by Dee J. Stone
I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.
A shadow above my head. I look up and see an anvil hanging above me. It sways in the wind. Stares down at me with a menacing expression.
It plummets toward me.
Chapter Two
Lex
I tighten my fingers around Cruiser’s hand. His skin is rough and warm, and so familiar. So comforting. I lean forward to gently brush my lips across his knuckles. He doesn’t stir.
My heart hurts as my eyes sweep across his body, from the top of his head, down his face that is black and blue and covered in bruises, down the arm that’s in a cast, supported by a sling. Tears gather in my eyes. “Oh, Cruiser,” I whisper.
Mrs. Dalton shifts on the chair against the wall. Her elbow rests on the armrest, her head drooping toward her chest. Cruiser’s Dad sits in the adjacent chair, his eyes shut tight. From the way his chest rises and falls, I can tell he’s really awake. I don’t know if he’s gotten an ounce of sleep these past two days.
As for me…I haven’t left Cruiser’s side, except for school. Coach Lewis has been on my case, demanding I stop skipping practice because our dance meet is coming up next week. But how can I possibly think about dance when my Cruiser is lying in a hospital bed all battered up?
I don’t get it. I don’t get any of it. Why was Cruiser attacked? The police claim they caught the guys who did this to him, something about surveillance cameras around the area. There weren’t any cameras where the attack took place, but the police were able to reconstruct what happened. The guys knocked their car into Cruiser’s motorcycle, throwing him into the street. A few minutes later, they fled the area. A man found Cruiser, all bloodied up, a little while later. He was out cold. Mrs. Dalton called us the next morning.
Jake Tyler was one of the guys who attacked him. But he’s not talking. We have no idea what instigated all of this, if it was random or not—though, I’m almost positive it wasn’t random because of what went down in the school backyard two weeks ago. We won’t have answers until Cruiser wakes up.
The doctors said it won’t be too long. His body’s been through a lot and needs rest, not to mention he’s been given a load of pain meds. Thankfully, he hasn’t sustained major injuries, just internal bleeding, broken ribs, a broken arm, and cuts and scrapes.
Every part of me, every cell, every organ, every blood vessel, is filled with fear, pain, worry. Why did this happen? Cruiser’s been keeping so many secrets from me. I knew he would get hurt, I just knew it. And I know this has to do with Rey.
Cruiser’s twin brother hardly visits. He hasn’t said a word to me since the attack. I’ve never seen his eyes so hollow before. It’s like something inside him died. It’s only been two days, but Rey has gotten so skinny. I’m worried about him, too.
Mrs. Dalton shifts again. Her eyes flutter open, and when she sees me, she forces a smile. “Lex, you’re still here.”
“I want to be here when he wakes up.” My thumb softly rubs over his knuckles.
She glances at her watch. “It’s late. You should go home. It’ll probably be some time before he wakes up.”
Normally, the nurse would have kicked me out because I’m not family. But I think she saw the love I have for him in my eyes and decided to give me a break. I want to tell him how much he means to me and how sorry I am for what happened between us. If I hadn’t broken up with him, he wouldn’t have been on the other side of town. Jake and his friends wouldn’t have attacked him. He would be in my arms. I’d be kissing him and telling him how much I love him.
“I’ll give you a lift,” Mr. Dalton offers. I guess I was right—he wasn’t sleeping.
My eyes lower to my lap. I don’t want to leave Cruiser. Ever. When I first walked into the room and saw how broken he was, I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe, my chest ached, and Mom had to support me because I was sure to collapse. I couldn’t believe the sight in front of me, that my Cruiser was lying in the bed, his body beat up. I thought he wasn’t going to make it. I don’t know how I could live on if he was gone. But he is going to live, and when he wakes up, I want to be the first person he sees. I want him to look into my eyes and understand that he and I are forever. That nothing, absolutely nothing, can stand in our way. Not our pasts, not the fear of the future. Nothing.
