That Night

by Cyn Balog

  “What about Luisa?”

  He’s naked, rolling on the condom. His shoulders slouch slightly. “What about her?” He kneels between my legs, and I know what’s coming next. “Maybe everything feels wrong because this is right.”

  I find myself nodding, even though I wouldn’t know right if it fell from the sky and bonked me on the head. He knows the look in my eyes. He knows me too well.

  “All those times you were with him, in his room. Only a wall separating us. And I thought, This is all wrong. Did you feel it? You had to have to felt it too.”

  He’s staring at me, expecting an answer. What the hell is with all this talking? I shouldn’t have asked about Luisa. “Yeah. Of course,” I lie. Like I can even remember a time when I felt, wanted to feel.

  He spreads my legs, comes up close to me, and I feel him at my entrance. He pushes in with enough fierceness to make me gasp.

  “Oh yeah,” he growls, and from the look on his face, the intensity of his mouth on my lips, I guess he likes it. His hands are tight on my shoulders as he moves against me, his hip bones grinding against mine. “Do you like that?”

  “Oh yeah,” I repeat, the words muffled by his skin, because the second he’s inside me, I know this isn’t right, either. All I can think is, I must look like my mother did. What if Declan, wherever he is, can see me now?

  I stay quiet, trying to fight back the tears in my eyes.

  I’ve imagined Kane as a lover a million times since what happened between us, and each time, he always does the same thing. He rolls off me, embarrassed, like an awkward fifteen-year-old boy, and we don’t talk for what feels like an eternity afterward.

  But this Kane doesn’t do that. When he’s done, he stays inside me, breathing hard, his hand playing near my ear, twisting a lock of my hair. He falls against me, resting his head on my shoulder.

  “I love you,” he breathes out. Not once. Over and over again.

  Why is he getting like this? The great Kane Weeks, why is he getting sentimental now? Over this? Over something I started because I wanted to prove to myself I could still feel? I should’ve cut myself with a file again. It would’ve been less painful.

  I lie there, still, looking over the trophies. He has ones for every year, from when he was in Pee Wees, right on up to last season. I count them, noticing he’s missing one from last year. It should be the biggest one, because they’d made regionals. He’d been so proud. But the trophy is gone.

  And Kane’s still whispering in my ear and twirling my hair around his finger.

  Eventually, he realizes I’m waiting for him to get up.

  “I never felt like Declan was wrong for me,” I say when he rolls off me.

  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, laughing bitterly. “Really, Hail? I tell you I love you, and you talk about him? Can you, for one minute, not talk about him?”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “Really. Was the sex that good with him?”

  “I never… We never…”

  He’s reaching for his pants. He stops and stares at me. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I find my bra on the other side of the bed and quickly clasp it. “No. I didn’t even do it with that guy at the party.” I shrug. “I laughed at him. I called him weak. We’re all weak…”

  “Screw you, Hail.”

  I scowl back at him.

  “Declan wasn’t some god. You make him out to be so…” He vises his head in his hands, making his messy hair even messier. “Do you even listen to yourself?”

  I swallow.

  He sits down on the edge of the bed, so absently he nearly misses it. His voice is quieter. “So…I… You mean, I’m…”

  “The only one. Yeah.”

  He stares at his lap for a long time, at the condom on his shrunken dick. He’s hunched and surprisingly fragile. I expect him to say something about how that confirms we’re meant for each other. Instead, he mumbles, “So that’s what you think of me. That I’m weak?”

  He fishes an empty Coke bottle out of his trash bin, peels off the condom, and feeds it in.

  “I’m weak too.”

  When he pulls on his boxers, he snaps, “Compared to Declan? Is that what you were going to say? He wasn’t strong. You really think that?”

  “He had convictions.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Some convictions. He went against them, Hail. All of them. Remember?”

  “No, I don’t. What do you mean?”

  He throws up a hand. “Well. Obviously. Blowing his fucking head off was against his religion.”

  I wince. “That’s what I’m saying! So you know as well as I do that there’s something wrong with this picture. He didn’t kill himself.”

  When it’s out in the open, he blinks, a look of profound horror on his face. “Hail. Stop it. Of course he did.”

  I sigh. “Until I know what happened, I’ll always think of him. I can’t help it. My mind is a mess, Kane. Juliet calls it selective retention. My mind doesn’t know how to process certain memories, so it simply ignores them. But I don’t think I can ever get past this until I understand.”

  He stares at me for a long time, then sucks in a breath. “Wait. Hail. Are you telling me you really don’t remember what happened the day he died?”

  “I remember some of it. But I don’t remember a lot of things, from weeks before he died.”

  He’s gaping at me, astonished. “What the hell did they do to you in that place? Shock treatments?”

  “A lot of medication.” I close my eyes, trying to remember the last time I saw Declan, but the most I can get out is the way he looked at me—the way he always looked at me, as if I was his whole world. Suddenly, though, something comes to me. “He was at home, right? Your parents were away in the Poconos.”

