Coast

by Jay McLean

  “If you don’t want to—”

  “It happened when I was nine,” I cut in. “My mother was in a mood. More like a rage. She was cutting my hair and the end of the scissors dug right in.” I hold my head high, years of therapy helping to convince me that it’s not my shame to carry.

  Josh blows out a breath, my hair shifting with the force of it. Then he swallows loudly, his fingers moving up the middle of my back. I know what he’s aiming for, and I’m not at all surprised he knows it’s there. Like I said, he knows my body better than anyone. Better than myself. But he’s never asked before, and he’s asking now.

  He taps the small lumps of skin between my shoulder blades. “Are these…” He can’t even get the words out, so I do it for him.

  “Cigarette burns. I was fourteen. She found out I had a boyfriend. The burns hurt as much as her knee pressed on my back.” A sob fills my throat as I watch his eyes, my pain mirrored behind his tears, his ache as strong as mine. His jaw tenses, fighting against the fear, the anger I can see building inside him. I capture this moment, my gaze locked on his, and I memorize it, store it, treasure it as the first time in my life I’d felt a love greater than my own.

  I wipe at my cheek as Josh’s lips move to beneath my left eye, kissing the scar there. “And this one?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “We can stop,” he rushes out. “If you can’t…”

  After a shaky exhale, I type, “She hit me with a pan, right before she dragged me by my hair, kicking, screaming and bleeding, toward her car. It happened just before the accident.”

  He nods slowly, his glassy eyes never leaving mine. Then he kisses me, slow and soft, right on the long diagonal scar on the side of my neck. The scar that hurt the most. Not physically, but because of why it’s there. Josh’s voice cracks when he says, “I assumed it was from the seat belt in the accident, but then I found out you weren’t wearing one so…”

  I lick my lips, my mouth dry, and I can feel my pulse in my thumb, reminding me of its existence, of its need to be between my teeth so I can let the physical pain overpower the emotional one. I fight the urge, and instead, I use it to type: “It was from the accident. But not the seatbelt. She had a knife. She held it there.”

  His eyes charge with rage, with hate, with all the things I’ve tried to feel toward the person who created the scars.

  “She was dead a few minutes later,” I tell him, like it somehow makes up for her actions.

  Minutes pass while silence descends and I wait for him to say something. Anything. When he finally finds his voice, the words he chooses surprises me. “Is she on your list of fears?”

  Josh pulls me closer when my eyes widen in shock, his arms wrapping tight around me. “Your dad told me about it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know if it was a huge secret or something. I just know that I was on it, and I mean, it has to be working for you… you conquered me, right?” His lips curve into a smile.

  I nod slowly, my heart swelling at his words. “Do you want to see it?”

  His smile is instant. “Only if you want to show me.”

  We dry off quickly, dress, and move hand in hand toward my bag where I pull out the piece of paper. It’s way too worn, but too filled with memories to replace. I sit on the bed, waiting for him to do the same before I slowly unfold it.

  He takes it from me, treating it just as carefully. I watch his eyes move from side to side, getting lower and lower down the list. He takes his time, his breaths shallow, his eyes narrowing at some that may seem confusing. “Ice cream?” he asks skeptically. “How is anyone afraid of ice cream?”

  I type out the reason, feeling his breaths on my shoulder as he reads what I’ve written, and when I’m done, he stares right ahead, his mind lost, his anger brewing. “It’s okay,” I whisper.

  Shaking his head, he slowly turns to me. “I think it’s just… you’ve never really spoken to me about it so it’s a little overwhelming….”

  “I know,” I mouth.

  He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t have cared,” he says. Then quickly adds, “I mean, I would’ve cared about what happened to you, but you have to know that it wouldn’t have changed the way I feel about you.”

