A Matter of Fate

by Heather Lyons

  “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” he assures me. “I’ll stay as long as you like.”

  I cry again, clutching at him like the life raft he is.

  “Will one of you call Giules and tell her I won’t be coming home tonight?” he asks our friends quietly.

  I’m not stupid. I see how both of their foreheads furrow, but Karl nods, just once, and then they leave, which is what I’d wanted them to do anyway.

  I am nearly asleep when Kellan says gently, “I think it only fair to let you know that Jonah is going absolutely insane not being able to talk to you.”

  Maybe he should’ve thought of that first before playing tonsil hockey with Callie Lotus.

  “Do you maybe want to talk to him, hear his side of the story?”

  Oh, HELL no. “What possible side can he offer?”

  He strokes my hair softly. “I’m not excusing what he did, C. I just know how you work, how you like to talk things out.”

  “No,” I snarl. “I do not want to talk to him. He has nothing to say that I want to hear. Nothing!”

  “Alright,” he says soothingly. “No calls until you’re ready.”

  I crumple against such tenderness. “Don’t leave me tonight. Promise.”

  “I won’t.” I feel his words, sincere and comforting, against my ear. “Whatever you need, I will do it.”

  I’m so selfish. But, I need him. I need him so acutely that my body is screaming out for him, craving his touch so badly that I can’t even begin to fathom the thought of sending him away like I should. So I scoot as close as possible, breathing him in like he, himself, is the tranquilizer, the cure I require.

  He may be working his mojo on me again or not, I have no idea. But a small sense of peace finally settles over me as I pull his scent in, hording it like a greedy drug addict intent on messing everything up despite knowing better. And when the black abyss blessedly surfaces below me once more, I stand on its edge and swan-dive in, plummeting into the pool of sedation, relieved to once again no longer have to be thinking or feeling anything at all.

  Chapter 48

  The next morning sucks. Because reality, that pesky, unhelpful slap in the face, forces me to wake up and face facts.

  And oh, how I wish I could blame all of this on a bad dream.

  Kellan comes in to check on me around noon. I’m still in bed, picking at a stray string on my quilt. He has dark circles under his eyes, but gives me a smile, and it’s real. He sits down next to me on the bed. “How long have you been awake?”

  Does it matter? I motion to the clock on my nightstand, as if it’ll answer his question. Then I clear my throat, sandpaper rough against delicate skin. “You didn’t leave.”

  My non-sequitur doesn’t throw him. “Of course I didn’t.”

  I rip the string off of the quilt. There’s a hole now, the edges jagged. I’ve had this since I was ten, a gift from my mom back when I used to believe we could and would be close. And now it’s got a hole. I focus on that small space and the slice of blanket below it when I ask where Karl is.

  Me and this quilt. We both have holes now where no holes used to be.

  “Downstairs with Caleb.” He smoothes back stray strands of my hair, tucking them behind my ears. “They’ll take you to Annar this afternoon.”

  Anywhere is better than here right now.

  “You should take a shower,” Kellan continues. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  I personally doubt this, but I do feel pretty uncomfortable in my skin. And that’s frankly a pathetic thing to feel, since the rational part of my brain tells me so many people have it worse off than me. People who do not fall apart and disintegrate into abysses simply because their boyfriends cheat on them. And yet the hole inside, the one in my heart, grows bigger.

  I listlessly roam around my room, picking out multiple pairs of jeans and Tshirts before arbitrarily selecting a set. The rejected pairs litter the floor. But then, I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Why should I care about what I’m going to wear? What does the perfect pair of jeans and T-shirt have to do with anything, anyway?

  Rather than a shower, I draw myself an extremely hot bath, pushing the water way past the typical stopping point. My head drops below the water line, so that only my nose and eyes peep out. I like it this way. All sounds are muted, making it a good place to think, to figure out things without all of the extraneous crap that can confuse matters.

  Because I’m already confused, horribly so.

  Jonah said he loves me.

  That he wants to spend his whole life with me.

