WAKE (Wattpad edition)

6. Get away with murder.

 {Jon}

Jon stayed buried in his blankets until the sun beating against his pulled curtains made his bedroom hot and stuffy. There weren't many days left when he'd be able to sleep in like this. He heard someone making food in the kitchen and rolled out of bed, stretching gingerly. His ribcage still ached, and he was afraid a sudden movement would somehow snap the fragile seam of new bone cells that held the edges together under his skin.

He rummaged in the bottom of his closet for his school bag, where he kept a certain pencil case zipped securely shut. The case felt flat and empty under his fingers as he zipped it open to double check. He'd taken the last of his pills at Kurtis' place the day before. He ran a finger along the seam of the case, licking the leftover powder off it like sugar, and thought about taking his bike up the ten blocks to his buddy's place and getting a couple more for the week. The supply of cash he'd had since he pawned Cary's box of stuff had dwindled, and he thought he might want the last $50 to go to a concert with Kurtis. Or something.

He didn't need the pills anymore anyway—it was probably a good time to quit. Jon zipped the pencil case shut and dropped it back in his bag. He straightened, looking blankly around his room. The last days of summer seemed pretty lame and ordinary without a trip on painkillers to look forward to.

Cary was at the table, shovelling steaming noodles into his mouth. He'd gotten a haircut—there was a white strip of skin at his hairline glowing against his sunburned neck. A bubble of anger soured Jon's mood at the reminder: Cary had been out working all summer, making loads of cash while Jon had been stuck inside hurting too badly to even play video games.

"Why aren't you at work?" Jon asked, getting a bowl down from the cupboard.

Cary slurped up the last noodle, darting a sideways look at him. "Had a meeting with the lawyer. And your dad."

Jon dumped noodles and broth into his bowl and pulled up a chair across from him. Cary's wrist was wrapped in gauze, and his knuckles were clotted black and red. Jon made a face. "Who'd you punch—the lawyer or my dad?"

Cary set his spoon in his bowl, sliding his hands under the table. "No one. Took out a bus shelter."

Jon laughed sharply. "Are you serious? Was my dad there?"

Cary was silent, his flaming face answer enough.

"Geez, he lets you get away with murder," Jon said. "If I pulled the shit you do, I'd be grounded for a month."

Cary got to his feet, dumping his dishes in the sink with a clatter. "Guess I'm grounded today. And paying the fine."

Jon made a scoffing noise, digging into his noodles. "You're lucky he skipped the lecture about how he expects better of you and he raised you to be different, blah, blah, blah." He mimed trying to scoop his eyeball out of its socket with a spoon.

Cary folded his arms over his chest, his face still and flat. He was silent a second, considering Jon. "You always this cranky in the morning?" he asked dryly.

"It's not morning, genius," Jon snapped.

Cary's eyebrows lowered, and the weight of his look made Jon shift uncomfortably in his chair. "You're the one who's cranky," Jon said. "Fucking get your own kitchen to brood in."

Cary ducked his head and left, but the feeling of ants crawling over Jon's skin didn't leave. Jon slurped his noodles down, wondering why the hell Cary was such a grouch.

{Cary}

Cary was in his room lacing up his running shoes and buzzing with low-grade anxiety when the doorbell rang. He got up to answer it, and found himself looking down at Kadee Yoshenko twisting the end of her braid in her fingers. She took a short breath like she was nervous and flashed him a smile. "Hey—is Jon here?"