Unnatural Deeds

by Cyn Balog

  “And go where? I told you. In another year and a half, I will leave. But I’ve got to get into college first, earn a baseball scholarship or something. Otherwise I have nowhere to go.” He hung his head. He looked so different, so young.

  His facade crumbled, and I saw Z for who he really was, for what they’d made him. He’d let them puppet him, tell him what to do and where to go, and he was just going to let that continue? For how long would he be able to put up with that? He could get arrested or killed.

  No. Not acceptable.

  “So?” he asked.

  My turn.

  I said, “Wait. Back up. You have to do something. Don’t let them push you around.”

  His eyes widened with surprise. “What would you do?”

  The first thing that came to mind shocked me. Kill them. Kill them before they kill you. My hands shook—where’d that kind of violence come from? Instead I said, “Go to the police.”

  He said, “And then I wouldn’t have anywhere to live. I spent three months in foster care after my grandparents died. It’s hell.”

  We were silent, unable to come up with a better plan. Then he nudged me. I’d put my turn off long enough.

  I mumbled, “I was going to break up with Andrew. I almost did last night.”

  I waited for him to say something encouraging. Instead, he said, “Buzz. Wrong.”

  “What?”

  “What kind of secret is that? I mean, it’s not even true.”

  “Yes it is,” I said, indignant, my face heating as he studied me.

  “Something tells me you’ll keep saying that you were going to. Never that you did. You can’t, can you? Why don’t you admit you’re just as messed up as I am? We can’t move forward or backward. We’re both stuck.”

  He was right. I’ll never be able to leave you, Andrew. Never. You’re all I’ve ever known. You may not make my heart beat faster the way Z does, but you’re responsible for it beating steadily. For it beating still. And I love you more than anything.

  Instead of telling him that though, I said, “Speak for yourself.” Then I cleared my throat. “I have anxiety. Which is why I have those pills.” I pointed at my night table.

  His gaze traveled over to them without much interest. He didn’t seem satisfied. I was about to tell him I was all out of material when he grabbed my wrists in his hands, pinning me down with his weight. Those brilliant blues worked their hypnotizing action. “The whole world is for shit, Precious. But not this. No matter what is going on outside this window, we still matter. I wish we could just leave them all behind.”

  A crow flitted across my window, startling me. I thought about that old wives’ tale, about how a raven outside one’s window signified the approach of death. The sun was starting to poke over the horizon, casting pale-yellow rays. It would be hard for Z to escape unseen if he waited much longer. He started to pull on his boxer briefs, and I threw myself into his arms, desperately raining kisses over his face as if pressuring my lips to memorize every feature. It’s like my lips knew that this would be our last time.

  “So what do you want to do? Run away together?”

  I said it as a joke. But he nodded slowly. “Bethany has a stash of money. Easily more than a thousand dollars. We could, you know.”

  Fear gripped me. Fear of leaving home, of leaving you, Andrew. I thought of all the times you tried to escape, and look how that turned out. “But I…”

  “We can do it,” he said. “Throw the past away. Get away from all these demons that haunt us. Start fresh. That’s what we need.”

  I laughed bitterly. It would never work. “I… What would we do? I mean, what would my parents and—”

  “Andrew.” It was the first time he actually said your name. His eyes narrowed, and he exhaled. “Dammit, Vic, let your enormously talented boyfriend fight his own battles for once. Look, let’s meet tonight. In the Kissing Woods.”

  I shuddered. “You mean the Killing Woods. Why?”

  His finger trailed lightly down my chest to my breastbone, and when his gaze met mine, it was there again. That adoring, more-than-the face-of-God look that told me this was the moment all the others were leading up to. “Because I need to show you something. Maybe then you’ll be able to leave it all behind.”

  So, of course, I agreed to meet him. Before he climbed out my window, he touched my lips with his finger, and even before he pulled away, I ached to have him back.

  He climbed outside and gracefully scuttled onto the grill and out of the yard, leaving me smiling goofily after him.

  Until I saw you. You were still wearing the same outfit from before, like you hadn’t slept all night, staring up at my window from our spot by the fence. You didn’t move. You didn’t even seem to breathe. For the first time, looking into those eerily calm features of yours, I had no idea what was on your mind.

  And for the first time, Andrew, you scared me.

  Chapter 37

  I knew I needed to make a choice, and that choice would completely alter the course of my life. I’d weighed the pros and cons. I had safety in one column, adventure in another. Love versus lust. Sanity versus madness.

  So in the end, I closed my eyes and jumped.

  I didn’t meet you at our spot in the backyard last night, but I don’t think you expected me to, did you? You were different now too, harder, more suspicious. Not just because of me. I wasn’t the first person to hurt you, Andrew, but I’d probably hurt you the most.

  The look on your face while you were standing in the yard scared me. You were more than just disappointed in me. You were enraged.

  But here’s the truth: I thought about you and me more than you probably realize. I thought of how blissfully simple everything had been before. And, oh Andrew, my Andrew, how I wished we could go back in time. As deeply as I’d fallen for Z, part of me wished I hadn’t changed, that I was still the person who wanted nothing more than you.

