Anger flickered inside me. Who gave her the right to decide about my life? But when I opened my mouth to argue, it came out more like pleading. “It’s not like that. He was drunk and I upset him and I know it looked awful but you have no idea what he’s been through. You’ve never given him a chance.”
“Bee, he hit you. There’s no world in which that is anything other than his fault. I have seen you at your shittiest, and even the very worst version of you deserves nothing but love.”
“I kissed Eric,” I said, and felt the truth hang heavy in the air around us. It was immediately too late to swallow it back down.
Jo hid her shock well but I still saw it skitter through her. “So what?”
There were both a million and zero answers to that. I didn’t know how to give one.
“No, really: so what. So that means you deserve to get smashed in the face? Seriously, try to see this from my perspective for a second. What if it were me? What if you saw someone I love smack me across the face and shake me like he wanted to kill me? Come on, picture it right now, and tell me what you would do.”
My brain conjured the image almost involuntarily—Jo, some guy, loud words, a punch—but as much as it hurt to even imagine it, this cartoon scenario was easy to shrug off. If that happened to Jo I would be furious and protective and want to rip the guy’s balls off. But it wouldn’t happen to Jo. Jo was different. Jo was not me. No one would ever treat her like that.
Jo would hate my thinking this—or maybe, probably, she knew it too—but I wasn’t her costar, I was the best supporting actress. It may have seemed like we were skipping arm-in-arm through life, but I had always skipped double-time just to keep up. Life came easier for Jo. She was charismatic and interesting and good at whatever she tried, including things where she wasn’t really trying—like when we’d both played clarinet in the elementary school band and I practiced and practiced because I loved clarinet, and Jo, who’d wanted trombone, barely touched it and became first chair.
It wasn’t like that for me. All my life I’d worked to get good grades, follow the rules, keep things neat, make people happy. I did some extracurricular this and some AP/honors that, worked my job at the Shack, and kept pace with Jo, but I didn’t excel at any of it—I labored over it, hard, and got the job done. The first thing in my life that had come truly easily was being with Aiden.
And now I was failing at that, too.
I twisted his ring on my finger and avoided meeting Jo’s gaze. “He didn’t want to kill me,” I mumbled. She was always so hyperbolic. The strikes hadn’t even left bruises.
“Bee. Please listen.” As if I had another choice. “You want to find a way to blame yourself because that would make this a thing you can change and control, but I’m sorry, you can’t control it. You can’t control him. It’s not what you did or didn’t do, or the choices you made. It’s the choice he made, and that choice is unacceptable.”
I wondered what it would take to get her to stop talking. If I waited long enough, she would have to.
“Even if you fucked Eric on the dance floor in front of Aiden and all of us, that wouldn’t make it okay for him to hit you. You know that. I know you know that. How can I make you believe it?”
I didn’t answer. It was just like Jo to assume she could swoop in and decide things with a few magic words that would pull me back into step alongside her, wagging my tail, like she knew best—like she was some kind of authority on Aiden and me and the nuances of our whole relationship. Like she knew better how to live my life than I did. Which, maybe she did. But it still wasn’t up to her.
“You can’t fix him, but you can walk away,” she said.
I felt the hairs on my neck rise up like Stella’s fur when she was extra pissed. “I don’t want to walk away. And you don’t get to control me, either.”
“I know you don’t want to.” Her voice was so sad. “But I think you know in your gut that this isn’t what you want either. He isn’t who you want him to be.”
I shook my head. It was pointless to try to make her understand.
Maybe everything with Aiden had been a huge, horrible mistake, but he was my mistake to make. Reason couldn’t change that I loved him.
Thirty-Seven
JO KEPT ME PRISONER FOR MOST OF THE DAY, HALF taking care of me, half forcing me through an Aiden detox. She ran me a bubble bath, cued up comfort movies and cute animals galore, baked us raisin-free cinnamon rolls, and proffered other food and beverages every time I so much as blinked. I couldn’t eat a thing. Just the smell of Dr. Ruben’s coffee made me sick with too many memories.
