by Kyla Stone
“I don’t want to be alone.” “I’m right here,” Eli says.
But I am. I’m alone with my grief. My family is dead. Except for Lux. She would understand. She’s in this drowning sea with me. At least, she should be. Where is my sister?
Where is she?
34
Lux
I read the words once, twice, three times. I still can’t seem to understand them. They blur and zigzag across my vision. I wanted to tell you in person.
But you need to know. Dad died.
Dad died. Died. Dead. Dad is dead. A great howling grief roars up inside me. I thought I had more time. I thought I could put it off until tomorrow. Then the next tomorrow, and the next. I’ve lost my chance. I never even said goodbye.
I nearly drop my phone as I shove it back into my pocket. Lena wants me to come back home. But for what? He’s already dead. It’s too late. Everything is always too late.
The black hole opens up. Its surging gravity grabs me, and I fall right in. I’m falling so fast there’s nothing to grab on my way down.
I shove off the wall and head to the keg table, gulp down another cup full of beer. It burns on the way down. I fill it again. I turn and nearly plow into Felix Avery.
“Oh, hey,” he says, looking down at his shoes, his curly brown hair falling into his eyes. He’s wearing a faded red T-shirt that reads, “Never Trust an Atom. They Make Up Everything.”
“Felix,” I breathe. And suddenly I want him. I need him. I need him to want me. I need. I need. I need. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah? You haven’t acted like it.”
“I totally have.” I lurch toward him. “You wanted to talk, before. I’m ready to talk.”
He kicks at a chunk of concrete with his boot. “Seriously?”
“Please, Felix. I messed up, okay. Just—can we talk?”
I think I see him nod. It’s hard to tell, with the room shimmering and undulating around me. I put my drink down on the keg table and grab his arm. “You look smashing tonight. Come on. Let’s go find a room.”
He frowns. “Just to talk?”
“Um, hello? Isn’t that what I just said?”
I’m leading him toward the double doors when Raj Patel steps in front of me. Jayda’s with him. “Hey, man,” Raj says. “Where are you going?”
“She asked me to talk.” Felix sounds unsure.
“Is that really a good idea?” Jayda asks.
“After what she did to you?” Raj echoes.
Anger swarms up my throat. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
Jayda’s face is all scrunched in concern. “She’s using you, Felix. That’s what she does.”
“Hello? I’m right here.”
Raj shakes his head. “She’s just going to break your heart again, dude. Come on, let’s go.”
“Are you going to let them talk to me like that?”
Felix looks at them, then at me. He sighs heavily. “Just like, five minutes, guys, okay?”
They both hesitate. Felix doesn’t move.
“Um, hello? Get out of here,” I snap.
They finally shuffle back to their seats. They keep staring at us, scowling and whispering to each other. Screw them.
“You need to pick better friends.” I press my hand against his chest. I can feel the heat of him, the pulse of his heart surging against my palm. “Let’s go.”
“We can talk here.”
“Who said anything about talking?”
He looks at me, confused. I see hurt in his gaze but I ignore it. I lean in and focus on his eyes, deep brown and fringed with thick lashes, and his mouth, kind of pouty and turned down a little at the corners like a disobedient puppy.
I’m so close I can count his eyelashes, can read the braille of pimples along his jawline. I stretch on my tiptoes and put my mouth on his. His lips open for me. Whether he wants them to or not, they do.
“What are you doing?” he says in a choked, whispery voice.
I press myself against him. He’s thin but strong, all hard, wiry muscle.
“Kiss me,” I murmur, my breath fluttering against his cheek, my lips inches from his.
People are watching us, especially his bodyguards in the corner. They’re glaring daggers, but I don’t care. Why would I care? It doesn’t matter what his stupid little friends think. He wants me. Me, not them. Me, not her. That’s all that matters.
