little stupid so I don't think that's helping matters."
"You're not stupid, Damien."
"Right, I'm emotionally intelligent. That's what all those career aptitude tests we had to do last year said."
I groan. "Those don't mean anything."
"Well, they're not wrong either. I don't have any ambition, I don't have a thing. You know? Like your sister with her photography." He rolls onto his side. His voice grows louder in my ear as he places the empty plate on the floor next to me. "I guess weed has been my thing. Fuck knows I can't do math or science. I can't even write an essay properly."
"You're good at other things." I say. "You know how to be a good friend."
"Try writing that on a résumé."
I shrug. "It translates over into other things. Getting people to like you is half the work, and that's never really been a problem for you."
"I don't know, man," he mumbles. "I'm realizing that you're my only actual friend, like everybody else just seems to be around when there's a party or they want to get high. That's all they think I'm good for. Fuck, that's all Maggie seems to think I'm good for, too."
"Well, she's like you— she cares a lot."
"I'm sorry about the whole lecture earlier."
"No, it's fine." I blink up at the ceiling. "My dad never says anything to me about it."
"Did you mean it? When you said you're quitting?"
"Yeah," I surprise myself. "I think I do."
"Maybe we could do it together."
"I'd like that." With the words, my stomach revolts, and I excuse myself.
The eggs make a reappearance and look no more appetizing than the first time. Afterwards, I splash cold water from the bathroom sink in my face. The world around me swims.
A deep ache that courses throughout my body. It's pain that has no purpose or origin— the response to a hurt that I can't stop or even see. School today required too much, and I know I'm pushing it. I've been here before, and every signal my body sends tells me that I'm approaching the edge of an invisible cliff.
I think about Ella. She has more faith in me than I've ever had in myself. I don't know how to get back to being the person she sees. How do you lose a shadow? For so long, I've made so many countless concessions in some desperate bargain for coexistence, for some breathing room inside my own head.
But this is different. This is being swallowed whole.
After collecting myself, I head back to Damien's room. Ignoring the floor, I scramble past him and lay down on the bed, sinking into the pillow. "Don't mind. I'm just going to close my eyes for a second."
Damien, oddly tense, lies back on the pillow beside mine. "Alright," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. There's a beat of silence, and I allow my eyes to close. They've been strained to the point of burning. "How was it with Ella?" His voice is a near whisper.
"It didn't feel great."
"At least you guys talked."
"I just don't want to disappoint anybody."
"You haven't."
"Thanks for letting me stay, man."
He grunts, finally relaxing. We fall into silence. Eventually my head finds his shoulder, and he allows it.