by Lindy Zart
“Nick. Lexie.” The voice of the female worker commands, telling us to knock it off without actually saying the words.
We break away, staring at one another. His eyes are filled with lust, the pulse in his neck fluttering like the frantic wings of a hummingbird. Nick’s hair is more unkempt than it was when I got here, and I vaguely remember running my fingers through it at one point. I can’t get enough air. My skin feels unusually hot.
Using my thumbs, I smooth his furrowed eyebrows, then the sharp planes of his cheekbones. This face—God, this face—it undoes me. I dream of this face. I ache for this face. I could stare at it until I can’t keep my eyes open. I press my thumb to his lips, and he kisses it, his eyes telling me a thousand stories I might never hear.
“Please greet me like that every time you see me.” Nick’s voice is rough, and a thrill shoots through my stomach.
I smile, taking his hands. They squeeze mine. “I’ll try.”
We move to the table I vacated upon his arrival, our chairs close, our knees touching. He doesn’t release my hands. Nick levels his long-lashed eyes on me. “Is everything okay?”
“Right now it is,” I answer honestly.
“But before?”
I shrug, avoiding his gaze. The words are there, but I can’t say them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If I tell him, what then? What will he think, knowing I’m not any better than the people who tormented me? Seeing him makes it easy to pretend the school, and everything that happens inside it, isn’t real. “You know what I want, more than anything?”
“What?” he asks through lips that barely move. He seems to hold his breath.
“I want your arms around me as I fall asleep, and I want to hold you back as I do.” I look at Nick, the intensity of my focus refusing to let him hide his eyes. “I want us to be free. I want you to be free.”
Nick drops my hands, and his eyes fall to his lap.
“I want to know that in two years—seven, fourteen, twenty years—I’ll still have you in my life.” My mouth goes dry at the admission, at the barrier I knowingly remove by telling Nick this.
His eyes shoot to my face. “I want the same.”
I swallow, unable to do much more. My hands shake, and I slide them between my knees to keep Nick from noticing. I’ve told him more than I planned.
“Alexis.” Nick looks around the room. He brings his attention back to me, and I know it never really left me. He is painfully aware of me at all times, as I am with him. Whenever he entered a room while I was a patient here, I knew. Whenever I walked into a room he was already in, he found me with his eyes. Always.
“I want to tell you,” he says slowly. “I want to tell you why I’m here.”
“Then tell me.”
“You’ll hate me.” He looks so sad, and I can’t take seeing that expression on Nick’s face.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
Nick’s quiet is unnerving, worrisome.
The red-haired girl tells her boyfriend goodbye as they both stand, and a heated kiss is exchanged. Janice, the woman at the desk, watches them, but doesn’t comment this time.
“Tell me something wonderful,” I say quickly to Nick, desperate to take whatever camouflaged pain he has from his demeanor. I’m losing him. He’s fading, going to that place we all have inside us to where we navigate when we can’t stand reality. He grounds me; I want to do the same for him. I think I do.
Light comes back to his eyes, and he straightens. Nick lifts a hand, smoothing bangs from my forehead. Tingles shimmy along my skin at his touch. “I used to have nightmares every night, and I still have them often, but not every night. On the nights where I don’t have nightmares, I get to see you. Sometimes, we just talk. Sometimes, we do…other things.”
His skin flushes, and I bite my lower lip, able to guess at the “other things”.
“Sometimes,” he whispers, looking into my eyes like he sees his redemption in them. “I get to hold you, like you want me to. Those are the best nights. They seem the realest. On those nights, I can almost believe it isn’t a dream, and that I’m really holding you. I hope, one day, they won’t only be dreams.”
I take a breath, and it sounds like a sob is trapped inside it. “I hope for that too,” I tell him, my voice uneven. My eyes sting, and there is uncomfortable pressure on my chest.
A long moment passes. A moment where I look at Nick, and he looks at me, and we exchange hopes and dreams that may never come to be, other than in our minds.