My pulse beats in my throat and I remember how neatly my shoulder fit beneath his armpit when he put his arm around me. I remember how he always kissed with his eyes closed, but I kept my eyes open so I wouldn’t miss anything, not a single effing thing.
What I remember most is how his breath hitched in his throat, how he gave this little gasp the first time we French kissed. I loved the way his eyes went all soft and bright at the same time.
I remember all his kisses, each and every one. How he always pulled me into him and the first thing he did wasn’t to grab all over me like the other guys before him. The first thing he did was hold me. He tilted my head back and knotted his fingers in my hair and kissed me until I saw stars and galaxies and universes all exploding behind my eyes.
I remember it all. My heart thrashes against the cage of my ribs like it wants to escape this prison I’ve made for it.
I miss him. I miss us. I miss the feeling he gave me, like it was just me and him, and everything else faded away. Like we were the only shooting stars in the sky.
He’s still not kissing me. He’s not moving away either. I breathe in the clean scent of him. He smells like Spearmint gum and laundry detergent. I want his mouth on mine. I want his arms around me.
I kiss him again, harder this time, prodding at his mouth with my tongue, waiting for his lips to give way.
His mouth closes. He steps back. “Lux. I can’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need you to stop.”
“What? Don’t you miss me?”
“Look. You really did hurt me. I wasn’t even breaking up with you. And then—then you went and—” He shakes his head and turns away.
Tears scald my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a terrible, horrible person. I hate myself, okay? Does that make you happy?”
He encircles my wrist and removes my hand from his chest. “No, it doesn’t make me happy. It makes me sad.”
I flinch. “You aren’t going to forgive me?”
His gaze flits over my shoulder, like he’s looking for someone to ride in and rescue him. “I care about you, Lux. A lot. But—”
“But what?” I snarl. “You like Jayda’s boobs better? Her ass?”
“No! Of course not. I think—” He sucks in his breath. “You made out with another guy, Lux. Right in front of me. I can’t deal with that. It hurts too much.”
“I’m sorry. I’m totally and completely sorry! What do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it!”
“I can’t keep up. It’s like you switch back and forth between liking me and hating me, sometimes in the same day. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
I stare at him, my eyes glittering slits of rage. I have never been treated this badly. “You know what? I don’t need you. I don’t need you or anybody else. I won’t bother you and your precious life anymore. I could have a gun pointed at my own head and I’d still rather shoot myself and splatter my brains all over the floor than be with a self-righteous prick like you! You think I’m a loser, a dependent, needy, psycho freak—is that it? Is that what you really think?”
“No! I—”
“Guess what, asshat? I don’t need you!”
“Lux. Listen to me—”
“Kiss my sweet ass!” I whirl away, leaving him staring after me in shock.
I’m done. I’m so done with all of this. I need to crawl out of my own skin. Right this second, I don’t care how much I despise Reese.
I need what he has, the white nothingness he can give me. I crave it. I have to have it, or I will tear my own flesh right off my bones.
&nb
sp; I pull out my phone and text him to come get me. My car’s here but even I know I’m too wasted to drive. A moment later, he tells me he’s coming.
I throw back another cup of beer and then another, gulping it down, until it’s warm and sloshy in my stomach. My bones are loose inside my skin.
My gaze drifts over the crowd. Felix is across the room, sheltered by none other than Jayda, his self-appointed guardian angel. Pain explodes inside my ribs. My hands ball into fists. I’m going to stomp over there and do something horrifically stupid, and I don’t even care.
Before I can move, Simone steps in front of me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her hands are on her hips, her face twisted in a scowl. Eden stands a little behind her, shivering and blowing into her cupped hands.
“What do you care?”
“What’s your deal, Lux? Why are you acting like this?”
I shrug, but my heart’s beating fast. “You don’t care about me, Simone. You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks. Why the hell is everyone always blaming everything on me? What’s your problem?”
“Um, can we just calm down a little bit?” Eden asks.
