More Than Him

by Jay McLean

  "You don't think he has issues? Or that he doesn't hurt? He walked in on some guy nearly raping you. You know that you blacked out? That he tried to wake you? He thought you were dead, Dim. He thought he lost you that night. And in a way, he kind of did."

  My eyes were wide. They'd begun to fill with tears. "Oh my God . . ." I breathed out. I'd been so selfish. So lost in my own feelings.

  She wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry that I told you."

  I lifted my head. "I needed to know."

  She nodded in agreement. "You did." She moved the hair away from my face and made sure I was looking at her. "Whatever you choose to do with Logan, I'm going to support you. But just remember Ethan in all of this, okay?"

  I swallowed, sniffing back the tears.

  Ethan called out for her, interrupting us. She got up quickly. "Are you going to be okay?" I couldn't speak. I lifted my head in a nod. She smiled sadly.

  "Babe," he yelled out again.

  "Coming!" She patted my head and then left.

  Logan

  I knocked on the door, ignoring the memories that came with this house. No one answered. I knocked again, and looked around. Her car was the only one in the driveway.

  After five minutes and four series of knocks, she finally answered the door. The chain lock stopped it from opening fully. "Hey," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

  "Can you open the door? I can't see you."

  She closed it, and a second later I heard her toying with the chain. When she opened the door, I was able to take in her state. She was in her pajamas, her eyes red, and her hair a mess. "Were you sleeping?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "What's up?" she asked quietly, avoiding eye contact.

  "Are you okay? You look like you've been crying."

  She looked over my shoulder. "I'm fine," she said. "What's going on? What do you want?" Her tone was flat; it caused me to take a step back.

  Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, but I wasn't expecting this. "I uh . . ." I rubbed my palm across my jaw, and then placed my hand in my pocket. It had started shaking again. "I thought that maybe you might wanna hang out, or something."

  She bit her lip, her eyes cast downwards. "I don't think so, Logan. Actually, I don't think it's right that you be here—or anywhere, really. I mean—I can't stop you from existing, but I don't think you and me—I don't think it's a good idea that you and I exist together."

  "Oh," is all I could say.

  "Take care," she said, before closing the door in my face.

  No thump.

  Just flatline.

  14

  Logan

  Four days.

  Four.

  That's how long it took for me to go insane without her. How I went a year? I have no idea.

  Amanda

  You know when you're a kid, and you play hide and seek, but you're too young to fully understand the concept of it? So you stand in the middle of a room and close your eyes and think that somehow, because you can't see anyone, it means they can't see you? Well, that's what I was doing now. Only I wasn't a kid, and no one was looking for me. Regardless, I sat in the middle of my bed with my eyes closed and my phone in my hands. Yes, I was hiding from my phone.

  Alan had texted me more than an hour ago saying he was looking forward to dinner tonight. I knew that it was our night, but a part of me had wished that maybe Logan had said something to him, and that he wouldn't expect me over there anymore.

  My phone sounded, pulling me from my thoughts.

  Alan.

  "Hi," I answered, hoping to sound enthusiastic.

  "So, I'm at the store, but they don't have red peppers, only green, is that okay?"

  My heart broke at the excitement in his voice. It'd become a thing—him shopping for the ingredients. After the fourth time I showed up with groceries in hand, he knew to expect me. He asked me to write out the ingredients for the Taco Casserole and made me promise I'd never buy them again. He said that it was bad enough that I was feeding him every other Sunday; I shouldn't have to be using my hard-earned money to do so.

  "Green's fine," I told him. I wanted to ask him if Logan was going to be there, or ask him why he didn't tell me that Logan was back, but all I could say was, "I'll be there soon."

  ***

  I let out a relieved sigh when I pulled into their house and no other cars were there apart from Alan's. I told myself on the drive over that I would just act as if nothing had changed. Logan wasn't here. He didn't exist. That was the way it'd always been with us, and that was the way it would stay. Yes, we discussed Logan, but never in the present tense. It was always about what he was like as a kid.

  "Maybe you should look at helping out kids like Logan," Alan once said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know you want to get into nursing, but I see your compassion, your heart, your need to understand why he is the way he is. Maybe you should do something with that."

  And that was all it took. Two days later, I'd decided to major in Child Psychology.

  He opened the door before I could knock. His enthusiasm to see me always made me smile. No one knew I came here; we'd even decided to not tell my mom. It might have seemed odd to some people, and I could understand why, but every other Sunday, in the walls of this house, he gave me a piece of my life I never admitted to missing. He also gave me a father when my own seemed to no longer exist.

  ***

  "I got you something," Alan said. He sat in his usual spot on the counter, drinking a beer while I made dinner. Just like the first time, only then, Logan was here.

  "You don't need to get me things. Don't you think it's bad enough that you guys paid for my tuition?"

  He raised his hand and got off the stool. "It didn't cost me anything. Besides, that was Logan's money, not mine. It was his choice what he did with it."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Did Logan ever tell you about my Tina?"

