More Than Her

by McLean, Jay

  "Shit!" Jake repeated, his eyes huge, but his head faced the ceiling. "Dude, I—I mean—I didn't know—uhh—the room, shit..."

  Fuck.

  I lazily put my dick back in my shorts.

  "Uh." Jake again. "I'll be in the kitchen...you guys...finish? Shit." Then he closed the door behind him.

  Amanda came to a stand. "What the hell?" she whispered, her eyes bugging out. She slapped me on the chest.

  I laughed.

  ***

  "I'm sorry." Jake ran his hands through his hair.

  I shook my head. "It's fine. What's up?"

  Amanda walked in, her face red. "Hi Jake," she greeted, her eyes trained on the floor.

  "Hey," he responded, refusing to look at her.

  Awkward.

  "Kayla made me come. Not come—like you guys just—not—I mean, here. She made me come here."

  "Oh God," Amanda groaned. Her hands covered her face.

  I laughed and jumped to sit on the counter. I pulled her in between my legs; she plastered her face to my chest.

  "Is she okay?" I asked Jake.

  He nodded, leaning back against the counter opposite me. "Yeah. I um...she made me come here to apologize."

  My eyebrows drew in. "What do you mean?"

  "I was an asshole last night—about the whole Megan thing. We've never spoken about it, not like that. And I guess we just had different takes on it. Kayla said I was being insensitive to you—and your situation—so she made me come here and apologize. But I'm not gonna lie, you're my best friend, she's my girl...Megan—she's nobody to me. And I want it to stay that way."

  I sighed. "I get that, dude. I honestly don't know what I want yet."

  "She wants to be there," he rushed out.

  "What?"

  "If you decide to meet her or whatever. Kayla—she wants to be there."

  ***

  We tried to get back to sleep after Jake left but we couldn't. We both skipped classes and opted to lie in bed and waste the morning away. I tried to get her to finish what she started, but she denied me, saying it was her form of punishment for not knowing that she gets horny when she's delusion-ally tired. I tried to convince her that I told her Jake was here, but she didn't believe me. She let me watch her while she showered—I guess that's something.

  "Did you know her? Megan?" I asked, running my hands along her legs.

  We lay opposite each other in bed. I convinced her on a no shirt—no pants rule.

  She looked up from her e-reader, and shrugged. "Kind of," she said, but avoided my eyes.

  I sat up and pulled on her arms until she was upright. I raised an eyebrow in question. She sighed, switching off the e-reader and throwing it next to her. "I don't want to say anything that's going to sway your decision. It's your decision, and like I said, I'll support you no matter what."

  "Yeah, but your opinion counts," I told her.

  "It shouldn't."

  "How can it not? You're the most important person in my life, of course it counts."

  She smiled, looking down at the sheets. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink. I rubbed them with the back of my fingers, she kissed my wrist and shifted until she was siting cross-legged in front of me. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. She did that a few times before she finally spoke, "We didn't run in the same circles in high school. Apart from when she was trying to steal Tyson, or made an effort to let me know I wasn't good enough for him, she just flat out ignored me."

  "What?"

  She bit her thumb, her eyes cast downwards. Shrugging, she said, "Yeah, it happened a lot. I don't think I ever really got over it—hence why I was so insecure when he went to college." She tried to smile but it didn't reach her eyes.

  "I wonder why Micky was friends with her."

  "Yeah, I never got it. Micky was always so nice to everyone, she wasn't catty or bitchy, even when Megan was around. But one day my car broke down and Micky pulled over with Megan and she offered me a ride. She had to drop by her house to pick up her sister for some dance thing. We had half an hour to spare so we went in the house and hung out for a bit. Her whole family was there—and Megan—she was different with them. I don't know. It's hard to explain, like she could be herself around them or something. She joked and laughed with them. She even gave Micky's sister a Justin Beiber poster for her room. I don't know," she shrugged again, "I think maybe that was who she was, you know? But she just struggled with it, and I remember thinking even then that maybe she didn't have that at home. That family-ness..."

  "Huh," is all I could say.

  "But that's not—there's more."

  "Okay," I said cautiously.

  "So, Ethan dated this girl, that was kind of friends with her—or whatever—I'm not sure. Anyway—she told him that she was in L.A, the year after we graduated, and she bumped into Megan there. Only it wasn't really Megan. Not the one everyone knew. She said she tried to get her to have a meal with her because it looked like she hadn't eaten for days. She was so thin, and her eyes were hollow looking. She told Ethan that she looked and smelled homeless. So this girl takes Megan to a diner and she's completely out of it. Like, can't even finish sentences out-of-it. Then she took off her jacket and there were bruises all over her arms and chest and neck, and she had track marks."

  "Bruises?" My voice cracked.

  "Yeah," she said, holding my hands in hers. "Rumor has it that after Micky found out about her and James, she tried to make it work with him, but he didn't love her the way he loved Micky, and it was obvious, so she met some guy and moved to L.A with him. The guy ended up being an asshole drug dealer. Apparently when he was here, he wooed her off her feet, promised her the world. When they got there it all went to hell. They lived in this awful house with a bunch of junkies and she got involved in it, too, I guess. And then it got worse."

