Even on the Darkest Night

by Allie Martin

  “We went to the Lemming Garden concert and met the band. We had breakfast with them, and now we’re hanging out.” I figure the truth is my best option right now. We’re busted. I’m hoping that my past record of good behavior gets me out of this, but my stomach rolls and kneads the doubt inside me, letting it rise. Mom wouldn’t know that. She’s never around to know what normal behavior from me is.

  Mom sighs. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Enough, Evan. You come back to the hotel. Right now. I’m your mother. Show me a little more respect.”

  I scoff. “What did you hear that line in a movie or something?” Wow. What is happening? I have very little concern for how my words affect Mom, but I never thought I’d have the guts to say what I really think out loud (which also freaks me out because there are a lot of things I'd like to say).

  “Get back here. Now.” Mom yells louder and more fiercely than I’ve ever heard her, but even though I’m shaking and terrified, I can’t go back.

  “No.”

  “Pardon?”

  I stand up from Jordan’s bed. His eyes follow me as I pace. Nat’s gripping the door handle so tight her knuckles are white. Shock and pride dance together in her eyes.

  “I said no. I’ll be back to get my bags before we leave for the airport.”

  “I’ll call your father,” Mom threatens, and I scoff.

  “No you won’t. Dad didn’t want to leave me with you. I convinced him to. I told him it was a good idea. Dad never wants me alone with you. He doesn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. But if Dad was here we’d never have gotten to that concert. He’ll blame you, and you know it.”

  Silence on the other end. When she starts speaking again, her voice shakes with anger, but she doesn’t say anything about Dad.

  “You can’t be out there by yourself. Not in your condition. Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

  “No, Mom. I said no. Listen to me.” My voice gets higher. I lean on Jordan’s dresser, watching myself talk in his mirror. “Natalie is here. I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine, Evan. You just had that thing implanted. What if something happens to you?”

  “Yeah, Mom. That’s a good question. What if something happens to me?” I tap my fingers hard on the dresser to release this pressure that fills me like compressed air.

  “That’s enough with the attitude.” Mom tries to match my tone, but the truth is I’m not afraid of her. When Dad raises his voice to me it causes a tornado of tears and sorrys and self-loathing disappointment. When Mom’s upset with me it does... nothing. I feel empty. Or I should say I used to feel empty. Right now something has changed. I flatten the palm with mine and Jordan’s drawing on it. My heart. He filled it in. My words, crossed out and replaced.

  Everything’s changed.

  That empty place inside where my Mom resides is filling. I’m filling the word, because I do love my mom. Of course I love my mom. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have spent months crying. If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to make her love me back. To make her come home.

  “I’m not giving you attitude. You want to know what if something happens to me, and I’m giving you an honest answer. If something happens to me, you won’t be there to help me, like usual. Nat will get me through it, like usual. Dad will fix it, and pay for it, and care for me, like usual. Or...I'll die and none of you will be able to do anything anyway...” Wherever I’ve stored all the anger I’ve felt since that day she drove away with the hibiscus tree hanging out the back window, is imploding.

  My Supernova.

  The liquidy, gaseous toxicity bubbles and boils through tiny holes in my core.

  “Then you’ll get a phone call after I’m stable,” I continue, unable to hold back the furor in which my hatred collapses my chest. “You’ll run around like you give a shit when really you use me to get people to feel sorry for you. You will use my condition to make people think you’re so strong for having a sick kid. You’ll sit in the corner of a hospital room and cringe whenever something gross happens. Like usual...”

  Movement in the mirror reminds me I’m not alone. Jordan slowly stands, but he doesn’t come to me.

  “Evan, that’s not fair...” Mom’s voice breaks, and I’m tired of hearing her say my name. “That’s not true.”

  “You know it’s true!” I screech, and Nat finally moves fully into the room, probably anticipating my impending explosion. “And you know what’s really not fair? Having a mother who doesn’t come home from a yoga retreat in Bali when her daughter has heart surgery. Having a mother who updates her social media status to tell the world her daughter might need a heart transplant, and then accepts comments that congratulate you on how strong you are for your family, when the truth is you left your family. That’s what’s not fair. I’m sorry, Mom, but you never listened to me when I asked you to stay. You didn’t come back when I asked you to. When I begged you to come home, you didn’t. So why the hell do you think I’d do it for you?”