Assuming it’s something he wants, too.
Mrs. Dalton gets up and gently rubs my shoulder. “It’s not good to stay in here all day, honey. Go live your life. Cruiser’s not going anywhere. He’ll be here when you get back.”
Fresh tears pool in my eyes. She’s right—I have put my life on pause since the attack. I’ve pushed away school, dance, even my family and friends. It’s because of the guilt eating away at me. I hurt him, in more than one way. And now that he’s lying here all broken…I shut my eyes, causing the tears to slide down my cheeks. I feel like the most horrible person on the planet.
“Maybe I’ll just stretch my legs for a few minutes,” I tell her.
She nods. “But if he’s not up in an hour, we’re taking you home.”
I have no choice but to agree. As much as I want to stay with him for the rest of my life, I need to go home. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch—if picking at my plate at school counts as eating—and I need to take a shower. And even though dance is the farthest thing from my mind, I can’t let my teammates down. We need to kick ass at the next meet so we can move one step closer to nationals. Like Mrs. Dalton said, life goes on. Though I don’t want to move on with my life without Cruiser. He needs to know that.
Cruiser’s mom takes my seat and his hand as I leave the room. There is so much activity out here, people and computers and beeping. And ugh, the smell. I really hate hospitals. Ever since my little sister’s accident, it’s hard for me to step foot in here. It reminds me of the heartache my family went through, all because of me. Because I was busy making out with Cruiser instead of keeping an eye on Rosie. It’s because of me that she ran into the street and got hit by a car. It’s because of me that she may never walk again.
I always seem to hurt the people I love most.
I shake my head. I can’t think about this right now. I can’t take it.
As I pass through the hallway, my eyes catch sight of a guy sitting near the elevators, his back pressed to the wall. Rey. He’s staring at the space in front of him, his hands clenching and unclenching on his lap. He looks so…defeated.
After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I make my way toward him and slide down next to him. His eyes trek to mine for a second before returning to the spot he was staring at. I remain still for a few minutes before slowly taking hold of his hand. I expect him to shove me away, to get up and storm out. But he doesn’t. His hand grips mine, so tight it hurts. But I don’t say anything, I just grip his, too.
“He was going to see you.” His voice is so low I almost miss his words.
“What?” I ask, my heart rate picking up.
Rey’s focus is still on that spot. “He said he gave up on the most important person in his life.” His eyes move to mine. “He was coming to see you because he didn’t want to give up on you.”
Tears enter my eyes and spill down my cheeks so fast I couldn’t stop them if I tried. Cruiser was going to see me? To make things right between us. He got hurt because of me. It is my fault.
“He loves you.” Rey’s eyes are back on their old spot. “Really loves you.” He laughs softly to himself. “More than I could have.”
The tears are so strong and never ending. I’m a mess. Rey lets me cry on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. But there’s something in his voice, something I can’t explain exactly. It’s as though he’s trying to convince himself that everything will be all right. That he’s not only talking about Cruiser, but himself, too.
I put my arms around him and hold him.
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Dad is so lame. Actually, his ideas are. Here I am supposed to be enjoying my fifteenth birthday and he’s walking in every second with some new way to “spice up the party” when really all I want is for this to be over.
It’s charades now. Dad’s on the floor, pretending to be a dead fish or something. I don’t know. I’m distracted by all the balloons and streamers.
My gaze drifts to my ten guests. I invited the entire freshmen class, but hardly anyone showed up. Two girls I barely know from Spanish are here. They’ve been whispering and giggling the whole time. Guess they had nothing better to do on a Sunday night other than to ridicule me and my party. Then there are twins who I’m sort of friends with, and a guy whose mother forced him to come because she and my dad work together at the public library. My eleven and thirteen year old neighbors somehow got an invitation. My older sister, Meg, escaped half an hour ago to hang out with her boyfriend. Can’t say I really blame her. And of course my best friend Toby is here, guessing my dad is a sea lion. I’m not sure I could survive this thing without him by my side.