  I shut my eyes, not wanting to hear what I thought she was about to say.

  "Logan?" she said quietly. She released my hands and sat on my lap, her legs around me, where she knew I wanted her. "You want me to stop?"

  I opened my eyes, and she was there, a concerned look on her face. I shook my head slowly. I needed to know.

  "Apparently the guy started beating her."

  I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. My heart pounded against my chest. Blood rushed in my ears.

  "According to the way she looked that day, he beat her pretty bad. She told Ethan that you could see an entire hand print, fingers and all, bruised on her neck."

  I inhaled a huge breath.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and held me to her. "A few other people tried to visit her there and she always made excuses. Then one of the girls from her cheer squad went there and tried to force her to leave, and come home. Apparently Megan broke down, and told her about all of it, the drugs, the beatings..." She paused and swallowed, her voice strained. "And the sex. Apparently her boyfriend used to trade her for sex when he couldn't make payments to his dealers."

  "What?" I pulled back to look at her face.

  She was crying. "Yeah." She nodded, staring off into the distance.

  Then it was quiet for a long moment as we both tried to comprehend what happened to her.

  "I get it now," she said. "I thought that maybe she took it hard, losing her best friend or whatever. But I don't think that's it. I mean—after what Micky told us, I think it was her way of dealing with the guilt, you know? Like she let all that shit happen because she needed bad things to happen to her. Karma—kind of. I don't know."

  THIRTY FOUR

  Logan

  I think making the actual decision was the hardest part. Amanda stayed neutral while I reeled of the pros and cons of the situation. She tried her hardest to not let her opinions or emotions sway my decision. I wasn't lying when I told her that her opinion counted. Because at some point in the last few weeks, she became more than just some girl that I slept with, or some girl I shared a bed with eve
ry night. She became more than just my girl. She became my everything.

  When she wasn't around, I missed the shit out of her. When she was around, I didn't want to leave her side. If you called me a pussy right now, I'd tell you it was valid.

  "So, you're sure Micky doesn't know any of this?" I asked her again. The problem I was faced with was that whatever choice I made, it wasn't just about me. I could make it that and be a selfish asshole, but I cared about Micky. Obviously. And Jake, too—he was just as invested in this as I was.

  "I'm sure. No one's spoken to her about it. Ethan said that James hadn't brought up her name at all with Micky. You know, sore subject and all."

  "Does James know?"

  "Yeah, but what can he do?"

  I sighed. "Nothing I guess."

  She reached over and held my hand. We were on our way to Jake’s house to speak to Nathan, and then spend the night at my house. I wanted to talk to Dad about the whole situation and he still wanted to meet Amanda.

  "I'm kind of glad you quit baseball," she said out of nowhere.

  I chuckled, "Yeah? Why's that?" I picked up her hand and kissed her wrist.

  "You just have more free time. I like having more of you. I don't think I'd ever get sick of having you around," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Lame," she announced.

  "It's not lame." I kissed her wrist again.

  "You do that a lot."

  "Huh?"

  "Kiss my wrist—you do that a lot—why?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. It's like my lips—on your pulse. I can feel your heart beating and know that you're here. I guess sometimes I find it hard to believe that you're real—and that you're mine."

  ***

  Nathan had all the information ready when we got there. He held off on a lot of it when we came the first time because he didn't want to overwhelm me—whatever that meant.

  "You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

  "No," I answered. It was the truth. "But I think I'd always wonder if I didn't, you know?"

  Amanda and I decided not to tell Nathan everything we thought we knew about her, just in case it would sway my decision. That was Amanda's biggest concern. That I made the choice that I wanted.

  "She's um..." He cleared his throat. "She's not at a good place at the moment."

  Amanda and I looked at each other, we figured she wouldn't be, but we didn't know to what extent.

  He continued, "She's in a home."

  "A home?" I asked.

  "Yes, a mental facility."

  I exhaled loudly. Amanda held my hand tighter. I didn't know what to say, so I just stared at the desk in front of me.

  "Logan?" Nathan got my attention. "She's on suicide watch."

  ***

  Megan Strauss. Patient #163 at Dalton Psychiatric house. At least that's what the file says about her. The picture they have of her is nothing at all like Amanda remembers her to be. If I had to describe her in one word it would be lifeless.

  "Do you think she looked like me?" I glanced over at Amanda, who was eyeing the file on her lap as we drove to Dad's house. "I mean, before all that shit happened. Are there any similarities?"

  She looked up at me then, her eyes squinting in concentration as she took in my features. "Apart from being ridiculously good looking?"

  I had to laugh.

  "No, Logan. I don't think so."

  I didn’t think so either.

