by Frankie Rose
THE SUNLIGHT is a cold, desolate color when I wake. It reminds me of snow and Wyoming mountains and a silent world. New York City will never be silent irrespective of the weather, though. It will steam and smoke and teem regardless, and I have to make my way across it. Luke’s sleeping on his front, his arms thrown up above his head, tucked under his pillow. The white bed sheet is twisted around his waist. I don’t disturb him when I get up. I’m quieter than I ever thought I could be as I gather up my abandoned clothes and go in search of my shirt and bra in the lounge.
A war rages in my head as I debate whether or not I should hang around to make myself a coffee, but my cowardice eventually wins out. Luke is going to be pissed with me. I threw myself at him, practically forced him to have sex with me because I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. That was a whole new level of messed up for me. He probably won’t want me loitering around his apartment when he wakes up.
I leave as quietly as I can and run down the building’s three flights of stairs, feeling more desolate with every step. I know what I’m going to have to do, but going to my mother’s brownstone in Manhattan is almost as frightening as the prospect of heading back to Columbia. I should be able to turn to my mother in times like this; she should be a shoulder to cry on, when in reality I know she’d rather go to work no matter how upset I am.
I pull my coat around myself and step out of the building, immediately seeing that I was right about the snow. It’s everywhere. Huge banks push up against the sidewalk where the roads have been cleared, and all the grey and black and in-between is capped off with a seven-inch layer of white. Bodies already fill the sidewalk, steaming cups of coffee in hand, cigarettes in mouths, cell phones pressed to ears. No one bats an eyelid as I slip in amongst them and I let their anonymity engulf me.
A block away I enter the very first diner I come across and order a coffee. I’m taking a tentative sip, cupping the piping hot polystyrene in my frozen hands as I walk out of the door, when his voice startles me.
“I take it by the single takeaway you weren’t planning on coming back, then?”
Luke’s hair is ruffled and dusted with flecks of white where the snow has started up again while I was inside. He’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and sweat pants and he’s out of breath.
“What are you doing?” I sputter.
“No,” he takes a step toward me and stuffs his hands in his pockets. ”What are you doing?”
“I have class.”
“Avery, you don’t have class. It’s six in the morning. And I seriously doubt you’re planning on going back there today, either. You’re running away from me.”
“I’m not!”
“Then why didn’t you wake me up before you left?”
“Because...” I scan up and down the street, not wanting to look at him.
“You really know how to make a guy feel like crap, you know that?” He steps towards me. “I freaked the fuck out. We… last night, I knew it was a bad idea. I know we shouldn’t have done it but I kinda hoped you wouldn’t hold it against me.”
I stare down at our feet, noticing he’s wearing thin sneakers he’s barely pulled onto his feet properly. “Don’t be stupid! I’m not holding it against you. I assumed you’d be mad at me for lynching you.”
“Lynching me?” Luke laces his fingers together behind his head, pulling his elbows in to his ears, the same way he did last night when he’d tried to hold me. His shoulders pull up as he takes a deep breath. “You can be so damn selfish sometimes, you know that?”
“What? I thought you’d prefer it this way.”
He narrows his eyes and closes the gap between us, drawing me to the side of the building out of the way of the pedestrians trying to shove their way past us. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not, Luke. It’s better for the both of us if we pretend last night didn’t happen. I know you only did it to make me feel better, and that’s what I really needed, so thank you.”
“Thank you?” He shakes his head, like he can’t understand the words. “Thank you?” He clenches his fists and for a second I think he’s going to punch the wall. Instead, he takes hold of my hand and bites down on his jaw. “I didn’t sleep with you last night as a favor, you idiot. Man, how can you not know that I care about you?”
His words are sharp and unexpected. I reel away, tugging my hand free. “Luke, you don’t care about me. You’ve known me forever. You’re just caught up in this whole mess with my dad. You feel sorry for me.”
“Seriously? You think that!” he cries, exasperated. “You’re so wrong.”
“Then why are you always asking to meet up? Asking me to out for coffee with you?”
Luke angles his body back down the street but keeps his gaze locked on me. Anger spills like ink across his beautiful face. “I used to ask you because you reminded me of your dad. I wanted to make sure you were okay. That changed pretty quickly, though. I was…I developed feelings for you. You were sixteen and broken, and so fucking beautiful, and I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I tried. These days it seems as though I can’t remember a time when I haven’t wanted to be the person you come to when you need someone. When you aren’t the first thing I think about when I woke up in the morning.”
“Now you’re the one being ridiculous,” I say, stepping away from him. “You were with Casey that whole time. I was a kid.”
“You were never just a kid! And I was with Casey for so long for the simple reason that she didn’t care if I wouldn’t sleep with her. I never did! Not in five fucking years. And she never left. I kept waiting for her to go and she never did!” He’s shouting. Businessmen in their expensive tailored suits scowl at us as they pass, once more drawing attention that I desperately don’t want.
“Please, Luke.”
He flares his nostrils and stares at the lapel on my coat, too angry to look at me. “So, what?” he murmurs. “You’re just going to go back to that guy at Columbia? He’s gonna make you happy?”
“Noah doesn’t make me happy. We’re just…we’re nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Pain flashes across Luke’s face. “If you’re just using him for sex, if you’re just taking your mind off everything, then do that with me. I’d prefer that.”
“I can’t.”
“WHY?” he yells.
I stare at him, fighting back my tears. “Because you held my father’s hand while he died, Luke.” I turn and run. I don’t know if he’s following me or not but I doubt it. From the horrified look on his face, he’s never going to talk to me again. The snow comes down harder and I drop my coffee on the road, and I run from the one, single good thing in my life.
Twenty
Toxic