I know, Dad’s trying. Single father with no clue how to raise two teenage daughters. And I love him for that. But I would have been fine with dinner at some fancy restaurant. Just me, Dad, Meg, and Toby.
Dad flops on the floor for five more minutes before I finally convince him that it’s late and my guests should head home. He heaves himself up and pats his butt to clean the dirt, prompting new giggles out of Giggly One and Giggly Two.
One by one, they file out. The only one left is Toby.
“Present time,” I announce.
Dad chuckles. “Now I understand why you were so eager to kick everyone out, Emily.”
I leap to the small table and start opening the packages. DVDs, pretty dangling earrings, a free pass to Six Flags. Money from Dad, which is awesome. The only thing that remains is the present from Toby (Meg claims hers is still in the mail. Sure.)
It’s a small-ish package, wrapped in off-white paper. Giving Toby a look that says, “This better be good,” I tear it off to reveal a video game. “No way. Triumph? This doesn’t come out for another two months. How did you get it?”
Toby grins. “I have my sources.”
“Thanks.” I hug him tight. “You got one for yourself, too?”
He scoffs. “As if I’d get you one without getting my own.”
I roll my eyes.
“So,” he says with a crooked smile. “You going to sneak out with your boyfriend to the woods?”
I punch his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Toby likes to tease me about my single status, but I don’t really care that I don’t have a guy. I mean, of course I fantasize what it would be like to have a real boyfriend—and I’m not talking about Danny Lewis, who in fifth grade insisted that kissing on the lips will yield babies—but I’m really relieved I don’t have to go all psycho like some girls at school. Worrying whether they look hot enough, if they’re fun enough, if they’re interesting enough. There’s time to worry about boys later. All I care about is playing video games with Toby. We’re the most badass nightelf couple in World of Warcraft.
“Because when you snuck out to the woods after your party, that was the happiest day of your life, right?” I tease back. He’s never come close to having a girlfriend. The poor guy. He really wants one. Not that he’s ever admitted it—I just know.
“Guys don’t care about birthdays like girls do.”
“Come on.” I elbow him. “Your mom threw you the most extravagant party ever.”
He scratches the back of his head. “Whatever.”
He has two older brothers and no sisters, so his mom tends to—how do I put it?—feminize him. It pisses the heck out of him. His parents are thinking of adopting a little girl.
“Aw, cheer up. You’ve had three slices of cake, you won charades, and you gave me the awesomest present a gamer could want.”
He smiles, his cheeks getting a bit red. “Wanna go up to install the game?”
“Hell yeah.”
We race to my room.
“Keep the door open!” Dad calls from the kitchen. I cringe. How many times do I have to tell him that Toby isn’t a boy? Okay, duh he’s a boy, but he’s not a boy. He’s just Toby. Best-friend-almost-like-a brother Toby. The worst that could happen with the door closed is me talking him into secretly playing with my dolls like we did as kids.
Toby drags a chair to my computer and sits down while I tear the plastic off the video game case. I sniff it. Nothing beats the smell of a brand new game. I join my best friend at the computer and pop it in.
He tells me about this awesome race they created in Triumph. I listen for a few minutes before my mind drifts to something else. Something I try to avoid every year on my birthday. It’s been on my mind since last week and hasn’t left. Like a parasite that’s nestled in my brain and is sucking out all my life force.
The anniversary of Mom’s death.
“You have that look again.”
I blink. “What?”
“The look you always get on your birthday,” he says in a low voice.
Birthdays are meant to be days of celebration, and it’s no different in my house. But we can’t celebrate mine the way we’re supposed to, not really. My mom died giving birth to me. What’s more important—remembering her death, or celebrating my life? After fifteen years, we still don’t know. Dad tends to overcompensate, tries to make my day special because it’s not my fault Mom died. Even though it is.