We didn’t talk about Eric or the kiss, and I didn’t see or hear him around the house. As Jo wore me down with her anti-Aiden pep talks—her research into teen crisis hotlines and classic abuser behaviors; her wondering out loud if I might like to talk to her mom about it too; her reasonable, rational arguments to which it became easiest for me to just give in and nod along because she clearly wasn’t otherwise going to get off my back—I was grateful to not have to deal with avoiding Eric, too. I took his absence as a sign he felt the same way.
By late afternoon, Jo reluctantly agreed to let me go home to walk Rufus, on the conditions that I leave my phone’s location tracker on so she could monitor that I went straight to my house and stayed there, and that I absolutely, under no circumstances, was allowed to make contact with Aiden. The third condition, that she would be coming over later so we could tell my parents about him together, effectively putting the nails in the coffin of the relationship and hammering it shut forever, I needed some time alone to figure out how to talk her out of.
I drove home with no music, under a sky thick with clouds, and let myself in the front door. Rufus was right there waiting for me, whining and panting with the kind of fear that could only mean a thunderstorm was approaching. I knelt so my face was even with his and sank my fingers into his fur to comfort us both. He leaned against me and licked my arm with so much gratefulness, need, and love, it collapsed the dam that had been holding back everything inside me. I cried real sobs, right there on the floor with my dog—cried for everything I’d ruined, everything I’d been wrong about, all I couldn’t control. I cried until I was emptied and raw, then I clipped on Rooey’s leash, let him empty out too, and led him back inside as the first fat raindrops fell. He trembled at a crack of thunder and I coaxed him upstairs where he wasn’t allowed, so he wouldn’t have to be alone while I curled up on my bed and counted my regrets.
If only this storm had come last night instead, so Eric and I couldn’t have stepped outside. If only I hadn’t sent Aiden that selfie, fishing for compliments, rubbing it in his face. If only I’d told my parents the truth about us and demanded they give him a chance. If only I’d stood up for our right to be in love. If only, if only, if only.
I calmed Rufus with one hand and checked my phone with the other, responding Fine to Jo’s Everything okay there? and A little better. Thank you so much for taking my shift to Lexa’s You poor thing, how are you feeling???? I ignored her immediate Don’t even mention it. xoxox. I had enough guilt about Lexa already.
How had things gotten to this place? Aiden had made me feel so bold and brave when we first met. Now I was literally curled up in a ball, the smallest, weakest, most pathetic version of myself. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. We had started with so much passion, so much promise, but what had happened last night was truly messed up. I knew that. I knew it wasn’t okay. But I also knew it could be different. I wanted to hit rewind, to go back and do our relationship over again. This time I would do it right.
I knew life wouldn’t give me that chance, but maybe Aiden would. Maybe after some time apart, while Jo calmed down and Aiden and I both took a step back, cooled off, and had a chance to miss each other and remember everything that had been so good, we could hit the reset button and move forward, even better together than we were before. Neither of us wanted things to be like they were now, so maybe they didn’t have
to be.
I only had to convince Jo to not tell my parents yet. To give it some time, let things settle down, allow Aiden a chance to prove he wasn’t the monster she had made him out to be. Yes, some monstrous emotions had emerged from him last night, and yes, he had to stop those from controlling him. But he could do that. We could do that. He would confront his anger before it built up too far. I would never again push him to the brink.
If Aiden even wanted that chance. Jo’s threats had been effective—he hadn’t tried to reach out again. Maybe he was scared she really would call the cops, although surely they couldn’t press charges if I refused to testify. But the fear I had messed up so badly that he was done with me, done with us, and this was all the excuse he needed to walk away forever, had been churning inside me all day. It settled in my gut like layers of silt, heavy and horrible and part of me now.