  That I’m the only person he’s ever been in love with.

  So much ache and sadness fill me. Anger, too. I’d believed him when he’d said these things. I’d never questioned them.

  My whole life, I’ve idealized Jonah. I’ve always believed him. He was the person I could always count on, even when I was breaking his heart by being with his brother. He’d protected me even then.

  But, I’d been wrong. I’d been fooling myself, because if he’d been sincere about all these things, he wouldn’t have been with Callie yesterday. He wouldn’t have kissed her.

  It is a horrible thing, realizing that the person you love has feelings for someone else. It’s almost impossible, really. It hurts to breathe—my lungs shrink up, making it difficult to get air into my body.

  Jonah isn’t some random high-school crush to me. I haven’t counted our days on a calendar, celebrating each week together as a victory in terms of status and achievement. This is the person I fell in love with before I could read. My best friend. The person I’ve trusted with my tragedies and victories. The person who knows all of my deep, dark secrets.

  He is my heart.

  I thought I was his, but I was wrong.

  My cell phone is on my dresser. I’m still not ready to talk to Jonah—not sure if I ever will be—but I’m masochistically intrigued by exactly how many times he’s tried to get ahold of me. And if she knows he’s called me. Is he upset? If so, does she know? Not that the call log will tell me or anything, but it’s still a pleasant, petty thought to hold onto.

  I delete the multiple messages from the Cousins and the one from my mother without bothering to listen. And why should I? I can guess what they say. Cora and Lizzie probably said something like: Are you okay? Call us so we can talk. My mother, oblivious to the fact that my life has shattered into a million pieces, probably said something stupid like: Make sure you’re doing your homework.

  There’s also a voicemail from Karl. I choose to listen to this one, even though he’s downstairs now. Where the hell are you? I just got off the phone with Jonah and could hardly understand him! Where are you? CALL ME NOW!!!

  Two voicemails left. Two from Jonah. What would he say? Would it make a difference?

  Maybe it’d be: Chloe, sorry you had to see that, but I just can’t get Callie out of my mind. You and I may have dreamed about each other forever, but . . . did you check her out? She’s a gorgeous, sexy Elf! You can’t blame me for wanting that, can you?

  Or, maybe: Hey Chloe, what was up with you and that fence? Are you even going to come over and fix it? Technically, it was the neighbor’s. And don’t even get me started on the tree. That’s it. WE’RE DONE.

  I don’t want to talk to him, but listening to his voicemails . . . well, it seems safer this way, because it’s already been said and done. So, I press play and raise the phone to my ear.

  The time and date are given first. Then his voice, still so dear to me, appears: Chloe, oh gods, I can’t even imagine what you think you just saw. No, I can imagine, but please, just let me explain it to you. Giuliana says something, in the background. His answer is muffled, but I can still make out: I said I’m fine! Leave me alone! Then he continues: Please, just . . . just call me back, all right? Just call me and I will come over and we will talk about this. Chloe, I love you. Do you hear me? I LOVE YOU. You are my everything.

  Why would he insist so forcib
ly that he loves me when he was kissing someone else? And not just any old kiss—I mean, they were really going at it.

  Gods. I hate them both.

  The second message is all of twenty minutes old. Chloe, I . . . I would really . . . I would like to see you, please, as soon as you want me to. This is . . . I feel . . . like it’s an insane nightmare I can’t wake up from. They tell me you’re going to Annar but . . . no one will let me come over again, not after what happened last night. I suppose that’s fair . . . but . . . I really want to see you, just . . . I’m not allowed to go there this weekend, so . . . Please don’t leave without letting me talk to you first. I’m begging you.

  He sounds as listless as I feel. I slide down the front of the dresser until I’m hunched on the floor, gripping the phone like my life depends on it. My mind flatlines.

  The door opens and Karl steps in. “I wanted to see . . . .” But he stops when he notices me rocking on the ground, sobbing.

