Styx & Stones

by Carmen Jenner

  “We can’t just go to Disneyland. How will we get there?”

  “Dad’s truck.”

  “You’re going to drive to Disney?”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it’s a million miles away.”

  He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps at it. “Turns out it’s four hundred and eight miles. Longer if we go through Big Sur.”

  “Why the hell would we go through Big Sur?”

  He shrugs. “’Cause it’s my birthday and that’s where I want to spend it.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Probably. Now, are you going to take my hand or not?”

  This is madness. “My parents will kill me.”

  “Saves the cancer from doing it.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not,” he says, all traces of humor gone. “Neither is regretting that you didn’t take my hand when you had the chance.”

  I throw my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “I must be certifiable.”

  “You do have that look about you.” Styx grins. I kick at his shin, but he backs away and gestures for me to hurry up. “Last chance.”

  I place my hand in his and he grips it tightly and yanks me to my feet. “Thatta girl.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ALASKA

  Styx’s gaze darts to mine and then across the road at the immaculate Victorian house. “You’re sure your dad’s not home?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. He leaves for work at ungodly o’clock.”

  “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

  That’s a good question. What am I waiting for? “A sign that this isn’t the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, and that I’m not the dumbest teenager alive for following you to Disneyland.”

  “It’s a couple of days—four at the most. Five tops.”

  “I can’t help but notice your plan has gone from a day at the most to let’s take a whole week off.”

  “You only live once, right?”

  I shake my head and take out my phone, pulling up my Insta stories.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Going on an adventure. Duh.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’re gonna livestream our escape?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Styx stares out the window. “Oh shit. Is that your mom? I thought you said she wasn’t here.”

  “No. I said my dad wasn’t here.” I shrug. “My mom is always home.”

  “Stones, won’t she lose her shit if she sees you?”

  “Yep.” I check my hair in the viewfinder and hit Live.

  “Then what—”

  “What up, Aerosol Addicts? You guys remember my homecoming date, Styx, right?” I turn the camera on him. He makes a derp face, so I steal the limelight back. “Well, we have a treat for you. This bonehead is taking me on a mother-freaking road trip. Say hi, bonehead.”

  I shift closer to Styx and he jumps in the frame.

  “Hi, bonehead.” He grins, and in his stupid polarized wayfarers, he looks even cuter than usual.

  “You’re a dick.”

  He grins wider, and I realize that I’m gaping at him again like a dumbass. I turn my attention back to the screen. My notifications are going crazy. I’ve never seen so many damn hearts and heart-eye emojis floating across my screen. “So, here’s the deal: I’m scheduled for surgery next week. A surgery I don’t know if I’ll survive. I mean, chances of not dying are pretty good, but that’s all they could guarantee. I don’t know if I’ll lose the use of my arms, or if I’ll be much more than a vegetable, so Styx is breaking me out. I’m going on an adventure, in case I can’t anymore.”

  I swallow hard and glance at Styx, who’s watching me with rapt attention. “And my good friend Styx—”

  “Friend?” he says. I flip the camera on him again and roll my eyes, because the comments coming in are just hilarious.

  “My frieeend”—I draw out the word—“Styx is helping me escape reality for a little bit, but here’s the catch. The mom monster is home, so we need to get in and grab my stuff and get out without her ever knowing I was here.”

  Styx’s brows shoot skyward, and he removes his sunglasses. “Wait, what? You didn’t say we were going in while your mom was there.”

  “Um ... duh! Of course we are. Don’t tell me you’re chicken?”

  “I’m not a chicken. I just thought we’d wait until she went out.” He frowns at the house. “Maybe we should go over the plan.”

  I grin. He’s totally chicken. “The plan is to follow my lead, and don’t get caught.”

  “So, you don’t have a plan then?”

  “Nope.” I hold my hand out for his, the way he did back in his dad’s apartment. “You ready, loner boy?”