Sixteen
Nick
I CAN’T LET ALEXIS KNOW who I really am.
This is the prevalent thought in my head in the days between the times I see Alexis. As we get closer, it gets harder to keep the other Nick from her. I want to tell her, and that’s what scares me the most. Yesterday, I almost told her. Yesterday, she pulled away another layer of me. What happens when she removes them all? What then? Will she find me repulsive, or will she see me?
My schoolwork for the year is done, and I can officially say I am finished with high school, although I’ll have to take a test to get my G.E.D. I try to lose myself in books, or extra chores around the center, but nothing distracts me from the anxiety that’s tied itself to me. It’s a continuous woozy feeling in my gut; it’s the surety of knowing something wonderful has a time limit. I’m supposed to take pills for anxiety, but I can’t. Why should I have peace when I haven’t earned it?
A lot of the time—too often—I find myself staring at the book about the half-man, half-alien Alexis gave me, or talking to the pink bear she loaned me.
I find myself wondering if I’m insane, and if I’d know if I am.
I wouldn’t, would I?
It’s Wednesday, and I’m in Dr. Larson’s office. She always looks sincere. I know she cares about me, but I wonder if she looks like that with all the kids. I think she has to. Her brown and gold hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and she wears cream-colored pants and a top that matches the darker shade of her hair. I wonder if it’s a requisite in her line of work to learn how to speak slowly, carefully, softly. To remain unruffled in the bedlam of her patients.
This isn’t my regular counseling session time. I asked if I could see her now, knowing Alexis is due for her own therapy conference soon. I thought if I was already here when she showed up, maybe I’d be fearless enough to tell her my warped history. I know it to be a lie. I can’t.
But I have to.
I am incapable of sitting still; even my eyes constantly move from one thing to another. I know the words I want to say, but something keeps me from saying them, even to Dr. Larson, who already knows everything. I want to tell her what Alexis told me about being bullied. I want to tell her my good dreams—the ones where I have a promising future, the ones where Alexis is in my life, the ones where I get to hold Alexis—but if I do, I’ll have to tell her my bad. The ones where I never get out of this place. The ones where Alexis never speaks to me again, and eventually, forgets me.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Dr. Larson watches my movements with calmness.
“No,” I say on an exhale. The bouncing of my leg turns violent. No new nightmare anyway. Just the boy; always the boy. He was particularly gruesome last night, telling me all my crimes with each slash of a tiny, deadly sharp blade across his wrists. Blood sprayed me, entering my mouth, my ears. I was awash in my sin. Choking on it.
“Nick.”
I go still, like a line tugging at me suddenly stopped. “How do I get past this?” I whisper, shifting my eyes to hers. “How do I move on?”
Dr. Larson’s brown eyes are compassionate, and seeing that makes me feel worse. “You forgive yourself.”
“Yeah, right, I know that, but how?” I drop my face to my hands. “I don’t know how.”
“Whatever the circumstances, every person makes their own choices. You didn’t make his for him.”
“Didn’t I?”
I’m crying. I don’t even realize it until I feel the dampness on m
y face. The tears are warm, and lick my eyes with flames. I don’t feel like this when I’m with Alexis. I can keep the monsters at bay. They’re still with me; they’ll always be with me, but they don’t seem so close. They don’t seem to be twisted around me, like they are now.
“Alexis told me,” I rasp in a sandpaper voice, turning my burning eyes on Dr. Larson. “She told me what happened at that school. She told me what she did, what she tried to do.”
Her brown eyes are pools of sympathy.
I have to look away.
“You have a choice too,” the doctor tells me quietly. “You can choose to let it go.”
“Choices are easy to make—living with them is entirely another thing.”
She sits back, looking stunned by my words. The clock ticks off a minute before she speaks. “Why do you think you were drawn to Lexie?” When I don’t answer, she presses, “Do you think it was because she reminded you of someone?”