  I bite my thumb gently, not knowing how to respond. I’ve thought about it a lot in the time we spent apart, mainly when I was cooped up in the “Personal Development” center back in North Carolina. It was a psychiatric hospital filled with patients suffering from severe depression. Some, like me then, had tried to find a way out, and some, like me now, were fighting the battle one day at a time. Cordy asks for me, “What’s that thing Chloe told you? Those words that are on the magnet?”

  “Choose to be happy, fire truck the rest?”

  I nod. “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I type. “Because while you chose happiness, I chose peace.”

  “You chose peace,” he repeats, his voice barely a whisper. He looks down at the list again, “So you’ve marked off all but one?”

  I nod again.

  He reads the last item aloud, “Go back to the house of nightmares and face my demons.”

  I don’t react when he lifts his gaze to mine, so he goes back to the list, his fingers skimming the lines used to cross out each item. Then he moves to the dates marked next to each one. His throat bobs when he swallows, his finger paused over the fourth line. Be intimate again. He taps on the date, December 23rd, and exhales loudly, realization setting in. “You and me,” he says.

  I don’t know if it’s question or statement so I don’t offer a response.

  After a while, he breaks the silence. “So you were never with Aaron…?”

  I wait for him to look at me before shaking my head.

  “But you had feelings for him, right?”

  I inhale deeply, knowing that lying to spare his feelings would only make things worse. Besides, I’ve bared all my truths, why stop now? “I loved him.”

  He sucks in a breath, his gaze shifting away from me. “So why didn’t you ever…”

  I tap on his arm, making him face me so I can see his reaction when I tell him, “I loved him, but I didn’t love him in a way that could justify sharing something that important with him. I saved that for you, Josh.”

  He chews his lip, nodding slowly. “So you loved him the way I love Nat…” Again, neither a statement nor a question. “You worry about me cheating on you, Becs?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, while mine question his. “Why isn’t that on your list?”

  I push down the sob forming in my throat, just like I push back the tears pricking behind my eyes. “Because my fear isn’t that you’ll cheat on me.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I sit still, my thumbs paused over my phone as I let my thoughts consume me, let them own me and control me, until the words form and I allow them to fill what little space is left between us. “My biggest fear is that you’ll wake up one day, tired and miserable because you’ve spent yet another night consoling me, protecting me from my nightmares. You’ll look at me and realize that I’m not the perfect girl you made up in your head. I’m not even close. I’m broken. Shattered.”

  His breaths are harsh by the time I find the courage to look up at him. He seems lost, distant. He rubs his eyes—eyes worn and tired and miserable, just like I’ve imagined when I’ve pictured him in the way I just explained. He releases a breath and places The List carefully on the bed before turning his entire body to face me. He takes both my hands in his and says, “I get it, Becs. I didn’t show you how I felt, how much you meant to me. But I’m here now, and I’m not letting you go until I give you everything I am.” Each word is clear, concise, spoken with clarity and purpose. “And if it’s still not enough, if you still won’t believe me, then I’ll keep trying. Over and over. Until you realize that you could have come to me shattered, broken, in an infinite of pieces, and I would’ve made you whole. I would have loved you. Every damaged piece of you. In all ways and for always.”

  Tears
escape from my eyes, wetting my cheeks. They fall onto our hands, the same time I fall into him. “I love you,” I mouth.

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Olive juice?”

  26

  —Joshua—

  The shower running wakes me the next morning. Becca’s not in my arms, not beside me, but her bags are still here so I know she hasn’t left. Through the curtains, I can see the sun’s already up. I reach for my phone and curse when I see the time. It’s almost noon, which means Becca’s leaving in half an hour. She’s going to visit Chaz for a couple of days before going back to St. Louis. The team has a day full of stupid interviews before we head off to… I don’t even know where. The only thing I know is that I’m not ready to say goodbye, and so without thinking, I take a page from Tommy’s book, get out of bed and rush to hide all her bags and clothes in the closet. I put her laptop and phone in the safe, set the code, and quickly get back into bed and pretend like nothing happened. I keep my back to the bathroom and my eyes closed when I hear the shower switch off. A moment later, the door opens.

