PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack woke abruptly, his head pounding. A
glance at the clock told him that it was just past one AM. He sat up, cradling his
aching head.
The headache had eased temporarily, but now
it was back, as bad as ever. With the headache came the all-too-familiar
nausea, and he threw back the covers and got out of bed, making it to the
bathroom just in time to throw up everything he’d eaten earlier.
When his stomach had finally calmed down,
Jack leaned his head against the cool porcelain toilet bowl, trying to stop
shaking.
He had actually felt better for a short time
that day, but now the headache was worse than ever. Jack got slowly to his
feet, still holding his head, wishing that the pain would stop. It wouldn’t do
any good to take a painkiller, he’d already learned, and chances were he
wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.
He bent over the sink to rinse out his mouth,
suddenly remembering how, when he had been sick as child, his mother had always
come to comfort him, putting her cool hand on his forehead and tucking him into
bed, watching over him until he felt better.
He hadn’t thought much about his parents in a
long time, but now, with life overwhelming him, he remembered how simple and
pleasant life had been when he was a child, before the fire, before the foster
homes and juvenile hall, before the years spent wandering. Before the
earthquake that seemed to have destroyed his life.
Jack leaned against the wall, realizing, for
the first time in a long time, how much he still missed them. Every unpleasant
event of his life seemed to be converging on his mind tonight.
He turned to leave, catching a glimpse of
himself in the mirror as he did so. His face was pale, except for his eyes,
which were red and swollen. He hadn’t even realized that he was crying.
Jack wiped at his eyes, trying to calm down
before he left the bathroom, then shrugged. What did it matter? No one was
going to see him anyway. Everyone else was asleep.
He made his way back to his room and quietly
closed the door behind him. He glanced at his bed, but didn’t lay down. He
didn’t want to lay there for hours, trying to sleep, when sleep was impossible.
Instead, he sat down on the floor in the
space between his desk and his bookcase, then wrapped his arms around his legs
and rocked slowly back and forth, burying his face in his knees. He couldn’t
seem to stop crying.
What was wrong with him? He’d never been this
emotional before. The last time he had cried this way had been after his
parents’ funerals, but before the social worker had come and sent him to a
foster home.
He didn’t know what was wrong. Despite what
he kept telling the others, he was well aware that there was something very
wrong with him, but he had too much pride to admit it. But he knew that they’d
noticed, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what was going on.
Jack rubbed at his temples, trying to ease
the pounding headache. It was worse than it had ever been before, and he
wondered if his dread of what would happen tomorrow had anything to do with it.
But he couldn’t back out now. Things had gone on as they were long enough. He
couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and was getting worse all the time. He was unable
to concentrate upon anything for more than a few minutes, if that. He made life
hell for those around him. He knew that Rose was worried about him, but she
didn’t need to be. Neither did the others. After tomorrow, he wouldn’t be
there. He could only hope that they would understand.
Jack glanced at the clock. It was nearly two
AM now, and he thought that he might be tired enough to sleep. He started to
rise, but stopped, suddenly exhausted, and glancing at the clock, he was
surprised to see that ten minutes had passed. Had he fallen asleep on the
floor?
He crawled into bed, still confused at the
missing ten minutes. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but then, one often
didn’t. He was truly exhausted this time, though, and it was with a sense of
relief that he felt himself dozing off as soon as he put his head down.