Simone points her finger at me. “Look, Chica. Felix is back there crying. Again. That certainly wasn’t my fault. You can’t just treat people like crap whenever you feel like it.”
“Oh yeah? Watch me. I don’t need any of you.” I head toward the front doors. They both follow me.
“Where’re you going?” Eden asks.
“To the only person who hasn’t betrayed me.”
“What? You mean—Reese?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Skittles wins the prize.” I bang into the crash bar and shove the metal door open. Outside, the clouds have cleared. The stars are shards of light against the black velvet sky. The cold air pricks my exposed skin.
My head pounds, swirling with angry, hateful thoughts. And beneath it all, the dark whisper: Dad is dead. And you killed him.
“You’re voluntarily spending time with that scrawny-ass punk?” Simone stomps her feet against the cold. “Please tell me you aren’t that stupid.”
I whirl on her. “I guess I am that stupid, Simone. You’ve got me all figured out.”
“Please, Lux,” Eden whines. “Reese is sketch. Just come home with me instead, okay? We can leave right now.”
Two headlights swing up the long dirt road as Reese’s Thunderbird pulls up. Something gives inside me. I’m only a few minutes away from burning up every single dark malignant thought. Only a few moments from a relief that will obliterate every craptastic moment of this night— the party, Felix’s stricken face, Simone’s anger, my own smoldering self-loathing. I need this more than anything I’ve ever needed before.
“Lux!” Simone yells at my back.
I jerk open the passenger car door and climb inside. I don’t look at them. I sense them both staring at me through the window, but I don’t care. I don’t care.
“Hey Princess,” Reese puts the car into gear and we drive away.
His car stinks of weed and cigarette smoke. I thrust out my hand and he gives me what I need, no questions asked.
I listen to the hard, pulsing base of Aerosmith pumping through the car stereo. I wait for it to grip my brain, to thrust me out of this awful tilting world and take me away, far away.
But it doesn’t come. “I need more,” I say in a voice I barely recognize as my own.
Reese smiles. When we get to his apartment, he gives me more.
He lays out a square mirror, a small glass bowl, a lighter and razor blade, and a couple of small straws on his end table. I watch him empty a few pills into the bowl and smash them up with the blunt end of the lighter. He crushes it into a fine powder, then scrapes it into four match-stick sized lines on the mirror with a razor. He uses the straw to snort two lines.
“You sure you want to ride this wave, Princess?” he asks, tilting his head back.
I should feel afraid. I should hear warning bells clanging in my head. But I don’t. Reese shows me what to do. I fall back into the bean bag. Waiting for it to come for me.
It does. My thoughts start to disintegrate. Break apart. Maybe this time my mind won’t come back. Maybe it’ll just be gone.
Maybe this time the oblivion won’t release me. I’ll just cease to exist. Vanish. Disappear. Like spontaneous combustion. An exploded star. A supernova.
And then it comes. Like a bomb going off between my eyes. Shockwaves mushroom inside my brain, radiating out, detonating fireworks.
It’s like a wild dream unleashed. Riding the rushing, raging current of my blood, pulsing through arteries and capillaries, sweeping me away.
It’s liquid fire whooshing between my ears. It burns everything away. Wiping my mind. Incinerating every memory, every voice, every thought. Every dark and dangerous truth—gone.
Everything consumed in the brilliant, fiery white light.
35
Lena
The funeral is five days after Dad’s death.
The funeral director, a small, compact woman with clouds of apricot hair and sympathetic eyes, took care of almost everything. I didn’t care what flowers were used, the type of wood or design of the coffin, or the best time to hold the funeral. I asked for a short, outdoor service next to the grave. The funeral director, who Dad spoke with long before his death, planned the rest.
It’s 1:30 p.m. on Sunday afternoon, the first week of April already almost gone. The last three days brought warm air and rain. The air is thick and spongy, the fresh green grass and buds on the trees and bushes sparkling with diamond droplets. A slight breeze ruffles my hair.