  Her footsteps sound around me, moving from one spot to another. I feel her next to the bed, her hand on my arm, slowly shaking. I don’t budge. Okay, maybe I smile. And maybe she sees it because she playfully slaps my face. I open my eyes to see hers narrowed at me. She mouths something—I don’t know what, but I’m pretty sure the word “where” and “fuck” are thrown in there.

  “What’s wrong?” I tease.

  She throws her hands in the air while her lips move again, but they’re moving way too fast, and even if I cared enough to try to read her lips, it’d be impossible. She’s naked beneath her robe. I know, because when she leans over me to look beneath the blankets behind me, I get a glimpse of her bare breasts and I chuckle. She smacks me on the back of my head when she straightens up, so I do the only thing I can think to do. I pull on the strap around her waist and undo her robe, giving me a perfect view of her naked form. She rolls her eyes, but I can see the amusement in them, and because I’m the luckiest fire trucking man on earth, I know she’ll give in to me in three…

  She removes her robe completely.

  Two…

  She reaches for my phone and types away.

  One…

  She shows it to me. We have ten minutes.

  I throw the covers off me and pull her down until she’s lying on top of me, her body flush against mine. “Have you learned nothing, Becs? I only need ten seconds.”

  Fifteen minutes later we’re satisfied, but we’re still in bed, still naked, still delaying the inevitable. “I don’t want you to go,” I tell her, my lips meeting the skin just below her belly button.

  One of her hands finds my hair while the other types away on my phone.

  “I don’t want to leave you, either.”

  “So don’t.”

  “Josh.”

  My mouth moves from her stomach to her hips and I kiss the bones sticking out beneath her perfectly smooth, dark skin. “You’ve lost a little weight since I’ve seen you last. Make sure you eat, okay?”

  “I’m just busy,” the phone says for her.

  I glance up at her. “Well, make time. You can’t be beating yourself up physically. It’s not healthy. Three meals a day, Becs. Make sure you drink lots of water, eat all your fruit and vegetables.”

  She tilts her head and smiles down at me. “You like me.”

  I make my way up her body so I can see her. See my emerald eyes clear of pain and despair, see her raven dark hair splayed across the pillow, see her lips… lips I’ve craved and now tasted, and I wonder how it’s going to be possible for my heart to function when she won’t be around to make it beat. Make it live. Make it ache in a way that lets me know that living is just breathing, but living with her means living with purpose. With awareness. With love.

  Her smile turns to a frown as her eyes search mine. “I love you,” she mouths, and I convince myself that it’s enough. It has to be.

  “You’re coming home for summer break, right?” I ask.

  Moments of silence pass before the phone says, “St. Louis is my home.”

  I sigh. “So that’s a no?”

  She removes her hands from around my neck and brings them between us so she can type with both hands.

  “I wanted to tell you in person but it never felt like the right time. I got offered this amazing paid internship on a statewide online newspaper and I’d be stupid not to take it.”

  I drop my head, my forehead meeting the pillow beside her.

  “But I’ve already told them that I want some time off.”

  I lean up quickly, my eyes snapping to hers. “When? Give me the dates!” I take my phone from her and open up my calendar.

  Now we’re both holding the phone while she swipes at the screen, looking for the date. Her hands freeze, her eyes cast downward, and it’s all I need to see for the disappointment to kick in. She taps on the dates and brings up my schedule in Hong Kong, then opens the Notes app:

  I checked your website for your tour dates and it had nothing for these dates! I can’t change them. I had to fight for them as it was!

  “I know. Hong Kong host this gnarly yearly event and they don’t announce a venue or the competitors until two weeks before. It’s invite only and it’s Nico’s first one. I promised I’d go.”

  She pouts, looking as dejected as I feel.

  I kiss her softly. “I’ll make it work, okay? I’ll find a way.”

  27

  —Becca—

  I look out the window while the cab driver speaks. “You visiting family?” he asks, watching me through the rear view mirror. “Where you coming from?”