When I was very young, I didn’t feel the lack of a mom too strongly because I grew up not knowing her, so it’s not like I grasped what I was missing. But in fourth grade, we had a mother/daughter slumber party at a classmate’s house. I was the only one to come with a dad. While all the moms braided their daughters’ hair, painted their nails, and had fun with makeup, my dad fumbled with my hair and spilled nail polish on my pajamas. One of the mothers felt bad and took over. Even though I wanted to have nothing to do with makeup or painting my nails, because Emily doth not dig the girly stuff, I realized I was missing someone very important in my life.
Toby’s green eyes meet mine. They’re overflowing with worry. “Wanna talk about it?”
I slump in my seat, staring at my hands that I’m wringing on my lap. “This game is taking so long to install.”
He studies my face. Opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it. Opens it again. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but he still doesn’t know how to broach the whole Mom’s death topic. He’s not the only one. It’s kind of a thing in my family. That’s why Meg’s never really around on my birthdays. I’d like to attribute today’s absence to my lame party, but the truth is she ran to escape. I can never escape.
“It’s the updates,” Toby says, his eyes on the screen. “Bugs they had to fix before the game officially releases.”
“Oh. Cool, I guess.”
Toby glances at me. “You’re not okay.”
I shrug. If I say a word, I’ll start to cry. I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, pretending to look bored and impatient.
I shouldn’t be upset. I never knew her.
Tears prick my eyes. Damn.
I fidget in my chair, kicking my desk’s leg. “Toby, isn’t it getting late?”
He peeks at his watch. “Guess so.” He looks at me, concerned eyes circling my face. “We’ll play tomorrow?”
“Sure.” My voice sounds weak.
“Okay.” He bends forward to give me a hug. “Happy birthday.”
I hold onto him a little longer than necessary, enjoying the comfort and security only a best friend can give. When we finally pull apart, I see the concern in his eyes has quadrupled. I force a smile and say, “Don’t even think about playing Triumph when you get home. The next time you enter the world will be with your demon love by your side.”
He grins, his shoulders sagging with a bit of relief. “Okay, okay. I promise.”
“Good
.”
Giving me another quick hug, he wishes me a good night and exits my room. As soon as he’s gone, emptiness engulfs me, making me feel lonely and vulnerable. I’m alone in my room a lot, either doing homework or gaming, but now I feel really lonely, like a black cloud swallowed me up.
I stand and head to my closet, get down on my knees and rummage through the bottom drawer. It’s where I keep all my private things. I find the faded, wrinkled, tear-stained, yellow envelope and pluck it out.
Dropping down on my bed, I slowly lift the flap and pull out the single photo inside. Dad gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. I remember how happy I was to finally have a picture of my mom all to myself. The other photos I’ve seen of her are in albums or in the drawers in Dad’s office. Those are the best, the ones he thinks Meg and I don’t know about. We once snuck into his office when we were younger and snooped around until we found them. They were so romantic. Dad and Mom, so in love and full of life, eager for a future together.
Tears splat onto the photo in my hand. It was taken about a month before I was born. Mom looks so happy, and there I am inside her. Sometimes when I study this photo, I want to crawl into it, go back in time and do something. I don’t know what. But just something.
My fingers trace Mom. She had blonde hair and blue eyes like me. Dad says I’m the spitting image of her, even in personality. Mom was a tomboy, too, and she wore glasses until she went to college.
Wiping my eyes with my shirtsleeve, I deposit the photo back in the envelope and return it to its place. I head to the bathroom and splash water onto my face. When I lower my hands to cup more, I jump back, splattering water onto the sink and my shirt.
Something is on my skin.
My blood begins to race as I examine my inner arms closely. These shiny, yellow, green, and black markings that look like pumpkin seeds run from my wrist up to my mid-forearm. My toes grow numb and my heart pounds in my ears.