  He pops his gum like an asshole. “I was born ready, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby.”

  “Jesus, you’re a hard woman to please.”

  “I am. It’s a fault I’m actually rather proud of,” I say and open my car door. “Now. I’m going to ask you again, Mr. Hendricks, are you going to take my hand or not?”

  “You know, you’re really fucking hot when you get all domineering like that.”

  I roll my eyes and make a come-hither gesture and he leans closer. “Styx, are you in or out?”

  “Oh, I’m in.”

  “Then get out of the goddamn car and cover me.”

  “Cover you? What is this, a Black Ops mission?”

  “If you wanna make out at Disney, then yeah, this is Black Ops, and we’re teenage badasses. Now, cover me while I sneak in my bedroom window, and give me a boost while you’re at it.” I run across the road and hide behind the Ficus in front of the house. Styx follows, but the tree is not nearly large enough to conceal both of us, so he just stands there like an idiot.

  “Okay, Addicts,” I say with a goofy conspiratorial smile. “We’re going in.”

  “On a scale of one to really scary, just how terrifying is your dad?”

  “Korean-dad-level terrifying.”

  “Right, and what’s your mom likely to do if she catches us?”

  “Call my dad.”

  “Okay, and just out of curiosity ... what are the chances of you going without clothing on this trip?”

  I laugh. “You kiss a boy once and all of a sudden he thinks he’s Don Juan.”

  “It was more than once, Stones.”

  Shaking my head, I sign off, because I can’t exactly climb through my window while I film.

  I run along the front path and take the stairs two at a time, then I slip my phone into my cleavage and smile at Styx. “I’m gonna need a boost.”

  He slides his hands together and interlocks his fingers. I step into his joined palms and he lifts me. I grab onto the support pillar and attempt to pull myself up, but the chemo has made me weak. I struggle, my legs flailing wildly against the painted column. Styx shoves his hands under my butt and I squirm and kick.

  “Ow! Jesus, Stones. You just kicked me in the goddamn eye.”

  A loud laugh escapes me. “Sorry.”

  With another boost, I hoist myself onto the portico roof underneath my window. I lie, panting, unable to ignore the burn in my arms and legs. Eventually, I sit and quietly draw up the window sash.

  I pull myself over the threshold, wincing when my body hits the floor with a thud. I pause for a beat to listen for my mom, but her terrible singing echoes down the hall. I push up onto my elbows, but I’m slammed right back down when Styx lands on top of me.

  The wind is knocked from my lungs, and thank God, because I’d probably tear him a new one if I had the voice to speak.

  “Shit, sorry.” He rolls off me. I take shallow half-breaths until my lungs will allow them to deepen. “I thought you would have moved out of the way.”

  “No, jackass. I didn’t have time,” I whisper. “It’s not every day I have to climb in my freaking window with this pathetically weak chemo body. It took all the stre
ngth I had just to climb out of it last night.”

  He turns his head towards me and whispers, “Please tell me there’s a back way out of here?”

  I roll my eyes, rise, and grab my overnight bag from the closet, then empty out the paint supplies as quietly as I can onto the bed. I throw my meds, clothing, underwear, shoes, and several sterile dressing kits for my PICC line into my bag, and hoist it on my shoulder. Safety first. Then I remember my goddamn brain cells and go back for my makeup essentials: gloss, concealer, foundation, mascara, and my Kat Von D Tattoo Liner. The tip is so damn sharp I may be able to stab Styx with it if he annoys me on this trip.

  I toss in my favorite black nail polish too, just in case I have to touch up. Or use it to paint his face while he sleeps. Payback for crushing me under his weight.