It’s a day much too beautiful for death.
I stand next to Eli in front of the gaping hole in the earth. It looks like a wound. The strip of turf that’ll cover the gash in the ground lays beside the grave.
After the service, a backhoe will fill in the hole, and in a few hours, the gravesite will look no different from any of the others. To anyone passing by, it’ll look like my father’s been dead for years.
Pastor Torrès, the pastor Dad met with in his last several months of church attendance, presides over the service. He stands opposite the grave, his hands crossed over the Bible he holds in front of him. He’s tall and trim, his dark hair and beard almost completely silver. His eyes seem kind, his voice smooth and lilting. He’s talking about finding God’s comfort in grief, but I’m not really listening.
There are only a few dozen people here: Eli and his family, a couple of truckers Dad worked with, the postman, and a handful of people I’ve never seen before. They must be church members.
Off to the side, Isabel Gutierrez stands with her thin arms folded in front of her chest, her face pinched, almost scowling. She’s next to her mother, Maria. Maria is dressed all in black with a wide-brimmed hat and a veil shielding her face. She makes a wet hiccupping sound, like she’s trying desperately not to sob.
“… for we shall not weep for long,” Pastor Torres says. “Because we have the assurance that we will see Jacob McKenna again. For Jacob believed, and we believe, and we know that the reunion in Heaven will come soon, sooner than we ever know …”
Should I be crying like Isabel’s mom? I’ve lived in varying states of grief for over two months. Every tear has already been wrenched from my body. I have nothing left.
The funeral is simply a finality, an official farewell. I’ve already said goodbye a hundred times. My limbs are heavy, my head throbs. I’m drained, emptied. I just want to get this over with and go somewhere else.
As Pastor Torrès drones on, I think about Lux. I haven’t seen her since she took off again three nights ago. I’ve texted and called her a dozen times today. No answer. I’ve barely spoken to her since Dad died. When I tried to talk to her, she fled out the front door or locked herself in her room or screamed at me until I was the one who fled. She’s a towering inferno of rage.
My own anger at her burns bright as a flame in the center of my chest. She
never even said goodbye to Dad. Now she’s missing his funeral. And the most terrible thing? I’m not even surprised.
Pastor Torrès finishes his speech and asks everyone to bow their heads for prayer. The sun beats down on my head as I listen to this stranger bless me and Lux and ask God to be with us.
Do pastors have more clout with God? Has this pastor ever doubted? What does he do with that doubt? Bury it? Test it? Ignore it and chalk it up to faith? Does he struggle with anger, forgiveness?
The prayer ends. Eli nudges me gently. Above me, the sky is a milky blue ribboned with clouds. The trees rimming the graveyard are furred with buds and leaves like tiny green stars.
I step forward and drop a bouquet of daisies—my mother’s favorite—onto the lid of the coffin. Wherever my father is now, he would want a piece of Eve with him.
Several other people toss flowers into the grave. Most people voiced their condolences to me before the service started. Now free of their obligation, they begin to drift back toward their cars.
Eli turns to me, Hadley hitched on his hip. She’s wearing a dark blue dress with her little red purse clutched in her hands. Eli’s dressed in a matching navy blue suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders. “You okay?”
I force a smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “I will be.”
Isabel trudges toward me, her hair piled up in a bun, the dyed blue strand tucked behind her ear. She stops in front of me. “Thanks for coming,” I say.
“At least he’s not in pain anymore.” She looks pale and drawn, her expression strained.
I nod mechanically. “I guess so.”
“My mom always says everything happens for a reason.”
“Well, that reason sucks.”
She snorts, wipes a hand across her forehead. The black dress she’s wearing hangs off her, the loose fabric bunching around her too-thin waist. I can see the knobs of her elbows and knees.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s just like you, isn’t it? Always thinking about someone else,” she says, her face blank, expressionless. “I’m fine. And you’ll be fine, too. Sooner than you think.”