“Yeah, she looks a lot like a five-nine male with short black hair and pimples.”
“I didn’t mean…” She frowns and looks over her notes. Even she, the professional, can’t remember his name. Even she, the one person who knows me better than anyone else, has somehow forgotten the name of the boy who altered my life. The world may forget him, but I never will. His parents never will. His little sister never will.
“Jackson Hodgson,” I say in a dead voice.
“I meant you,” she says kindly, closing my file.
“I have to go.” I abruptly get to my feet and spiral out the door before Dr. Larson can comment.
Because life hates me, at exactly the moment I don’t want to see Alexis, she walks through the door. Her eyes light up like she sees me, but not the expression on my face. She does, though, and soon. The smile is wiped from her mouth, and a crease forms between her pretty blue eyes. I love her eyes. They’re like the inside of a flame, intense and expressive. They talk, even when she doesn’t. Right now, they’re wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
“Nick?” Alexis moves to touch my tear-stained face. “What happened?”
I turn my body and avert my eyes, keeping myself out of her reach. “Nothing.”
“I can see that.”
“And I can hear your sarcasm.”
“Are you sure? Because if not, I can try harder.”
My eyes meet hers. She lifts one shoulder in a lopsided shrug, a small, understanding smile on her pink lips.
“You’re early.” My voice is thick, rough.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “And you’re not in the library. We are conundrums.”
I look toward the hallway on the right. A girl and boy walk down it side by side, their voices low murmurs. I want to follow them. My body tenses in preparation of flight. I want to disappear into my room until I have better control over myself. I want to redo this meeting with Alexis, redo this day. Hell, my whole life.
“Nick.”
I face Dr. Larson, my hands fisted at my sides. Hysteria is pounding at me, shrieking at me to run, run, run, and never stop running. She stands in the doorway of her office, watching me. Dr. Larson knows I’m one step from a meltdown. Not in front of Alexis. Please, not in front of Alexis. Keep it together, just a little longer. The doctor looks at Alexis long enough to offer a friendly smile, and then her eyes are back to me.
“Nick, why don’t you come back into my office for a moment?” Soothing. Her tone is soothing.
The receptionist stares at us—no, at me. I can’t remember her name, but I’ll never be able to forget the bulging veins that crisscross the backs of her hands or the astonishingly red shade of her hair. It looks like someone melted Red Hots on her scalp. Her hand hovers near a button on the wall. One push of that and I’ll be taken away and put in a room with nothing but myself and my ghost in it. One wrong move, one wrong outburst. My throat closes on me as I try to inhale, and my eyes fill once more.
“Nick.”
My gaze flies to Alexis’. Stays there. I could get lost in her eyes. I think I’d like that far too much. She doesn’t look away, even now. Stay here, with me, Nick, she seems to say. I take a shuddering breath, and feel the tightness of my limbs loosen.
“I want you to come outside with me. We can walk on the path that runs around the center. Please?”
“Lexie—” Dr. Larson starts.
Alexis faces the doctor. “I’ll be back in time for my appointment. I need to tell Nick something. It’s important.”
The tension around us escalates, throbs, and recedes.
Dr. Larson must nod, because Alexis takes my hand, and gently pulls at me. As soon as we’re outside, being blasted by the sun and heat and the scent of blooming flowers, she drops my hand and instead grabs my face. Her eyes are blue lightning, electrocuting me to life. The kiss is unexpected, fierce, and fills me with an ache. Bittersweet. That is how I would define the kiss. I grip her wrists, but don’t force them away from me. I hold them; I tether her to me.
Don’t hate me. Don’t hate me. Please, don’t hate me.
The kiss turns desperate with my unwanted thoughts. I move my hands from her wrists to the small of her back. I enfold her. Embrace her. I angle my mouth. Our tongues collide, dance. It’s hard to breathe. I keep kissing her. She tastes of sweetness and black licorice. Desire thrums through me, tautens my body. Her fingers curl around the sides of my face; she presses her body to mine. Too much. This is too much. She’s going to kill me with need.
