To Have and to Harm

by Debra Doxer

  The fact that Apollo has been working with my father all this time, watching over me for years, long before my mother and I moved into the apartment above him in San Diego, is still so hard to comprehend. I keep thinking over all my interactions with him, and I never thought he was more than a common criminal who for some reason was nice to me. Now I know the reason. Now I know so many things I didn’t before.

  Trying to block out the pain, I think of Lucas, remembering the sound of his voice and the bliss of being held in his strong arms. Just the thought of him calms me, allows me to breathe through the hurt, and not sink down in it. After a couple of days on the road, this horrible disease living inside me has decided to launch a full-scale attack on my nervous system. If I were anyone else, I’d be dead by now. But I’ve been able to control the growth of the worst tumors, just not the piercing pain that’s become a part of me. I would undoubtedly give up if I didn’t have hope of seeing Lucas again. If I didn’t keep the vision of his face and his beautiful dark blue eyes in my own mind’s eye.

  “Why on earth didn’t we fly? How much farther is it?” I complain, rolling my forehead against the glass, trying to ease the pressure.

  He sighs, and I hear him shifting in his seat. “Just hold on, kid. No more stops. I’ll drive all the way through. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  “We’re going back to California, aren’t we? To Los Angeles. He still lives there.”

  “Yeah, he’s still there.”

  I’ve asked this question several times, but Apollo kept refusing to answer. I must look pretty pathetic if he’s finally giving that information up.

  I lean away from the window to rest my head back against the seat again. My skin is drenched in sweat. The pain has a strange kind of heat to it. It’s only tolerable when I don’t move. So I keep to this position, eventually drifting off, allowing the car’s steady speed to lull me into semiconsciousness. My limbs gradually become lax and I sink deeper into the seat, sighing at the loosening of my tense muscles.

  I stay this way, slipping in and out of awareness, until the numbness in my right hand seems to spread, moving up my arm to my shoulder, and then drifting across my torso. The numbness is slowly taking over my body. I should be terrified by this gradual disappearance of feeling. But instead I register it in a neutral way, hoping that it will travel up to my head and douse the heat singeing me from the inside out.

  When I try to draw in my next breath, my body seems to forget how to do this simple task. I try again, but my muscles won’t respond. My eyes pop open as a sense of panic finally erupts, making me buck forward and gasp for air. I can hear the whistling in my chest as the remaining oxygen is expelled. I hear Apollo questioning me, calmly at first, and then more frantically.

  I’m flung toward the dashboard as the car screeches to a halt. My door is yanked open, and I can feel Apollo shaking me and saying my name again. A moment later, he has me out of the car and down onto the grass beside the road. The edges of my vision are fading as he puts his mouth to mine and blows air into my lungs.

  As his breath flows into me, the panic eases. My eyes are able to focus. Apollo is leaning over me, drops of perspiration forming on his upper lip and forehead. He frantically tugs his phone out of his pocket.

  When the air runs out and I still can’t draw more in, my back arches as I gasp, and immediately Apollo’s mouth is on mine, giving me his breath, giving me life.

  My eyes are locked on his as he leans back and brings the phone to his lips. “This road trip is over. Get me a plane with some goddamned paramedics. She can’t breathe. She’s dying on the ground in front of me right now!”

  I tremble as I absorb his words. We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re not near an airport. How is a plane going to appear out of thin air? I’m not going to survive this. I’m going to die here on the side of the road. Tears spill over the sides of my face, and I close my eyes against them, stomping my foot on the ground. It can’t end this way, with no answers gotten and no explanations given. I can’t leave Lucas like this. I won’t do this to him.

  My air is used up again. Apollo’s attention is on his phone, not me. I can feel my body struggling, and I roll over onto my side. The numbness has taken the pain away, but this slow suffocation is a different kind of torture. To get his attention, I kick my legs out at him, the only muscles I seem to have control over. Immediately, he rolls me onto my back again and brings his mouth to mine. Then he puts his phone away and eyes me stoically. I want to question him, but I can’t form the words. I can’t ask him if he somehow managed to get us a plane, or if he thought of calling an ambulance. And he’s not offering up any answers. He’s just watching me, waiting for me to need him again, and when I do, he’s there.