  He shakes his head like I’m a total girl, and I shoo him toward the window. At the last second, I eye my chemo blanket—a hideous pastel pink and blue faux-mink blanket with rainbows and ice creams, and which is only redeemed by the black bats, grim reapers, and crooked tombstones that read RIP. My friends gifted it to me before chemo, back when they were friends who didn’t treat me like my cancer was contagious. I debate leaving it behind—hell, I even debate calling them and telling them to come with—but I wad it up in my bag and toss it out the window to Styx who’s waiting on the stairs below. Then I climb through the window, and gently ease it closed behind me.

  The descent is faster than the ascent, but the soles of my feet still sting with the impact when I jump from the portico column to the stairs. Once we’re on the sidewalk, I smile at Styx.

  “Last chance to back out,” he says.

  I tilt my chin defiantly. “Not on your life, loner.”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here before anyone realizes I’m stealing you away.”

  “Still scared of my dad, huh?”

  “Terrified.” He grins and hefts the bag high on his shoulder. We run across the street, and I let out a “whoop” when Styx starts the truck and we peel away from the curb.

  I pull out my phone and hit Live on my Insta story. “What’s up, Addicts? Okay, so it was totally Mission Impossible kind of stuff, but we did it. We snuck into my house, grabbed my things, and escaped without the mom monster being any the wiser. No thanks to loner boy, who practically crushed me to death when he came in the window.” I angle the camera toward Styx.

  “Hey, how the hell was I to know you hadn’t moved?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe guess that I’m not an athlete and therefore have some idea that I’d be recovering on my floor after leaping through my window.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a leap; you flailed for a good long while there.”

  “You suck. So we’re currently stuck on the 101 in traffic leaving SF, but we have tunes—mine, of course, because Styx would likely make me listen to Led Zeppelin the whole way.”

  “Hey, Led Zeppelin were the founding forefathers of hard rock. Don’t knock the Zeppelin.”

  I roll my eyes. “We’re gonna make a stop for snacks, right? You can’t have a road trip without snacks.”

  “Of course.”

  “Styx is a little freaked that my dad is still going to come after us.”

  “Thanks for going public with that shit, Stones,” he mutters. “I don’t look like a pussy at all.”

  I poke my tongue out at him. “Our parents are going to kill both of us,” I tell the camera. “But hey, it saves the cancer from doing it, right?”

  Styx smiles. “Right.”

  I chuckle and sign off, promising to update my followers as any new developments arise, but as much as social media has been my life for the last few years, it’s not everything. Being here with loner boy, feeling freedom thrum through my veins, the butterflies in my belly as Styx grins at me, and the feel of his lips on mine? Those things are everything.

  ***

  We stop at a diner in a place called Davenport for lunch. It overlooks the water along the coast. It isn’t until we sit down that I realize something I should have thought of long ago. “Styx?”

  He doesn’t look up from his menu. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have money?”

  That does get his attention. “I thought you had money?”

  “What? No. I didn’t bring any money. I mean, I have maybe a hundred dollars in my purse, but I—”

  “You’re kidding, right? Who comes to Disneyland without money?”

  “You’re the one who dragged me along on this trip.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you’d pay your own way. I mean shit, Stones, I’ve seen your house. Your parents must be loaded.”

  I lean across the table and hiss, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re playing the rich-kid card?”

  A huge grin splits his face and he folds his menu and leans back in his chair. “God, Stones, you’re so damn easy to rile up. Of course I’m shitting you. I’m not gonna invite you to Disney and drag you halfway across the state without bringing enough money to cover it. We got no sense, but we do have a shit ton of cash, little lady.”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “But a loveable one, right?”

  I shake my head and mutter, “About as loveable as my ass.”

  “So, we’re talking pretty fucking loveable, then?”

  I blush and hide behind the enormous menu. Thankfully, the waitress comes to take our order, and just to get back at Styx, I pick the most expensive thing, even if all I want are fries and a cherry coke.

  When the waitress leaves, I stare out at the ocean. The sun glints off the rolling waves, stinging my eyes. Silence settles over us. As if he can sense my melancholy, Styx grabs my hand and draws it across the table. Electricity sparks up my arm, and I draw my attention away from the sea.