Maybe this was for the best. Maybe I was delusional and we were damaged beyond repair. I should let him disappear, hand my life and my broken heart over to Jo, let her and my parents take over my fate. What did it matter what happened to me next if Aiden didn’t want me back anyway?
Rufus whimpered and I leaned over the side of the bed to tuck my arm around him and cuddle him close. And then I realized. Aiden wouldn’t do this. He would never let me go. That couldn’t be the truth of what was happening. I turned back to my phone and scrolled through the settings. Jo had blocked his number.
I hit unblock and immediately it buzzed with a message from Jo, as if she were watching me. On my way over. It was 5:53. My parents would be here soon too. If I was lucky, Jo would arrive first.
Rufus and I were halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang. He barked and ran ahead of me, tail wagging. I opened the door to let her in, and there he was.
“Aiden.” My voice caught in my throat as I stepped into his arms, my heart beating his name. When I pulled back, my face was wet with rain and tears. His cheeks didn’t look any drier. I wanted to kiss away everything that had happened between us, but we were already running out of time. “You can’t be here,” I told him. “You have to go.”
“No.” He grasped both my hands in his. “We need to talk. I know you’re upset, but please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. I was drunk, I was mad, and I was wrong. You have to give me another chance. I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’ll never hurt you again.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t it. “Jo will be here any minute now, and my parents, too.”
Aiden stood straighter. “Good. I want to prove it to them, too. We’re done hiding and sneaking around. Let me talk to them. Let them see who I really am. They can’t stop us from being in love.”
Maybe not, but Jo would try. “Aiden, listen. Jo will call the cops and tell my parents, and they’ll never let me see you again. You have to stay away until I convince her. If she sees you, it’s over. You have to go, now.”
I tried to take a step backward to demonstrate my point, but he held on tight. Despite everything I knew to be true, his grip sent a quick dart of fear through my heart. “I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you.” I could see in his eyes that he meant it. “Fuck Jo. Fuck the cops. We belong together. I need you. Please don’t do this to us. I love you. Just talk to me, please.”
The wet streets amplified the sound of every car that approached, and with each one, my panic mounted. In a matter of seconds, the next car would be Jo’s. But it was clear that the more I begged, the more stubborn he would become. My brain spun with desperation. I had to make him leave.
He moved his hands around my waist. “Don’t tell me we’re through.”
I said the one thing I could think of that would force him to walk away. It was the only way to protect him. The only way to save us. I could beg his forgiveness later. First I had to get him out of here, now. “I kissed someone else.”
Confusion and anger flashed across his face, mixed with disbelief. I steeled myself, waiting for him to lash out, even hit me, but he stood stock-still and soon his eyes contained only sadness. “Why?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to answer. My eyes filled with too many tears to let go, blurring my vision almost completely as he turned and walked away. I wanted to run after him and kiss away our mistakes. To beg him to come back, take me with him, forget the past. But I couldn’t do any of that. I couldn’t even cry. I watched as Aiden pulled on his helmet, swung his leg over Ralph, and took off without looking back.
Too fast. My heart accelerated with him as he shot up the street, speeding into the raindrops and away from my life. He was gone in an instant but I could hear him, faster and faster, when he should have been slowing down to pause for the stop sign at the end of my street. I ran off the stoop and into the storm, my footsteps pounding over the screech of tires, the crash of metal, and somebody’s shouts of “Watch out, watch out!”
Not until Jo wrapped her arms around me and pulled me back to earth did I realize the person screaming was me.
Thirty-Eight
PERHAPS THE RULES OF TIME AND SPACE CONTINUED on for the rest of the world, but not for me. Not for Aiden. One minute Jo’s arms were holding me back, holding me in, anchoring me down through the blur of sirens, shock, and flashing red lights in the rain. The next minute I was squinting against the cruel, harsh light of the hospital waiting room, wondering at the styrofoam cup of water in my hands, obeying when my mom said, “Sit here,” watching as she spoke with the police officers, the receptionist, the nurses. I registered warmth to my left and the faint scent of rosemary-mint shampoo, and Jo must have followed us here in her car because there she was, leaning against me—or had she been here, holding me up, all along?