  “I could keep this up all day. How about you?” he asks. His dark eyes bore into mine, silently telling me to hang on.

  I’m staring at Apollo’s face, but now it’s Lucas’s voice I’m hearing in my head. You’re going to be fine. You have to believe that. I love you.

  As the day gradually darkens and chills, it’s those words that keep me going when hopelessness threatens to drown me, when the idea of giving up becomes stronger than my will to continue this painful struggle. Even in his absence, Lucas is keeping me going. He’s saving me by just existing.

  “CAN YOU hear me, Raielle?”

  I swallow against the dryness in my throat and peel open my lids. When the bright light burns my eyes, I squeeze them closed again.

  A hand lightly touches my forehead and smoothes back over my hair. “It’s time to wake up.”

  The voice is low and gentle, deep and soothing, just like the hand.

  “Wake up,” the voice whispers.

  I force my eyes to open again, prepared for the glare this time, blinking rapidly, trying to bring my surroundings into focus. I can feel that I’m lying in a bed, and my muscles are relaxed, free of pain.

  Then I remember.

  Suddenly frantic, I drag in a breath as I see flashes of Apollo hovering over me. I try to sit up, but the hand moves to my shoulder, applying pressure, easing me back.

  “Lie still. You’re fine now. You’re perfectly fine.”

  I blink, and his image begins to gel, allowing me to put a face to the soothing voice. I see a man with clear green eyes and thick wheat-colored hair, combed to the side, arching over his ears. A wide, kind smile greets me. “You’re safe with me,” he says.

  I can feel the way my body is absorbing the sound of his voice, calming under the steady, confident cadence of his words.

  “I’m not dead,” I whisper.

  He laughs. “No. You’re certainly not.”

  If I’m alive, then this man whose energy is flowing into me can only be one person.

  I swallow again, trying to moisten my dry throat. “You’re my father,” I manage to say.

  He grins and nods.

  “You healed me?” I ask, my voice raw and rough.

  “Yes,” he says, his eyes intent on me.

  Glancing around, I can see that I’m in a luxurious bedroom, tucked beneath the covers of a canopy bed. The walls are covered with art, the kind of art that has ornate frames with attached lights.

  “You sent a plane?” I ask, trying to remember. As I study my lavish surroundings, it seems completely possible.

  “A helicopter, actually. The plane couldn’t land where you were.”

  “Oh,” I reply, like this is a normal conversation. “Thank you.”

  He smiles briefly. “You’re welcome.” Then he stands. “I’ll have some food brought up to you. You must be hungry.”

  My eyes travel over his lean frame, and in a detached way, I register that this is him. This is my father. We share the same genes, the same blood. When I used to see other children with their fathers, I’d wonder what mine looked like. And here he is, standing right in front of me.

  The remaining fuzziness in my head fades, and I take stock of myself. I can feel my hand now. I fist it and turn it
over. My back and head no longer ache. I feel like myself. Then the next logical question bubbles to the surface.

  I sit up. “How did you do it?”

  He eyes me curiously. “Do what?”

  “I know I was dying,” I say carefully as a small amount of relief sets in. What I’d hoped all along appears to be true. My father is so powerful that he can beat death. “Don’t the rules about not interfering with death apply to you?”

  His lips turn down. “What rules?”

  I search his expression, wondering if he honestly doesn’t know what I’m asking. “I was afraid I’d gotten too close to dying to be healed.”

  “There’s a way around that,” he says simply. “A trade. A life for a life.” Then he shrugs, like he’s talking about the weather.

  No. My throat grows tight. “How? I mean, who? Other than you, I have no relations here.” I think of how my mother mistakenly moved her boyfriend’s death into his own son and how Lucas wanted me to transfer my death into my grandmother. But I refused to do it. I wouldn’t save my own life by taking another’s. When death comes, it won’t be denied. Knowing that, I still hoped there was another way. Now I understand that I was fooling myself.