  ***

  It was no real secret about what happened when I was younger, but I guess people had enough decency to not talk or gossip about it too much. By the time I reached middle school, I'd worked out that not that many people knew about my past. I remember talking to Dad about it once. He never tried to hide my past from me; he was always honest and straightforward. Apparently the fact that my birth parents never came back for me, made the entire adoption process simple. I remember thinking how amazing it was that I'd somehow been chosen to have a second chance at life. Even at a young age I knew better than to waste it. I guess that's what happens when you cheat death. I remember thinking that maybe Dad would keep me around and not hurt me if I kept my room clean. It was such a stupid thing to think—now that I look back on it—but when you're a kid and you're scared of monster's voices—then you do anything you can to not have to go back to that place in your life.

  I still keep my room clean.

  When I was fourteen, word got around town that my birth mom was looking for me. Apparently she went to Dad's work and created a scene. That's when he went looking for the best lawyer in town just in case anything went down. That's when we met Nathan. You can imagine my surprise when I made friends with some asshole with a weird accent, who was apparently some kind of baseball God, and went to his house to shoot the shit one day after school. Nathan—he didn't even flinch when he saw me. I stuttered my way through introductions and hoped to god that it didn't show. It's not that I was ashamed of my past, but I had just met Jake, so coming out and saying 'Hey, I'm adopted, my parents were abusive junkies and your dad's my lawyer' wasn't really in the cards. Not then. It took me a good year to tell Jake I was adopted—and even then—I still didn't tell him why.

  Sometimes I forget that I'm adopted. Like this kid, Phuong, in one of my classes—he told me once that sometimes he forgets he's Asian. I found it so funny when he said it, but now—I kind of understood it.

  I wonder if Megan ever forgot who she was before she became who she is. I wonder if she knew what was happening to her, as it was happening, or if one day she just woke up and she didn't know who she was anymore. There's a part of me that feels for her. She was this sad and pathetic little girl that didn't get what she wanted, so she stole it. Maybe she needed that attention, craved it in a way. Maybe it was because she didn't have that family-ness at home, like Amanda said. Maybe she did something that was supposed to just be some innocent prank because she was a bitter bitch, and it ended in the worst form of tragedy. Maybe I just feel bad for her because of what happened to her afterwards. Because even though we don't know each other at all, and even though the worst type of circumstance leads us to kind of knowing each other—maybe I don't want another human being to die in the hands of fucking drugged up assholes. Maybe this is my way of paying back what my dad did for me. Maybe I want to help her. Maybe I need to help her.

  I told all of this to Dad while Amanda was at the store buying stuff to make dinner. He just shook his head and said, "Maybe she needs you to help her."

  So that was that.

  ***

  Amanda arrived not long after the conversation, grocery bags in tow. I'm pretty sure the last time the kitchen was used by anyone other than the housekeeper was when Micky was here.

  I washed my hands and pushed my sleeves up. "What can I do to help?"

  She laughed the same time Dad did.

  We'd moved to the kitchen and she was unpacking while Dad sat at the counter.

  "What's funny?" I asked them.

  Dad answered, "I don't think I've ever seen you do anything cooking related."

  Amanda laughed again. "Ever?" she asked him.

  "Ever," he confirmed.

  Assholes. Both of them.

  She opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, she handed one to Dad and started to give me the other, before she hesitated and pulled it away. Her eyes went huge, realizing what she'd just done.

  My dad chuckled. "Sweetheart, he's been drinking openly since he was sixteen, it's fine." He gave her a reassuring smile.

  I saw her body relax as she handed it to me.

  When I was sixteen, Dad noticed the amount of parties I started going to. It was before I got my license so we walked almost everywhere. When I got my permit, he sat me down and told me he was fine with me drinking, that he knew I was going to do it, so he wanted me to be prepared about the consequences of alcohol. He went through the entire medical side of things, and how often he saw kids having to get their stomach pumped and shit like that. T
hen he told me about Tina. Tina was his high school sweetheart. They'd dated since freshman year and all through college. He told her he'd propose to her the day he graduated. And he planned too. The night of graduation, she was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the road to get to the hotel room he had booked. The room he littered with candles and roses and where he waited on bended knee for her to open the door. He said he could still hear the sound a car makes when it impacts with a human body. He even showed me the ring he still held on to. He said that he believed in one true love, and that she was it for him.

  She was his person.

  ***

  "Holy shit, what is this?" Dad and I both said during our first mouthful of whatever Amanda made. I swear I saw Dad's eyes roll back in satisfaction.

  Amanda laughed. "Good, huh?"

  "Sweetheart," Dad cooed. "This is better than good."

  "It's Taco casserole."

  "It's amazing is what it is," I told her.

  We moved to the living room after dinner to watch TV. She lay down with her head on my lap and was out within five minutes. I could see Dad watching us while I stroked her hair. "She asleep?" he asked.

  I nodded, looking down at her. "Yeah. She's always so overtired. She works way too much."

  "Does she need to work that much?"

  "I offered to pay more rent, she won't let me."

  Then it was quiet for a moment, while I continued to watch her sleep.

  "She makes you happy, son?" he asked quietly.

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "She makes me whole."

  I had to wake her to move us to the pool house for the night, by the time we said goodnight and left the main house, she was wide-awake.

  "It's such a nice night out," she said, her head tilted, looking up at the sky.

  I agreed.

  "Let's just stay out here for a bit."