  I wave at him to pay me no mind. Karl squats down and waits for me to stop crying, but it’s hard. And then, somehow or other, the crying transitions to laughter. Karl just watches me, growing more and more concerned until I finally stop laughing. And then I start to cry again. Dammit, where’s the anger? Why does it have to be pain rather than anger?

  I wave the phone around. “Why do you always have to be so mad when you leave me messages?”

  He puts an awkward arm around me. “I didn’t know where you were. Jonah wasn’t being very helpful, and I got worried.”

  This only makes me cry harder. “He called me.”

  Karl pauses. “He came over late last night, too, but we made him leave.”

  I’m blubbering now.

  “Do you want me to call Jonah? Go get him? Take you there?”

  Everything in me tenses, becomes a wire stretched taut on the verge of snapping. “No. I can’t. Please, no.” Footsteps sound behind us, and then a familiar hand reaches down and touches my back.

  “She listened to her voicemail,” Karl explains as I dissolve in Kellan’s arms.

  “Oh,” Kellan sighs. “I should’ve taken the phone out of here.”

  Karl hesitates before saying, “Did you . . . ?”

  “Yeah. He won’t be coming over again, nor will he be doing anything stupid like trying to meet you at the portal.”

  “Good. We’ll be leaving in about an hour. I’ve asked Cora to drive us, as I thought it’d be best if . . . you know . . . .” Karl trails off uncomfortably. Kellan has no response.

  The door clicks shut behind Karl before I formulate any thoughts. “You’re not coming to Annar?”

  He’s oddly resigned. “It’s best I stay back.”

  It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. “You need to come!”

  “Chloe,” he says quietly, “you’ll be staying with Karl and Moira. You’ll be in good hands.”

  It’s completely unfair of me to demand that he come with, but I can’t help myself. I do it anyway. I tell him I need him. I have to have him.

  Ever so slowly, “You need some time to—”

  I cut him off, nearly hysterical. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me!”

  His eyes close and his face opens up, showing the struggle he’s fighting inside. But I have faith that he will come through for me. Because it’s Kellan, and that’s how he is.

  And he does. “If that’s what you want, I’ll come, too. But . . . .” He hesitates, his words twisting slowly away. What he’s not telling me, and what I know he means, is that if he comes, it pretty much means the same thing as the two of us slapping his brother right across the face. And then thumbing our noses at him afterwards.

  “Good,” I say without the slightest hesitation.

  Kellan is subdued. “Well. I need to . . . um . . . go tell Karl about the change of plans and see about how things can be switched around.” He looks back down at me hesitantly, rubbing at his hair. Then he says to himself, almost inaudibly, “Alright. Fine,” as he walks out the door.

  Chapter 49

  I am sitting on a step halfway down the staircase, leaning against the wooden railing. There’s this poem I’d read when I was little, about how the middle of a staircase is a safe place. Neither up nor down. A decision-free zone. And this is how it feels as I sit here. Upstairs, in my bedroom, there is the agony of tears and abysses. Downstairs and out the door is the reality of Jonah’s betrayal. Here on the stairs, there is nothing but me.

  Somewhere nearby, Karl and Caleb question Kellan about the reasoning behind his change of heart about Annar.

  “She begged me to come,” Kellan answers, his voice far too vulnerable.

  The guilt in me grows. The safety of the stairs is disappearing.

  “Just keep it in the forefront of your mind that she’s just had her heart literally blown to smithereens by Jonah,” Caleb says.

  “Believe me, I know,” Kellan says so quietly that I can barely make out his words. “I saw it in every last detail.”

  “She needs to talk to him,” Karl says.

  “She doesn’t want to,” Kellan counters. “And, I’m not going to push it just because you think they should talk.”

  “They’re Connected!” Karl snaps. “You think this distance will make things easier on her? Them? Think again. Speaking from experience, I can assure you the best thing they can do right now is work this out as quickly as possible.”

  Stony silence fills the house before Karl adds, “You going with her to Annar is only going to make things worse, Kellan.”

  Anger envelopes me with a vengeance.