  Mom’s crying now, but I’m in complete detonation mode, and I don’t care. Stopping the blast now would only result in casualties. I have to let it out. I have to let it go.

  I want her to cry. I want her to feel every pain I’ve ever felt, and I listen to her tears with shaking limbs. My fingers trail along Jordan’s messy dresser with scribbled words all over his mirror and find a black pen. I uncap it and on the mirror I draw a heart over my reflection, and then I split it down the center. A violent zigzag breaking it in two.

  Mom just says my name as I stare at the heart. Jordan and Nat’s reflections behind me are still and careful.

  “I’m sorry I inconvenienced your life by being sick. I’m sorry I caused you any pain. I’m sorry that I might die. I’m sorry you had to leave Dad because of me.” I’m screaming the words my own face in the mirror, reflected behind a broken heart.

  I listen to Mom cry for a few minutes. I'm dizzy and shaking from the exertion so I brace myself by leaning hard against the dresser. Mom just cries. I sigh to steady my breathing. My heart thumps, and I lay my hand over the freshly re-bandaged ICD. “I’m safe, okay? I’m not coming back until the morning. But I’m safe where I am. Natalie’s here. Call Dad if you want. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, Mom.”

  I tap end with my thumb as my wrist goes limp. My phone falls from my fingers with a thud on the dresser. My body bursts with things I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling at the same time. An emotional overload, mixed with exhaustion, forces unexpected tears to spill from my eyes. My shaking hand slides through my hair and my fingers curl into a fist around the strands. My other hand lashes out at the mirror. I violently smear the wet ink. My reflection is distorted through the smudges of black, but still I look weak. Broken. Pathetic. I should feel good about telling my mom off. I should feel good that she knows exactly what I think of her.

  I should.

  But I don’t.

  I want to fill our love. Mom and me. But not with this. Not with poison.

  A hand grips my elbow, but I throw it off. “Don’t,” I say. I’m tired of being held up. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being sick. I don’t want a new heart; I want to keep this one. I want my family back.

  I want to stop being afraid to love them.

  I see Nat’s reflection, still standing by the door. Giving me space, but even her expression is straight pity.

  Jordan tries again to place his hand on the small of my back. I shove his arm.

  “Stop. Just stop it!” But when I turn to meet Jordan’s gaze it’s not pity in his face. It’s recognition. There’s a little smile that touches the corner of his mouth and pride in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. On anyone.

  “You’ve identified your throne, Cassiopeia.,” he says as he wipes tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. I have no expressions left to display on my worn and tired face so I say “What?”

  “The thing you’re holding onto,” he continues, sp
inning me to see my swollen and puffy face in the mirror. “That thing you cling to so you don’t have to fall into the unknown.”

  He leans against me, pinning my hips into the wood of the dresser and picks up the same pen I used to draw the broken heart. He redraws the lines. Nat moves to stand next to us, but I don’t care that I’m pressed against Jordan in front of her. Too much has happened tonight that I wouldn’t even know the definition of embarrassment anymore.

  “You are a broken heart. That’s what you think, isn’t it? That no one could love you, and you couldn’t return that love because you are broken.”

  I stare at his reflection, feeling the pressure of his body against mine. How it feels right and wrong at the same time. How I want it and don’t at the same time. How I believe I’m not worthy of it, or him. I glance at Nat, and I can tell she’s on Jordan’s side. I’m being ambushed. They are trying to contain me, without regard for themselves. My best friend I’ve known my whole life and the boy I’ve known for one night are staging my intervention.

  “I don’t want to think that. I don’t want that to be who I am,” I whisper.

  “Then don’t let it be. Just fall.” Jordan’s words rush through me, my stomach jumping like I’ve already let go.

  The faster I fall, the blurrier my world becomes. “I’m scared.”

  Nat reaches out and grabs my hand. “You know I’ll catch you, right? Me, your dad, even your mom. You know we love you, right? Even when you try not to let us.”

  Jordan begins to write on the smooth surface of the mirror pulling my attention away from Nat and her questions.

  The words scrawl across the reflection of my chest under the heart I drew. His mirror is smudged and chaotic—exactly how I feel.

  A broken heart is who I am

  There’s huge gaps between the words. “You aren’t seeing it though, Evan.” He leans against me harder and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You are missing the most important words. The words that change the meaning.”