  He watches me closely. “Relatives aren’t necessary.”

  “Tell me how you healed me. Please,” I whisper.

  The bed shifts beneath his weight as he sits down again. “I just told you,” he states. “A trade. A voluntary one.”

  “My life for someone else’s?” I ask as my hands fist in the sheets.

  He tilts his head at me, studying me for a moment, seeming interested in my reaction, before he slowly nods.

  The breath rushes out of me. “Who?”

  His expression doesn’t change. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell me.” My body starts to tremble as I watch his face, confused by his calm, seemingly unfeeling manner in the face of my obvious emotion.

  “There’s no need to get upset, but I can’t tell you.” Then he stands and says something else, but I’m no longer listening. He frowns at me as my vision blurs with tears and I lie back down, rolling onto my side away from him. A moment later, I hear the door open and close again.

  Once he’s gone, regret pools inside me and my stomach starts to cramp. “No,” I whisper, turning my head into the pillow. I curl in on myself, wanting only to sleep again, wanting to disappear, because deep inside I knew. I hoped my father was so powerful that he possessed some magic ability that would heal me. But that was a fantasy, wishful thinking. Even as I was fighting for my life by the roadside, I knew it would take either a miracle or a sin to save me, and there’s been no miracle.

  I let this happen rather than letting go. I allowed someone else to die for me, and don’t know how I’m going to live with that, or if I even deserve to.

  I’VE BEEN in Los Angeles for eighty-six days, and I haven’t seen her. Today marks the start of day eighty-seven.

  When I first got here, I sat in a hotel room and waited. I harassed Alec with phone calls, and he kept promising me she was fine. He said he’d spoken to his contact. He knew I was here, and they’d let me see her soon. But weeks passed and nothing happened. The waiting was driving me crazy. I hollered at my father, who told me I was throwing my life away, and I ignored Liam, who in his own quiet way suggested that I give up.

  At first, my fury fueled me. Then it was my fear of losing her that drove me. Now it’s the routine that keeps me going, waking up each morning, remembering it all again, and trying not to let the hopelessness get the best of me.

  A few weeks ago, I moved out of the hotel and into an apartment, answering an ad in the paper. Then I started at UCLA to keep busy. I put in an application at the end of last year when I knew Raielle wanted to go there. I didn’t tell her, because I wasn’t sure if I’d go through with it.

  But in a desperate attempt to feel close to her, I’m taking classes now. She’s probably not here, but she was supposed to be, and I couldn’t sit around anymore just waiting. But the more time that goes by, the more I realize that Alec was probably full of shit, and I believed him because I wanted to so badly. I’ve been deluding myself, assuming if she were able to, nothing could stop her from reaching out to me. I figured that when her father told her I was here, wild horses couldn’t have kept her away. That’s how it would have been with me. But maybe I need to finally wake up like everyone says, because she’s still gone.

  I find myself hoping that she’s perfectly healthy, and I’m just an idiot pining away for a girl who doesn’t want me anymore. It’s better than the alternative, that I’ve heard nothing from her for months because she isn’t okay. That’s not a possibility I can accept. It’s a nightmare that I keep pushing away while I continue to wait, not admitting that I’m beginning to lose faith.

  Meanwhile, I have my new roommate, Cal, trying to prop me up. He’s a psychology major, which is too ironic. I was hoping for a roommate who minded his own business, but we had a few drinks one night and Cal dragged my story out of me. I revealed just enough for him to think that my girlfriend callously dumped me with no warning, leaving me crushed and unable to move on. Yes, that’s all true, but it’s not the whole truth, and I can’t tell him the rest without betraying her. He probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.

  The club Cal is dragging me to is called Johnny Red’s. It’s a short walk from my new apartment. He’s insisting I go out tonight. He thinks that I keep to myself too much, that I’m a loner who’s missing out on the college experience. But he’s wrong. I’m more like a ghost.