I break off the kiss, putting distance between us.
“Just so I know for future reference—walking the path is code for making out?” I rasp as I try to draw air into my lungs.
Alexis laughs, and it sounds odd. Ragged. Like she too is fighting to get her breathing under control. “That’s just a perk. You asked me to greet you with kisses, remember?”
That was the best thing I ever said.
As if our bodies are in accordance, we reach for one another at the same time, lock fingers, and head for the dirt walkway that loops around the spacious land Live sits on. Alexis’ fingers are slender, cold. I tighten my hold. I want to tell her how I feel about her. I want to tell her everything—that she is everything. Dust fans the bottoms of our legs as we walk the tree-lined path. A six-foot wooden fence separates us from the rest of the city. A fortress against reality. Reality sometimes sucks.
Not this one, though, not with Alexis.
“So, my dad and I, we sort of, kind of, had a talk.”
The cautiousness of her tone gives me pause. “And?”
Alexis blows out a breath. “I think we’re going to be okay.”
“Good,” I tell her, meaning it.
“It was the pants.”
I give her a sidelong look, having no idea what she’s talking about.
She smiles, using her free hand to touch the side of my leg. “Your fuzzy gray pants. I took one look at them and was out of control with lust.”
“I’ll be sure to always wear these then,” I vow.
“It has to be the gray ones,” Alexis informs me in a somber tone. “None of the others affect me in quite the same way.”
“Got it. Gray pants. For all eternity. I’ll get a pair for every day of the week, just in case I happen to see you.”
I smile when she laughs.
“WHAT WAS GOING ON IN there when I showed up? You looked…haunted. Scared. Something.”
We’ve walked the path twice now, in what is the accumulation of one mile. I thought she would have brought it up before now. I wordlessly shake my head, not wanting to talk about it. I don’t want to break the serenity cocooning us. I know I have to tell her, and I know it will be the end of us. Why would I want to hurry that?
Alexis stops beneath an especially large tree. Her shirt matches her eyes, makes them brilliantly blue. The leaves dance as a breeze sifts through the air. The strands of her hair move as well. Her eyes are riveted to me, and I know whatever she is going to say, is something to which I won’t know how to respond.
“Were you bullied too? Is that why you’re here?” she asks bluntly.
Of course she would think that. Of course she would think we’re alike.
My jaw stiffens. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Why? Why can’t you talk about it? Why can’t you tell me?”
Because you’ll never talk to me again if I do.
She frowns. “What happened to you?”
My spine aches with how rigidly I stand.
“I told you about me. Why can’t you tell me about you?” Alexis’ voice is quiet with confusion, and beneath that, hurt.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but Alexis is already talking again.
“Wait. That’s a lie. I didn’t tell you everything—I didn’t tell you that I went back to the school to get even with my bullies,” she blurts, her eyes widening at the confession.
The sun hides behind a cloud, and the air cools. It’s unusually fitting to the moment.
“What do you mean?” I ask in a low voice, the hairs on my arms going straight up with trepidation.
“They hurt me, Nick, and now, I’m hurting them.” Her expression is defiant, and also, still, confused.
“How?” It comes out inaudible, but she reads my lips.
Alexis shrugs, picking at the bark of the tree with her fingernail. “I’m doing to them what they did to me. Everything they did. I ridicule them; I fight back. I antagonize and stalk. I am them.”
Vengeance snaps through the air, further chilling me. Thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s as if the weather feeds off our discord, hones itself to it. I glance up, noticing the gathering clouds. They’re moving fast.
“Stop,” I say roughly, taking a step toward her. Alexis scalds my eyes with the infernos of wrath in hers. Beneath that, small and fading in the depths of blue, is shame. She knows. Alexis knows this is wrong. “Stop what you’re doing. Stop it now. Leave it alone.”