  The wooden railing cracks loudly under my fingers, a sharp fissure racing the length of the banister. I jerk back, startled. The movement is enough, though. A ripple shudders throughout the wood as it splits entirely in half, crashing to the ground with a deafening thud.

  Horrified, I recoil back against the wall. Oh my gods, I’ve destroyed something again, and like with the tree and fence, I hadn’t even been aware of doing it. Which makes it all the more terrifying, because it’s exactly what I’ve been frightened of for years.

  I am not in control of my powers. Maybe I’m exactly what my mom accused me of being: a scared girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. And that thought nearly pushes me over the edge of sanity.

  The little voice argues with me, insists this is not the case, that there’s a very real and valid reason why I’m falling apart, but just then, Karl, Kellan, and Caleb dart into the living room. All three come to a halt, gaping at the mutilated railing at their feet. I don’t even know what to say.

  It takes a minute, but Kellan eventually steps over the railing and makes his way up the steps to me. “Don’t worry about this,” he says calmly, taking my hands in his. “It’s nothing.”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll fix it,” I manage hoarsely.

  “Later,” Caleb gently insists, and then he and Karl retreat back into the kitchen. Kellan slouches on the step below me, stretching out his long legs against what is left of the railing. He waits until our friends are gone before asking quietly, “Do you maybe want to talk to my brother on the phone? You wouldn’t have to see him . . . just talk. Or not even talk, just hear what he has to say.”

  The pictures on the wall behind us begin to vibrate. I have to focus to get the hysteria under control. “No.”

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it might help to hear from him.”

  I stare off into the distance and try to piece together my reasons. But all I can come up with is, “It’s too much.”

  He sighs, but doesn’t push. “Did Karl tell you J came here last night?”

  I nod.

  “He’s so pissed at me right now since I wouldn’t let him in.” Our hands find each other.

  My eyes narrow in on the tiny cut above Kellan’s lip. How did I miss that this morning? Did Jonah hit him? How dare Jonah even remotely think about getting mad at his brother! Wasn’t he the one who’d wronged me?

  Kellan continues, “Did
n’t you hear anything? I could’ve sworn we woke up the entire neighborhood.”

  “No. No sounds. Nothing but black.” I think about the abyss and ask, “Was that you?”

  “Was what me?” he asks, running his thumb up and down mine. It feels good. Beyond good, actually.

  I struggle to focus on what we’re talking about. “The black. The abyss.”

  “No, C. I can do deep depression, enough to create an abyss and more, but I would never do that to you.”

  “And the numbness?”

  “Oh, well . . . that’s me. I thought numb would be better than hysterical. Do you want me to stop?”

  I shake my head. Numb is definitely better than having to feel anything acutely. “Kellan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Am I overreacting?”

  He studies me quietly.

  “I mean,” I clarify, “you obviously know a lot more about emotions than I do. Is this . . . normal? Freaking out like I am. Shutting down. All over something like seeing my . . . .” I have to swallow first. “Jonah . . . kissing someone?”

  “I think that if this is the reaction your heart gives you, then you are not overreacting. Hearts don’t lie.”

  “What about ‘mind over matter’—”

  He cuts me off. “Our minds do not rule our emotions. Our hearts do. Chloe, listen to me . . . If this is how you feel, then it is how it is.” He pauses, looks away. “Besides, it’s the Connection. People who have Connections and are separated from each other don’t deal with it well.”

  A car door slams outside and I nearly jerk out of my skin.

  “It’ll just be Cora,” he says flatly.

  And he’s right. She strolls into the house without bothering to knock. “Ready to go?”

  Kellan doesn’t say anything to her. He merely regards my Cousin with narrowed eyes. Then he squeezes my hand and leaves.

  Cora sits down in his spot. She nods at the twisted half-sticks before us. “What happened?”

  I murmur, embarrassed, “I guess I got upset.”

  She nods, as if this was expected. “Look. I need to talk to you about some stuff before you leave. Let’s go sit on the porch.”