“Hey, I was just asking your mom if she needed help in the kitchen. I didn’t hear you walk in,” I say brightly, walking to meet him halfway.

He grabs my hand as I approach and squeezes affectionately, his head crooking to the side. “Is everything okay? Did I interrupt something?”

“No dear, no,” Mrs. Cindy interjects, effectively diverting his attention. She brushes a hand through his recently shaggy brown hair and smiles. “Celia and I were just saying how the two of you should have a night out tonight. The movies, maybe? Dinner?”

Lucas furrows his brow and shakes his head. “I’m not really feeling up to a crowd tonight,” he says, giving me an apologetic smile. “Maybe we could rent a movie? Order some pizza? How does that sound, Celia?”

I press my lips into a thin smile and nod. I’m not surprised he wants to stay home. That’s all he wants to do these days. “That sounds perfect. Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll choose a movie.”

Mrs. Cindy doesn’t miss my hygiene comment, made evident by a little twitch of her lips. It may be a low blow, but I won’t hide my observations from her anymore. If I want to help Lucas through whatever this is, his family needs to be on board with me. She needs to be aware of these things—the inconsistencies in the Lucas I’ve known all my life and the Lucas standing before me now.

“And I’ll order the pizza,” Mrs. Cindy says cheerfully. She walks to the kitchen island and fishes through a drawer, grabbing takeout menus and placing them on the counter. “You’ve been working so hard, Lucas, I’m glad to see you taking some time to relax.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Lucas drags me by the hand, and I stumble, following closely behind. I turn my head back to the kitchen just in time to meet Mrs. Cindy’s insistent eyes as she mouths, “Please.”

“Is that the same guy from the first scene? Lucas?”

I turn my head to see if he hears me, and I realize he’s not even focused on the movie at all. He’s laying behind me on the living room couch, staring into space, and he hasn’t said two words since the movie started. I shove my elbow into his chest and scowl.

“Hey, what did you do that for?” He has the nerve to rub his chest as if I’ve fatally wounded him.

“Are you even watching? Can you tell me one thing that’s happened in the movie?” I raise my eyebrows in question, and he crooks his head to the side and shrugs sheepishly. I swing my legs onto the floor and shoot up to standing just as his hand grasps mine.

“Wait, Celia, just wait. Isn’t it enough that I wanted to spend time with you? I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as we’re together.”

“No.” I jerk away from his clenched fist, but he refuses to release me.

“No?”

“No. Not anymore. I don’t want the shell of you here with me while your mind is a million miles away. Do you understand how much my life has changed in the past few weeks? Grams will be home in a few days. It’s such a blessing, but I’m scared … so freaking scared. I’m graduating in a couple of months. I’m thinking about colleges and how I’m going to juggle all these things while taking care of Grams.” I drop to my knees on the side of the sofa and firmly tug his chin to me. I plead with distracted and dilated eyes. His gaze shifts nervously, and I huff in frustration. “All these things are hanging over me like a heavy cloud, and I feel so utterly alone. Even right now, you’re looking straight through me. I’m right here, Lucas. Where are you?”

“I’m here,” he says as he tugs my wrists and tries to pull me up onto the sofa, but I resist. “I promise, I’m here for you.”

“No.” I shake my head forcefully and push away.

I put a few feet of distance between us and raise my hands. I need a moment, a breath, a lifetime maybe, to muster up the courage to ask the important questions—the questions that could flip our worlds upside down.

I read whatever I can find on the Internet, looking for answers to help me understand these changes in Lucas. When I began suspecting mental illness, I read tirelessly about first steps. How do I get help for him?

Since my first attempt at broaching the subject with Mrs. Cindy went over like a box of rocks, I’m trying a new tactic. I’m going straight to the source. Many of the websites say it’s surprising how many people will provide an honest answer if someone would just ask the question.

“Lucas, you know you can tell me anything, right?” I whisper. “I love you, you know? I always have, and I always will.”

“I know that,” he replies, eyes downcast.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I hope you’ll be honest with me.” The words I need to say are shards of glass sliding up my throat. I can’t swallow them back down, but I don’t want to spit them out. They’ll cut me either way. “Do you … do you sometimes hear v-voices when no one is around?”

For the first time tonight, I have his complete attention. He inhales a sharp breath and pulls up to sitting position, placing his elbows on his knees. He hides his eyes from me as he twirls his thumbs and shakes his knee. I reach out and place my hand on his leg, trying to calm the storm building inside him. The shaking stops, and his eyes meet mine, looking determined and afraid all at once.

“Yes,” he whispers faintly, but the word echoes louder than any other we’ve spoken before.

“You hear them?” I prompt, hoping he’ll help me understand.

“Th-they tell me things. They know so much, Celia,” he explains, his voice becoming more frantic.

Hot, prickly waves run through me, causing a tingling in my nose, a burning in my eyes, a clenching in my gut. Why do I feel blind-sided by his admission? If I’m completely honest with myself, I had suspicions—more than suspicions, really. I never would have confronted Mrs. Cindy or Lucas on just a hunch.

But words have power. They breathe life into the unthinkable. They eliminate denial. God, how I wish for denial. Moments ago, I begged for the truth, and now I’d give anything to crawl into a cocoon of warmth and lies.

The dread washing over me in waves must be playing loud and clear on my face, because Lucas begins backing away and pulling his hands from my grasp.

“I never should have told you. They told me you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” I say, moving closer, bridging the divide he’s trying to create. “We tell each other everything. Right?”

He nods, but I can sense his mistrust. I’m slowly losing him … or maybe he’s already gone.

“I love you so much, Lucas, and I always want you to tell me the truth. There are people who can help you—medicines to stop the voices.”

“No!” The piercing quality of his voice startles me. He pushes off the couch and begins to pace, eyes wild, hands grasping at his hair. “You can’t tell anyone, Celia. No one can ever know about this.”

“Please, calm down. It’s okay, just calm down. I want to help you—”

“By sending me away? Because that’s what they’ll do,” he says, charging back toward me, grasping me by the shoulders. “No one can know about this. You have to promise me, Celia.”

“No one’s going to send you away. Why would you think that?” I try to keep my voice even and soft, hoping my calm will soothe him.

“I don’t think it … I know it. Everyone will think I’m crazy, Celia. I’m not c-cr-crazy,” he stutters, as unshed tears glisten in his eyes.

I wrap my arms around his waist and drag him closer. Unable to watch him crumble, I bury my head in his chest like the coward I am.

“I know that. I would never think that,” I say, my words muffled by his shirt.

Time passes in timid silence, and Lucas’s breathing slows considerably, his heart stops pounding uncontrollably, but neither of us budges. I feel his breath lightly blowing the strands of my hair, tickling the rim of my ear.