  I wanted you. I never stopped wanting to be with you, do you understand?

  Never.

  You were the one who gave up on us.

  I invited you in first. It was supposed to be you with me that night.

  Instead, you gave up on me.

  Last night, while my parents dozed watching a football game in the living room, I went out to the street and broke into a run. I’d thrown on one of my dad’s running jackets, pushing up the collar to hide my face, and pressed a black skullcap over my hair.

  The frosty air felt good on my bare skin, freeing. Z was right on time again. He pulled over to the side of the road in his Civic, leaving his headlights on. I shone my flashlight at him. “What’s with the disguise?” he said.

  “It’s not a disguise. I’m cold.”

  His breath came out in a white cloud. When he came around the side of the car, he collided with me, lifting my body off the ground and kissing me hard.

  I took him by the hand and led him into the woods. As we crunched over dried leaves, our heavy jackets caught on bare branches, and animals called to each other in the distance.

  Z pressed me against a white, knotty cedar tree, tilting my face up to the stars. Those big eyes were wild. He seemed so strong, so powerful, that my fingers weakened and I dropped the flashlight.

  He took my hands between his own and restored feeling to them. We spent much of the time before midnight reverting those woods back to their original name, as we desperately raced our cold hands under layers of clothing, seeking the blissfully warm skin underneath. “Trust me, you have to trust me,” he whispered to me again and again, as his fingers and lips touched every inch of flesh they could find.

  I told him I trusted him, but part of me was just saying what he wanted to hear, what I wanted to be true. Like I told him, I’m beyond trusting and being trusted now. Trust can be repaired and regained, but I think sometimes it gets so beaten from you that i
t shatters into a zillion pieces. Then it becomes nothing more than a word.

  When we pulled apart from each other, breathless, I whispered, “Why did you want to meet me here?” I pressed my forehead against his.

  He looked at me for the longest time, as if willing the answer into my head. “You know, don’t you? Tell me you know. Tell me you remember the last time you were here.”

  I shook my head fiercely, but as I did, a memory loosened in my mind, falling into place. The wet, earthy smell. The leaves crunching. The air biting. The night wind. It was a night like this.

  You and me, Andrew. We used to come here. Not to make out though. We were just kids then. Best friends.

  How many times had you tried to run away? Right down Route 11, headed for Bangor. This was as far as we ever got. Sometimes you’d say you’d never been able to make it even this far without me. We’d stay out here, huddled together, barely talking, waiting until your stepdad had calmed down enough so that you could venture home.

  I whispered your name.

  Z opened his mouth. His eyes pleaded with me. “You remember?”

  I nodded. “We have to go.”

  He held my hand. “No. No. Listen, Vic.” He took my head in his hands, bending down so that his eyes were level with mine. “Come on. You need to remember this.”

  He was scaring me. I wrenched away from him and snapped, “I don’t want to.” When he reached for me again, I held myself rigid in front of him. “Why…why are you doing this?”

  “Because I want to help you, Vic.”

  “Me? You’re the one with all the problems. With the fucked-up life. Why don’t you help yourself first?” I turned away from him, heading toward the street. As I started to climb the embankment toward the road, he grabbed at me. I reeled back and smacked him. He blinked, stunned, then rubbed his raw cheek.

  “Don’t touch me. I’ve got to go.”

  “You know what happened,” he said. “He’s dead. Andrew’s dead.”

  I stopped. I whirled. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “What happened?” Z asked. His voice sounded distant, drifting in and out on the wind. “You found him here in the woods. He’d killed himself, right? You were what…fourteen?”

  “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” I spat out.

  You’d warned me, Andrew. You’d said, Forever. This time, I mean it! But you said that every time. Every time he beat you down, every time he made you feel worthless, you’d come to our spot and tell me you didn’t know how much longer you could take it. You’d tell me you were running away, hitchhiking across the country until he’d never find you. I heard that at least a thousand times. How was I supposed to know this time was different? Did you always carry a vial of that stuff from your stepfather’s hunting cabinet? Did you always carry an extra insulin needle with you? Did you? Why didn’t you tell me?

  I saw you leave. I heard your father screaming, Faggot! and watched you storm out of the house, slamming the screen door behind you. You looked up at my window and hefted your blue backpack onto your bony shoulders.

  You wanted me to come out and save you.

  I watched you march in the direction of Route 11.

  I didn’t rush out like I should’ve. It was early spring, and you know how I hate the cold. The first weeks of mud season suck. Patches of depressing, half-melted snow clotted with sticks and soft earth were everywhere. All of the green buds and little creatures that make springtime happy were still too afraid to come out and face the world. How many times had I joked with you that I wished you’d time your efforts to run away more for midsummer?

  I knew exactly where to find you. I threw on my jacket and headed after you, walking at a leisurely pace and wishing I lived in Miami. I imagined the pines above me were palm trees. I told myself that when we were grown, we’d live somewhere with palms and sweet, flowery breezes.

  When I got to the woods, I followed your footprints in the muddy snow. I found you sitting on the ground, slouched against a tall pine. You smiled when you saw me, and the first thing I thought was, All is well. Thirty more minutes, and we can go home. In time, this storm will blow over too.