  Johnny Red’s has a line around the corner, and we walk to the end of it. Cal starts working the girls around us right off. He’s got a nerdy, artsy look going with his black-rimmed glasses and messy blond hair pushed back behind his ears. Tall and thin with a slightly hunched-over posture, there’s a certain kind of girl who seems to go for him, and the ones he’s talking to now aren’t that kind. He shrugs, unbothered by their lack of interest.

  It takes just over half an hour to get inside, and when we do, I want to turn right back around again. It’s too hot and too crowded. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. Ahead of me, Cal sees some friends by the bar, and they’re motioning to him. I decide that as long as I’m here, I could use a drink. One drink, and then I’m gone.

  Nodding at Cal, I push my way up to the front and start chatting with the bartender, hoping he doesn’t card me. He hardly glances in my direction when he slides over the beer I ordered. This must be why Johnny Red’s is so popular at the moment. Once the police get wind of this, its reputation as the “in” spot will be over.

  I down half my drink in a few long pulls. Then I finish it and look around, watching people talking, laughing, and dancing. They’re living their lives, unlike me. I’m in some kind of purgatory, and I have no idea when or if I’m ever getting out. What if this is it? What if this is just the beginning of a lifetime of missing her?

  Turning away from the crowd, I signal the bartender. He finishes serving the group in front of him, and when he looks my way, I order two more drinks—another beer and a double shot of vodka. I’m through the shot and well into the beer when a girl with dark blonde hair comes up beside me, brushing her hip against my leg. I pull in a sharp breath because for a long, piercing moment, I think it may be her. My heart leaps into my throat but then it plummets down to my stomach. My fingers tense around the cold glass as I take in the details I wanted to overlook at first. She’s too short. Her hair isn’t the right shade. She’s got more curves, and they’re all on display in a tight red dress that Raielle would probably never put on.

  I’m still staring when she turns and smiles up at me. I mentally shake myself because she looks nothing like Raielle. She says something to me, but I turn away, draining my glass and going in for another. From the corner of my eye, I see her disappear into the crowd, but then she comes back again, sidling up beside me. When she sees me notice her, she slips her hand into mine. I look down into her big bl
ue eyes, which are watching me from beneath heavy lids. Her head is tilted with a silent question. I don’t answer her. I don’t do anything except stand there and start to feel numb.

  She tugs on my hand and begins to draw me away from the bar. I find myself following, letting her take me wherever she’s going. Cutting through the crowd, she makes a turn down a long, empty hallway that leads to the bathrooms. When we’re far enough away from the noise to be heard, she stops, turning to face me. “You can kiss me if you want,” she says with a smile. Then she moves closer, taking my hand and placing it on her waist.

  I stare at her uplifted face and feel a familiar dark hole yawning wide inside me. That’s when I decide to pretend for just a while. I imagine those eyes belong to another girl. When her hand reaches around my neck and she smiles coyly, I fantasize that it’s someone else’s hand touching me. As she pulls my head down and her lips tentatively brush mine, I let myself fall into the dream of being with Raielle again.

  My fingers dig into her sides as I pull her closer. I slide my tongue against hers, still pretending. With a groan, I edge her into a dark corner and piston my tongue in and out of her mouth. She makes an approving sound as her hand slides between us and she reaches her fingers beneath my shirt, brushing them against my skin.

  Breaking away from her lips, I kiss my way down her neck to the beginning of her cleavage. Then I dip my fingers just inside the top of her dress. When she doesn’t stop me, I push in further and slide my hand beneath the cup of her bra. She sighs and leans her chest more fully into my palm.

  My eyes squeeze closed so I won’t see her face. But it’s not working; I’m still numb. I don’t know this girl. She’s not who I want, not even close. My whole body goes rigid as I realize what I’m doing.

  Breathing hard, I push away from her. Just then, the bathroom room door swings open behind us, and she glances down to make sure her dress is in place as two girls walk past, giggling at us as they go by.

  Once they’re gone, she blinks at me. Then she grins. “Want to go somewhere else?”