  I point to my throat and shake my head, then refocus on the trees that line the streets and the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves. I wind down my window and inhale deeply, feeling the spring sun against my cheeks. Then I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat. I recall everything I felt the first time this happened. The fear of uncertainty had wreaked havoc on my mind and I was so afraid of the woman sitting next to me, a woman I would later call Grams. She spoke to me softly, gently, like she knew how I felt but understood me anyway. Now, I’m feeling it all over again… afraid and uncertain, only this time it’s because I have no idea how she’ll see me, or if she’ll see me at all.

  The house is eerily quiet when I get here. Maybe because I’m used to seeing Josh and Tommy outside, hearing their laughter mixed with Grams’s, or maybe because Grams isn’t in the kitchen or on the couch reading a book. Maybe it’s because I feel like an outsider and it feels strange that I just used a key to let myself in. I carry my luggage up to the guest room, glancing quickly inside Grams’s old, now empty, bedroom, and then into my old, now Sadie’s, room. I drop my bags just inside the room and decide it’s best to wait for Sadie and my grandmother outside. Being in the house brings out the fear, brings out the uncertainty. I start down the stairs and that’s when I hear the front door open and my grandmother’s voice. “I know, Joshua,” she says, clearly on the phone. “She should be here very soon. Oh, I’m so excited to see her. Did you lovebirds have a good time together?” … “That’s great! Is she just as beautiful as ever?”

  I make it known by the loudness of my steps that I’m here and that I’m waiting. I think she sees me before I see her because I’m greeted with a squeal, followed by a whimper as she covers her mouth. Her eyes are already filled with tears, just like mine. Slowly, she stands up from her wheelchair and moves toward me. “I have to go, Joshua. My Becca’s home.”

  Journal

  It’s amazing—that one simple word can mean so much.

  MY.

  In most cases, my in front of your own name may seem wrong, like you’re nothing but a mere possession.

  But it my case, it’s the opposite.

  It means I belong, I’m loved, and I’m wanted.

  And when you spend the first eighteen years of your life alone and discarded, searching for someone to claim you a
s theirs, my means everything.

  My is the air in my lungs.

  The light battling my darkness.

  The hero fighting my villains.

  ~ ~

  Grams feels so thin, so weak, so frail beneath my touch. I’m almost too scared to hug her back. Josh had sent me updates, along with pictures, but none of them could’ve prepared me for the woman standing in front of me. We only spend five minutes together, her asking me questions and me typing out answers, before it becomes clear she’s struggling to stay awake. Sadie notices too, and tells her it’s time for bed and that the walk they’d been on when I got here would’ve tired her out.

  Grams doesn’t fight her, only nods and points to the bathroom. Sadie helps her walk there, and I watch, helpless and confused when I see Sadie go in with her. Maybe Josh was holding out on me, not wanting to give me the truth to spare me the pain of how bad things truly are with her. My mind switches from This is the new normal to Maybe she’s just having a bad day over and over in the few minutes it takes for them to finish their business in that tiny room.

  Sadie gets her settled in her bed, and only now do I realize that it’s not her bed, not the bed that was here the last time I was, and not the bed I found myself crawling into when the pain, the suffering, the longing became too much. Now, it’s the same type they had in her hospital room, the same type I’ve spent countless nights in after feeling the wrath of my mother post “episode.”

  I hold Grams’s hand until she falls asleep, which doesn’t take long. Then, as morbid as it sounds, I grab my camera from upstairs and take pictures of Grams in her peaceful state. There’s so much a lens catches that the eye doesn’t, and I plan on spending the entire night searching for those things. I want to study the expression on her face, the wrinkles that trace the outline of her lips. I want to compare the two of us and find similarities. It’s clear my eyes came from my dad, which means that he most likely got them from his. Grams’s eyes are a dark brown. Almost black. It should be impossible that so much light, so much hope, can come from such darkness.