“Everything okay with you and Toby?” I called.
Cassie poked her head out of her room. “Hey, Luke?” Her voice was clipped. “Can I have a moment to myself? Without someone needing something from me?”
“I don’t need anything,” I said. “I just thought you might want to talk.”
“Oh, all of a sudden you’re Mr. Sensitive? Give me a break.” She laughed, mirthless.
I felt a puffy, sticky version of regret. The words kept coming. “I didn’t like how I was acting, either.”
She stepped out of her room fully. The late-afternoon light caught the tips of her hair, her gold-brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Well,” she finally spoke, quiet. “You might as well know. Toby asked me to move in with him.”
“What did you say?” The words still felt distant coming out of my mouth, like someone else was saying them. Cloud head assured me they were the right thing to say.
She looked at me, her eyes red around the edges from crying. She was so pretty. “I said hell no.”
“You didn’t have to do that on my account.”
“This is my home.”
“I know.”
She went back into her room, beginning to play scales. Her home.
God, what if Johnno broke in? What if he hurt her? Regular head crept back. You couldn’t do anything if he did. You’re useless.
“Cassie!” I called. My words were slurring. I didn’t care. “C’mere. Please. Just for a second, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Cloud head began to yank my thoughts in reverse. I wheeled toward her room. I stopped.
What if I had never met her? What if I had never overheard her proposing to Frankie? What if I had never met Frankie? And if I had never met Frankie, Frankie would have roomed with someone else who could have been in the jeep with him at the Pakistan border, maybe someone who might have told everyone to stay in the jeep, and as a result, Frankie and Rooster would still be alive.
What if I had never joined the army?
What if I had never left cloud head?
What if I had never found cloud head in the first place?
What if I never needed it?
What was before cloud head?
Before, when I taught myself to change my brother’s diapers and asked why the sky was blue and whether ghosts were real. When I called V100 and requested “Spirit in the Sky” for my dad. When I had a mother. When I knew how to want, and how to love. When I knew how to actually do things for people, rather than hate myself for not doing them.
Cassie finally came out, running her hands through her hair. It was down to her shoulders now. We’d known each other long enough to watch the other’s hair grow.
She sat down, the heat and weight of her warming, making me feel less alone.
“I want to be better,” I said, trying not to slur. “I want to help out around here.”
She kept her eyes ahead, and took a deep breath. She put a hand on my back. I tried to sit up straighter. My vision was crossing.
Though she was sitting next to me, I heard her voice from far away. “You have to get your shit together.”
I could. I could be a real friend to Cassie. I could protect her house. I could get rid of Johnno. I could protect my brother and his family. But I couldn’t get up. All I could do was think, remember.
Come on, cloud head. Get up. You can do it. Cloud heads can do things, too. Come on, cloud head. I was sick of myself. I was sick of cloud head, I was sick of regular head, I was sick that I had even invented them. Because that’s all they were. Thoughts.
One, two, three.
Get up.
Cassie
The next morning, when I walked into the living room, Luke was standing.
His hair was plastered with sweat, his sweatpants were falling off his ass, but he was up, using the back of the couch for support, shuffling back and forth, muttering to himself like Macbeth’s wife.
I didn’t say anything at first.
That’s how Luke and I preferred it, right? We didn’t acknowledge each other. At least that’s how he’d preferred it until last night.
It wasn’t like I was doing any of this out of the pure goodness of my heart. I was still under his health insurance, I would still get half of his severance, so it was best we kept it to practical exchanges. Me handing him damp, soapy towels through the bathroom door so he could clean himself. Him averting his gaze while I got out of the shower. It was all part of the job.
But sometimes his pain was so clear I could feel it in my own bones. At least once a day I felt it, felt him hurting so hard that it extended across the room. When he’d reach to adjust his pillow. When he’d bend to pick something up off the floor. When he was still waking up from a nightmare with a choked scream.