  I nodded.

  He pulled out a wooden box and put it on the counter. "She was my girlfriend, all through high school and college."

  I stopped chopping the peppers and wiped my hands on my dress, then leaned forward on the counter. Whatever he had to say, I wanted to give him all my attention.

  He smiled at my movements, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She actually reminds me a lot of you," he said. "Not physically, but more . . . in your hearts. You're both so . . ." He paused, and thought for a second. "Genuine. Your hearts are genuine."

  I didn't have the words; I stayed silent, in my own thoughts.

  He pushed the box towards me. "This was hers. I want you to have it."

  "I can't—"

  "Make an old man happy," he cut in.

  I took the box in my hands and flipped the lid open. Inside were dozens of bracelets, neon colored plastic ones, thick bangles, bright friendship bracelets, and a few chunky gold chain ones. I couldn't control my smile. "It's like the 80s threw up in here."

  He threw back his head in laughter. "She loved them. She always had a wrist full of bracelets, kind of like you." He pointed at mine. He knew I wore them to hide something, but he never asked, and I never offered. That's why we worked as well as we did.

  I took a few out of the box and put them on, shaking out my hands to get them comfortable. I had a good twenty on each arm. At first, I did it to hide what was there, and then it became habit to wear them. I was fully aware that they probably bought more attention to that area than if I didn't wear them at all. But like I said, habit.

  "Are you sure you don't want to keep them? I mean, the sentiment is so much more valuable to you than if I were to have them."

  He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "What am I going to do with it, Amanda? Give it to my daughter? You're pretty much it for me."

  My chest tightened at his words. Looking down at the box in front of me, I cleared the lump that'd formed in my throat. I wanted to tell him how much his statement touched me, and that it went both ways, that he had
become like a father to me. I wanted to tell him how much these Sunday dinners meant to me.

  I started to speak, but got cut off when the front door opened.

  His eyes were wide. So were mine. We stood still, frozen, waiting for something to happen.

  And then it did.

  His voice seemed astronomically loud, but maybe that was in my head. "Dad?"

  Alan's smile was instant, but disappeared just as fast when he looked at my face.

  "In the kitchen," Alan yelled back.

  My head dropped and my eyes cast downwards as I busied myself with prepping dinner.

  "What are you doing in the ki—" His word died. He must've seen me.

  I inhaled deeply and shut my eyes, slowly building the courage I needed. When I felt I was ready, I opened my eyes and raised my head.

  And he was there.

  Four days.

  It had only been four days since I saw him, and already his presence was making me weak.

  How the hell did I go a year?

  ***

  Logan

  She was standing in my kitchen.

  Why was she standing in my kitchen?

  I turned to Dad. He offered no answers.

  Why was he not saying anything?

  I looked at her. She just stared back. She had a knife in her hand. I took a step closer to see what she was doing; she took a step back.

  We paused.

  Dad sighed.

  "Shit," she said.

  "What?" I asked.

  Dad sighed again.

  "I gotta go." She placed the knife down on the counter.

  "What?" Dad huffed.

  "Huh?" I said to him.

  What the hell was happening?

  I instinctively took another step forward, and she took another step back. Her hands were up in a defensive stance.

  Dad laughed.

  Laughed.

  We both faced him.

  "What?" he asked, his body still shaking with laughter. He walked over to the fridge, pulled out a soda, and handed it to me. "Welcome home." He patted me on the shoulder. "Looks like you both got a lot of explaining to do."

  And then he left.

  Just like that.

  I turned back to Amanda. "Hey."

  She sucked in a breath. "Hey."

  I took in our surroundings. "You're cooking dinner?"

  She nodded so slowly I almost missed it.

  I stepped forward. She stepped back.

  "You do this a lot? Come here and cook dinner, I mean?"

  She nodded again, but her lips were pressed tight.

  "How often?" I stepped closer, and she stepped back, only this time her back hit the counter behind her.

  She didn't respond.

  "How often?" I asked again, taking another step.

  A gasp caught in her throat. I moved again; I just wanted to be closer to her.

  Her eyes fixated on the floor as she said, "Every other Sunday."

  I let out a breath; it shifted the hair on her head. She gazed up at me, her blue eyes penetrating.

  Just like that moment. The first time I saw her at Jake's house with blood on her finger and a terrified look on her face.

  That was three years ago.

  But she had no reason to be terrified, not now. I chanced my luck and closed the space between us. Her hands went up against my chest, but she didn't push me away like I’d expected her to.

  "For how long?" I asked.

  She swallowed, but her eyes never left mine. "A year."

  My stomach tightened. I don't know whether it was the good kind or the bad. "Why?" My hand went to her waist.

  Her eyes drifted shut at the touch. "Because he asked me to once."

  I lifted her chin with my other hand. "Amanda."

  "Mm?" Her eyes were still closed.

  I asked her to open them.

  She did.

  "And you came back here, twice a month, for a year. Why?"