It wasn’t real. Nothing was real. It couldn’t be real.
If Jo spoke, I didn’t hear it, I heard only the sounds of shoes. The squeak of a nurse’s sneakers and the click of the receptionist’s heels and the sigh of Aiden’s father’s footsteps as he emerged through the sliding doors with a doctor, shook her hand, nodded twice, then stood alone, looking as lost and stunned as I felt. My mother’s steps sounded steady and firm as she crossed the linoleum and touched his arm, offered a cup of coffee she had procured out of nowhere, and listened to whatever he was saying, too far away and too unreal for me to hear it. I wondered who was looking after Alex and Kendra. Aiden wouldn’t like it if his siblings had been left alone.
Mom crouched in front of me, her words performing loop-de-loops on their path from her lips to my ears.
Medically induced coma
Next few hours will be critical
Fractures
Swelling
Internal bleeding
Broken
Can’t rule out paralysis
Traumatic brain injury
Risk of seizures
Possible long-term damage
Cognitive impairments
Severe
Lucky
Nothing to do but wait.
Only one word mattered: alive.
Thirty-Nine
I MUST HAVE SLEPT BECAUSE I AWOKE TO THE SNAP OF the window shade rolling up and an awareness of my mother bustling around the room. She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Better hurry up or you’re going to be late.”
I squinted at her through swollen eyelids. “What?”
“For school,” she clarified. “Dad will drop you off but you’d better get a move on.”
I let my lids drop shut. “I’m not going to school.”
“Yes, you are.” She gave me a gentle shake. “Your staying in bed won’t help anyone.”
I rolled away from her touch but I didn’t have the energy to fight her. What was the point? It didn’t matter where I was or what I did. She was right: Whether I got up and went to school or stayed in bed forever, I couldn’t fix what I had done to Aiden. Nothing could. I might as well do as I was told and zombie forward.
I stood up, made my bed, brushed my dry, scuzzy tongue, and wished I believed in a god so I could pray to it. Not that I even knew quite h
ow. My mother had grown up Catholic but our family wasn’t religious. I’d been to a Passover seder at Jo and Eric’s aunt’s house, but I remembered the zing of horseradish and the hunt for the afikoman better than I remembered the prayers. Cicily and her moms had taken me to church a few times after Saturday sleepovers way back when we were friends, but I’d paid more attention to the dust motes dancing in the rays of stained-glass sunlight than to the chorus of “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.” Even if I knew the rest of the words to go with that refrain, it wasn’t what I wanted anyway—I wanted my will to be done. I wanted everything that had happened last night and before to be undone. But no prayer to any god could make that happen.
A single word formed and echoed in my brain, containing every hope I dared not release into the universe. Please. It was better to loop on that helpless plea than to remember the last words I had said to him, the crumpled, broken look on his face, the way I’d crushed his heart and pushed him away, pushed him toward this fate, when all he had wanted was to fix us.
I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t think about brain damage, paralysis, broken bones, death. I couldn’t think about bruises, his or mine, on the surfaces of our skin or in our hearts. I couldn’t think about fear, pain, hurt, guilt, sadness, anger, or love, couldn’t allow myself to feel any of it. Because if I felt any of that, I risked also feeling the horrible, unwelcome, and unspeakable thing that had snaked beneath it the moment he’d turned away: relief.
That was the worst feeling of all.
It would be easier if he were dead.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat as I pushed toward my locker, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the stares. I didn’t care what they were saying. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I only cared that Aiden—
No. I couldn’t even think his name. I had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, on moving forward and making it through this minute, this hour, this morning, this day, while knowing what I’d done.
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