  Kane nods. He’s biting his lip, which means he isn’t sure he should tell me something. He says, “So you’re not pretending. You really don’t remember the weeks before he died? Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “How many times have we done this?”

  “What? You mean…” I point at the condom in the soda bottle. “That?”

  We’re looking at each other as though we each think the other is crazy. I say, “Twice. Why?”

  He smacks his head with the back of his hand. “Holy shit. You seriously don’t remember anything.”

  I swallow. “What are you saying? Care to enlighten me?”

  He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

  How can I forget that? I sit up on his bed, get to kneeling. “Are you saying we had sex before Declan died? That I cheated on him?”

  Kane’s mouth is a straight line. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

  What? He has to be lying. I cover my mouth with my hands. “But why? Do you think… Is that why…”

  “No. No, Hail,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me and taking my wrist, prying my hand from my mouth. “It wasn’t. He didn’t know about it. But seriously. That’s why you need to move forward. Knowing what happened isn’t going to help you at all.”

  Nothing he says penetrates the wall around me. I cheated on Declan. I’m a liar, and a cheater, and…I’m just like Kane.

  Kane’s somehow managed to get completely dressed, and I’m still sitting in my bra and nothing else. I find my thong inside my jeans and put it on, then stand and shimmy into my jeans. My shirt’s still downstairs. I cross my arms in front of my chest. Goose bumps pop out everywhere on my arms. I’m starting to open the door when he grabs me and kisses me. “Just because it wasn’t wrong with him doesn’t mean it’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you,” I mutter. Stupid boy, he’s always been glowingly perfect, which has never been clearer to me than now, with him only a hairbreadth away from me, our noses nearly touching. I can’t meet his eyes. I make my voice
extra tough. “So what does this mean? Are we dating?”

  I expect him to say no, but instead his fingers entwine with mine. “Is that what you want?”

  No, of course it’s not. “I can’t do that now. And you have Luisa.”

  “Forget Luisa.” He groans. “You know how I feel about her.”

  “I know what you tell me. But what you tell her is obviously a different story. She’s in love with you, Kane, and you’re leading her on.”

  He digs his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocks back and forth on his bare feet, considering this. “Fine. I’ll break up with her.”

  I blink. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Kane never got himself worked up over a girl. Ever. “Don’t make this because of me. You owe her that much.”

  He nods silently, contemplating this, which makes me think I need to explain myself.

  “I mean, I don’t think I’d be very good at that right now. You know. Dating. Being a girlfriend. Not with…what happened. It’s still way too soon.”

  Too soon for…everything. Including what we just did.

  “Fine. I’ll break up with her anyway.” When I give him a questioning look, he says, “You’re right. Our love-hate relationship is mostly hate. I’m kidding myself. I’ll never be happy with her.”

  Scraping my ragged fingernails against my palms, I tug on the doorknob when I notice something on the top of his dresser, between the neatly arranged trophies. It’s a watch. And not any watch. I know it because of the crack on the face, the hands permanently stuck at 3:15. It’s Declan’s. I pick it up. “Why did you take his watch?”

  “I didn’t take it. He gave it to me.” Kane shrugs. “Actually…he gave it to me the night before he died.”

  “But this watch was his dad’s.” He’d loved this thing. I turn it over in my hands. It’s one of those fancy diving watches with all the gadgets. I run my finger along the inside of the strap, which had touched Declan’s wrist so many times. My breath catches in my throat. I’d told Juliet that Declan hadn’t been the typical suicide who gave away his prized possessions. But I was clearly wrong. He simply hadn’t given them to me. “Did he tell you why?”

  Kane shakes his head slowly. Great, another unanswered question to add to the pile. Before I can sigh in desperation, Kane reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

  I flinch. Declan didn’t know about Kane and me, I remind myself. Did he? It doesn’t matter. Kane is right. I keep trying to find explanations to make myself feel better, and yet, everything I learn makes me feel worse. “I want to go to church,” I tell him.

  He stiffens, then lets out a breath. “To pray?”

  “No. To talk to Father Brady. He and Declan were close. He might be able to share something.”

  Kane closes his eyes. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

  158 Days Before

  Labor Day weekend. My father knocked on my door as I was binge-reading The Great Gatsby, my summer homework for junior year. The first part of the summer, Declan and I had spent all of our time together. But by August, he’d begun making weird excuses about why he couldn’t see me. After that big sex talk, when he’d told me he wanted to wait…something had changed. He stopped coming around and didn’t invite me to his room, even when his parents were away. When I climbed up to see him, he was gone, the window locked.

  All I could think was that I was losing him.

  I’d never been so afraid. So hopeless.

  So out of control.

  I moped constantly, wondering what I’d done. Had I turned him off somehow? By that last weekend, I checked the calendar and realized that I was well and truly screwed, summer-homework-wise. Most of the stuff I’d been skimming about Daisy and Nick and Jay was bouncing right out of my brain, which was too overcrowded with thoughts of Declan. So by the time my father came in and told me he had something to show me, I was happy for the distraction.