  “Do you ever think of just wading out into the ocean?” I ask.

  “A little chilly for a swim, isn’t it?”

  “No. Not to swim.”

  “Ah. You mean ... to end it.”

  I bite my lip, ashamed now that the words are out, suspended between us. He brings my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss to the bony flesh. I’ve always been slim, but cancer rapes from within. It sweeps through your body like a tide, leaving nothing left unravaged by the waves.

  “All the time,” Styx says quietly.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but it’s the ‘what if’ that gets you.”

  “The ‘what if?’”

  “What if things get better? What if I actually beat this disease? What if I don’t choose to end it and the girl I’ve had a permanent boner for since fifth grade falls in love with me?”

  I laugh, despite my melancholia. “Who said anything about love?”

  “Who didn’t?”

  The waitress returns with our food and I poke at my grilled steak, choosing instead to eat the fries. “Does it ever get any easier?”

  “Cancer or love?”

  I give him a pointed look. “Cancer, dumbass.”

  “I don’t know. You know that saying, ‘God only gives you what you can handle?’”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think that’s bullshit. I think we’re given the obstacles we’re given by fate, God, or a fucking eight-limbed elephant man, and we just do the best we can. Some of us sink, and some struggle to the surface, but I don’t ever see anyone swimming.” He looks out at the ocean and gives a humorless laugh. “I think life sucks, and it’s a cycle of endless birth, death, and rebirth. You have cancer. What you do with it is what fucking matters.”

  “What I do with it?” I ask in disbelief. “What the hell am I supposed to do with it, other than try and get rid of it?”

  “You’re supposed to live, Stones. We’re all just here to live.”

  How can he be so fucking chill about this? How can he be content with only making it to eighteen, and any birthday beyond that is just icing on the really fucked-up cake? I glare at him across the table, at the food he’s shoveling into his mouth, an
d the blob of ranch on his unshaven face, and I laugh. It’s a slow, disbelieving laugh that quickly turns into something more, into full-out hysterics and then sobbing tears. Styx studies me as he wipes his mouth clean, places the napkin over his half-eaten food, and throws several bills on the table.

  He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. I follow him, blind through my tears, and when he pulls me into a hug beside the car, I fall apart.

  “I’m ... I-I’m ... s-sorry.” I sob into the soft fabric of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything. He just lets me cry as he holds me so tight I can’t breathe, and I don’t want him to ever let go. His hand rests on the back of my head. I don’t know how he knows to be exactly what I need, but he does. Maybe it’s that cancer wisdom he mentioned. For a long time, we just stand there, holding onto one another as if we’re each other’s lifeline. That’s how it is for me, at least. I don’t know what I bring to the table for him, but Styx isn’t just my friend—he’s my rock. I’d be lost without him.

  I step out of his embrace and sniff. My mascara is likely all over my face, and I can feel how puffy and red my nose is.

  “Come on. It’s cold out here.” He opens the car door.

  “I think I got your hoodie all wet.”

  A salacious grin tips the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re sick,” I say.

  He laughs. “Yes, I am.” Styx takes off his hoodie and hands it to me. “Put this on. We don’t need you coming down with a cold.”

  “Okay.” I press the fabric to my nose and smell it. Styx. “Does this mean I have to give you my scrunchie now that I have your hoodie?”

  “You own a scrunchie?”

  “No.”

  “No problem. I’ll take your panties instead.”

  I laugh. “Oh my God. You’re so gross.”

  “Get in the car, Stones.”

  “I’m not sure I want to. I might be safer taking my chances hitchhiking to Disney rather than travelling with a pervert.”

  “Get in the fucking car.”

  I throw his hoodie on as he fishes another out of his duffle bag, and I climb into the front seat. Styx hops in a moment later, and we screech out of the small gravel lot. He commandeers the Spotify playlist and I let him because finding music that will impress him is exhausting.