  She sucked in a breath, her chest rising with the effort. Her mouth was slightly open. She wet her lips.

  "Why?" I asked again, more assertive.

  Her eyes intensified. "Because." She lifted her chin. "I felt closer to you when I was here. I missed you less."

  Thump. Thump.

  "Baby," I breathed out, moving my face closer to hers.

  Her hands on my chest became blocks of cement. "Don't you dare kiss me," she said.

  I pulled back. Reality set in. "You're going to have to give me something else to do then, because I don't think I can control it."

  She pushed off the counter, placed her hands on my shoulders and moved me out of the way.

  "Help me with dinner," she said.

  So I did.

  In dead silence.

  ***

  Dad prepped the dining table, so it didn't surprise me at all that he set it up the way he did: two settings on one side, one on the other. He was already sitting and waiting for us. You can guess which side he was on.

  "I'm starving," he announced once we were seated.

  Amanda's bare leg brushed against mine. I wore work-out shorts; she wore a loose blue summer dress. No bra. Not that I was looking.

  "Sorry," she whispered under her breath.

  I cleared my throat. "It's fine."

  "You guys are so awkward," Dad said.

  Amanda giggled quietly. I wanted to, but I contained it. Dad didn't talk much, so when he did, it made an impact.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked me. There was an underlying tone to his words, but I didn't want to discuss it, not with Amanda here.

  I glared at him, hoping he'd understand. "Fine," I ground out.

  His eyes went from me, to Amanda, and he understood.

  It was quiet for a while as we served up the food. After the first mouthful, I swear, my mouth orgasmed. I didn't even wait to swallow before announcing, "Holy fucking shit, this shit is good!"

  "Logan Wilbur Matthews," Dad reprimanded.

  Amanda's guffaw filled the room. "How funny," she said to herself, and then snorted. "Wilbur."

  I was about to warn her not to tell anyone or I'd hunt her down and start making out with her in random places, but Dad spoke first. "You could've had Taco Casserole more often if you'd come back when you said you would."

  Buzz. Fucking. Kill.

  I sighed. I didn't want to get into it with him. Not now.

  "Sorry," Dad mumbled. "I didn't mean for that to come out the way it did.

  My shoulders lifted, but I stayed quiet. I reached out for my drink, but my hand trembled. I watched as it attempted to pick up the glass.

  "Logan." His voice was strained. "I thought it was getting better."

  I didn't speak, just concentrated on my dry mouth and the need for some form of liquid. I gripped the glass, but my hand hadn't improved. A small amount of soda tipped over the lip and onto the table. I cursed under my breath.

  I felt her hand first; it brushed against my forearm, then her fingers second, as they slowly linked with mine.

  I turned to face her but she was looking at our hands, her lips turned down into a frown.

  In my head, I counted the seconds it took before the shaking stopped. It wouldn't take long. It never did when she was comforting me.

  One.

  Two.

  Then her head raised and our eyes locked. "Taco Casserole is pretty amazing," she declared. Her smile was genuine. It wasn't pity. It wasn't forced.

  I unlinked our fingers to take the drink. No spillage this time. I thought she'd move her hand away once I'd separated them, but she left it there, palm up, waiting. I didn't hesitate for a second.

  She tried to continue eating with her left hand, but it was clearly a struggle. I laughed quietly as I watched her. She glared at me, but a smile played on her lips. She huffed out, as if annoyed, then placed my hand on her leg and released it.

  I could feel the warmth of her skin through the material of her dress. I think I moaned; I'm not sure, but she giggled qu
ietly. Then Dad cleared his throat. I'd forgotten he was here.

  He stood up, dramatically. "I'm tired," he announced. "I'm going to bed. You should show Amanda your old room and those posters of 50 Cent."

  Then he was gone.

  "50 cent?" She laughed.

  I didn't even care. I just wanted to hear her laugh.

  15

  Amanda

  "Why are you blushing?" I asked him.

  He laughed. "I'm about to show you my room from when I was fifteen."

  "Do you have pictures of naked ladies?" I teased.

  "Honestly?" He put his hand on the handle and pushed down. "Most likely."

  He swung the door open and I stepped in. "Well," I told him. "This is a total anti-climax. It's just an average teenage boy’s room."

  "Sorry to disappoint you."

  I walked around, looking for something I could make fun of, but there was nothing. Apart from the posters of rappers that were cool more than ten years ago, there wasn't much at all. Surely he had a porn stash. What fifteen-year-old boy didn't?

  I walked to his bed and checked under it. Nothing.

  "What are you doing?" He followed and looked under it himself.

  I went to his nightstand and opened the drawer. Nothing.

  "Hmm." I tapped my lip with my index finger. "If I was Logan Matthew’s porn collection, where would I hide?"

  His laughter filled the room.

  I stepped towards his walk-in closet.

  "Where are you going?" He blocked me, with a panicked look on his face. One step closer and we'd be chest to chest.