  But then your head lolled like a puppet on a string.

  Remember what you said, Andrew?

  What took you so long?

  You tried to sing to me. Someday, when I’m old and gray, those stupid made-up lyrics. But your lips were slack, and the notes came out all garbled and wrong. That wayward tongue of yours was getting its last laugh, I guess.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Then you told me you loved me. Well, you said, “I love…” but you couldn’t make your mouth form the last word. Good thing I know you, Andrew. If anyone else had said it, I would have thought they meant “I love puppies” or “I love steak and onions” or “I love the Payless BOGO special,” never that it was about me.

  It was the only time you ever said that to me, but still, I knew. I always knew. My heart stuttered in my chest like it wanted to beat for both of us. I crouched in the mud beside you and touched your hand. It was unnaturally cold.

  Damn you, Andrew. I knew everything about you, but I didn’t know that. And it was an egregiously huge omission. My future had a lot of what-ifs in it, yet it always, always included you. But your somedays never included me, did they? All those times you sang to me, you never planned on being old and gray. You never planned on escaping to palm trees and warm breezes. Instead, this was your plan. This was what you daydreamed about. Not me. Not us.

  Do you remember the last thing you told me?

  You told me it would all be over soon.

  Liar. The worst was just beginning.

  Your face was ghostly pale. One of your diabetic needles lay on the ground, a little vial too.

  I shook you, trying to get you to wake up. I punched your chest, willing your heart to keep beating. I promised you that if you didn’t leave me, I’d never leave you.

  But that didn’t work. You closed your eyes.

  I called you stupid. I called you an idiot. I told you that if you hurt me like that, I’d curse your name, never talk to you again, walk away and never turn back.

  I lied, of course.

  And now Z was standing before me, going on and on, trying to urge a confession out of me, begging me to trust him, but I’ve heard that before. Everyone is always telling me to trust them, that decisions they make are for my own good, but good doesn’t exist in my life anymore. Not since you left, Andrew.

  But Z just kept pressing, shaking up all those bottled emotions inside me. I wrestled him off me and screamed, “Stop it!” so loud that the trees shuddered around us.

  I took a breath, but bile rose from my throat. I huffed out, “I don’t trust anyone anymore. I hate you. I hate him, and I hate you.”

  My limbs were frozen. I couldn’t even think to move them. He slinked beside me, holding me steady against the trunk of the pine tree, whispering soft words of comfort. I even allowed him to kiss me, but meanwhile, everything inside me had begun to rebel. His hands and lips and body smothered me. I lashed out, biting hard on his lip.

  “Fuck!” He bent over, collecting blood in his palm. “Vic, what the fuck?”

  I licked his blood from my lip. God, I’d bitten him. That was crazy. I started chanting in my head, “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not…”

  Z wrapped his arms around me, whispering, “You’re not.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud.

  I blinked. The last time I spoke to you, Andrew, was after the dance. You were there with me outside our duplex. I’d seen you, felt you, kissed you. You were there. I whispered, “He’s not dead.”

  “I get it. It was a shock, Vic. He meant a lot to you,” Z said to me, his arms still wrapped around me. “But you can get it back. We can get it back.”

 
But you knew me better than that, Andrew.

  “He’s not dead,” I repeated, pulling out of Z’s embrace. “You think you can fix everybody? Try fixing yourself. I won’t leave him again.”

  Before I could run for the road though, I heard branches snapping. Footsteps pounding closer.

  That’s when you came in.

  You were a force, Andrew. You were anger and desire and hate personified, leveling that entire forest with your rage.

  Fight and flight instincts warred inside me. Someone screamed my name, but I wasn’t sure whose voice it was. You and Z have such similar voices, you know? I remember a scuffle, punches thrown, leaves cast into the cold air, faces twisted in agony. I remember splinters from the heavy branch I pried from the frozen ground digging into my palm.

  I remember Z saying, “Why, why, why,” over and over again. Asking first, then pleading. It was the first time I’d ever seen fear in his gorgeous blue eyes.

  The first, and the last.

  The truth was, I wanted to help. I wanted to save you both.

  But, Andrew, I meant what I’d said before, while I cradled you in my arms that night when we were fourteen.

  I told you I was sorry. I told you I’d protect you. I told you I’d never let you down again.

  And this time, I didn’t.

  Chapter 38

  The sky is lightening. I can’t talk anymore. I’m so tired. My throat hurts. My battery is almost dead. But, Andrew…if you hear this, then, well, you’ll know the whole story.

  You’ll know that I never meant to hurt you.

  You’re gone. You left me. And it’s been hours. You’ve never been gone this long. I don’t know if I’ll see you again. Is this really the end of us? I thought you came to the Killing Woods tonight for me so that we could be together. I thought you’d finally found your courage. But maybe you’ve given up. You’re angry at me.

  You have every right to be.

  But my conscience is finally clear. In the end, I chose you. I wish we could go back to that night when we were fourteen. Of course I’d do things differently. I’d prove to you how much you mean to me, and you’d never doubt me again.