  The fact that my dad was at my door was weird enough. When I was a kid, he’d done all the good stuff dads did—carrying me on his shoulders around Disney so I wouldn’t have to walk, buying me SpongeBob pops from the ice cream truck, taking twelve hours to set up the outdoor jungle gym so I could play with it for three minutes until I got bored. Now we were virtual strangers without much in common. Weirder still was that he was actually smiling. Usually when my parents were home all day together they were at each other’s throats by this time of night.

  Holding my copy of Gatsby open with my finger to mark the page, I jogged down the stairs after him. He took me to the garage. I thought he was going to show me something out in the driveway—like a nice sunset, or a hot-air balloon, or a turtle he’d found while mowing the lawn—since that’s what our interaction boiled down to these days.

  It was a bright-red Jeep Wrangler, all shiny and new, with the top down.

  All I could think was boss. I didn’t even know if that was a cool thing to say anymore. I didn’t care. The Jeep was boss.

  My father and mother stood together, smiling, for once in their lives. “It’s yours,” my dad said.

  My jaw dropped. “Really?”

  My mom nodded. “You’re going to start your junior year on Tuesday. And we thought you should have your own car, instead of having to take the bus.”

  Yes. Hell, yes.

  I moved closer. On first glance, I’d thought it was new, but as I studied it, I notice little things. A small dent in the front bumper. Scratches in the red paint. A black mark across one of the tan headrests. It was used, for sure. But it didn’t matter. It was still boss, and mine. All mine.

  I climbed in, still holding Gatsby, marveling at all of the mine-ness in front of me. That steering wheel? Mine. Those floor mats? Mine. The dangly little cinnamon-cookie air freshener that hung from the rear-view mirror? Also mine. My mouth wouldn’t close; the awe was just too great.

  Laying Gatsby, open to my page, on the passenger seat, I wrapped my hands tight around the wheel. My father leaned in and handed me a key ring with a shiny key. I slid it into the ignition, then leaned back and stared. “Thank you,” I said. Then I noticed the stick shift, and a small part of me deflated. “But I can’t drive this.”

  My mother motioned to the front of the garage. “We’ve hired an excellent teacher.”

  I craned to see into the rear-view mirror as Declan came into view. He slid into the passenger’s side and leaned his elbows on the half door. “Can I have a ride?”

  It all came to me right then. All the time he’d been gone? “Did you…?”

  He nodded, opened the door, and slid inside, grinning. Suddenly, all was right with the world, and I had to wonder why I’d been so needlessly mopey for the past month.

  He picked up my book. “Gatsby, huh? ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Did you help with this?”

  My father said, “Let’s put it this way. A month ago, it was on blocks and hadn’t run in ten years.”

  My jaw dropped. “You fixed it up? Without me knowing? How?”

  My father saluted us, and my mother waved. They walked back into the house, leaving us alone. I looked at Declan, wanting to jump him again. He said, “Well, you knew something was up. Tell me you weren’t suspicious.”

  “I was suspicious you’d found a new girlfriend,” I said, punching him. I squeezed my hands together in front of me in excitement. Then I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Told you,” he said. “We’re forever. Now, do you want me to drive, or what?”

  We’re forever. Of course we were. I found myself smiling, wondering how I could have ever doubted it. Doubted him. I took Gatsby from his hands and tossed it into the back seat. “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

  We spent a couple hours in the parkin
g lot of the Giant supermarket. I caught on pretty quickly. And he made a very attractive teacher, patient, helpful…and all mine. I’d been starved of him for over a month, and right then, it was as if someone had laid a banquet in front of me. About a half hour into the lesson, I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw the car in Park, making it squeal.

  “Whoa, you want the transmission to drop out of your car?” he asked.

  I pushed down the brake, climbed over the stick, and into his lap. “No, I want this.” And I kissed him.

  He kissed me back, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. “You like your birthday present?”

  “Birthday present?” I breathed into his neck. “That was months ago.”

  I wanted his hands on me, but when I tore my mouth from his skin, I realized he was petting the dashboard. “This sure is a pretty piece of crap you own, isn’t it?”

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his jaw, hard, turning and focusing his eyes on me. Sometimes his car hobby could be a little annoying, as consuming as it was. “You’re my pretty piece of crap, dude. Kiss me.”

  He did. But as usual, we stopped before things got too heavy. At least, we physically stopped. As usual, as his erection pressed against my body, my mind stretched out into what could happen, if he would only let it. If he would only do what came naturally.

  When we got back to the cul-de-sac, it was ten, and I was in a bad mood. For weeks I’d been wanting Declan back, loving me. And now that he was…I wanted more.

  I was disappointed, tired, and had made zero progress on that damn Gatsby book. As we were pulling into the driveway, my phone lit up with a text. Declan pulled it out of the cup holder and read it. “Luisa.”

  I groaned. “What does she want?” Luisa and I were still friends. Maybe we weren’t the best buddies who hung out all the time and read each other’s minds—she had Nina for that—but we were still tight. I looked at the message. Can I sleep over tonight?