  He draws an arrow and puts the pen to the mirror again.

  A broken heart is part of who I am

  Fresh tears hit me, and whispered words I never knew I thought sneak through my barrier.

  “I don’t want you to hurt because of me.”

  Nat sighs deep and long, there’s more seriousness in her expression than I’ve ever seen. “You don’t get to make that choice, Evan. That’s my decision.”

  I have no response, but everything about her stance says it’s non-negotiable. There is no arguing. Nat glances at the mirror and crosses one arm over her stomach. I don’t expect it when she lets go of my hand to take my cell phone and taps my arm with it.

  “I’m going to take this, okay?” she says and slides my phone in her pocket. “I’m completely exhausted, and I need to crash. Lane grabbed me some blankets. I’ll be right out there.”

  “I’ll answer your phone in the morning when your dad calls to remind you to take your meds. I’ll make something up,” Nat continues before she turns and walks away.

  “Nattie?” I push away from Jordan, the mirror, and the mess I created.

  “Yeah?” Nat pauses in the open doorway.

  “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right? That I’ll make it up to you.” I tilt my head to the side.

  “I know, EJ. See you in the morning.” The door clicks shut softly before I can answer. I stare at it for a bit then turn around to face Jordan.

  My eyes fill with more tears as I see all the little dots drawn on the mirror. Jordan puts the pen in my hand and wraps both of his arms around my waist, returning me to my spot in front of him.

  He takes my hand and places the pen to the first dot that outlines my reflection, and I begin to connect each drawn star with shaky lines.

  “You are more than one single thing,” he whispers into my hair. “You are a thousand tiny suns forever burnt into my soul. My favorite constellation. We may not have real love, but you will stay with me forever. Because what I said before is true. Everything changed the moment I met you.”

  Saturday, April 20 • 3:49 AM

  Jordan

  “Everything made of nothing,” Evan mutters as she draws the last of her constellation.

  “Waiting to be filled with something,” I add. She spins around so she's looking directly at me, but I don’t step back.

  “I wish I knew what that something was.”

  I laugh, and it chips at the tension that’s filled every available molecule of space inside my bedroom. “That would be easy.”

  “Nothing about my life is easy.”

  There’s a thick silence that lingers between us, and it takes me mere seconds to replay the whole night, every crazy detail.

  “What?” she says, her lip twitching into a sad but curious smile. Thoughts of her crash down on me. Drowning in her pained eyes, I’m overtaken by her. I’m swallowed by her fragile beauty and in awe of her untamable strength. Seeing into her eyes now, free of those locks and bars, I’m shamed by my own fears. I’m ashamed of my lies and secrets. I see in her reflection everything I want to be and all the ways I couldn’t get there.

  Let go of your throne, Cassiopeia, and fall with me into the unknown.

  I cup her cheeks and kiss her, desperately true and passionately real. Her arms go around my waist, and it’s as if I’d never kissed anyone before. As if Annie never existed.

  Evan pulls as hard as I do. She kisses me back with the same intensity. She matches my desperation and my movements with equal strength.

  Equal.

  Balanced.

  She leans back abruptly and sucks in a ragged breath but doesn’t let me go.

  “I can’t save you,” I say, and it shocks us both.

  “I don’t need you to save me.” She takes my face in her hands with a smile, but I can’t return it.

  “It’s what I do, Evan. I need to be needed. I need to be the savior. Time after time I took Annie back because I thought I could save her.” My confession is clawing its way out no matter what, the words hooking their talons into my throat to climb to the surface. “But I can’t save you. No words I could say or write will heal you. Nothing. We could fill the word to the bursting point, and it wouldn’t matter.”

  She’s frowning at me, so I take her hips and move her from the dresser to the bed. She lays back slowly, every movement showing exhaustion, and I lay beside her, propped up with one arm.

  “Jordan,” she starts, but I lean in to kiss her again. I only want a moment to enjoy it. To enjoy her and this feeling of calm she brings me. My kisses leave her mouth and trail her jaw and neck until she tenses. I hover over her, my finger hooked in the neckline of her hoodie about to place a kiss on her collarbone when I see the tip of the scar from her surgery. I quickly let go of the fabric.

  “Sorry,” I say and sit up, suddenly reminded of her fragility. Worried not about the scar but about hurting her.

  She sits up, too.

  “It’s okay. I don’t hide the scars because I am ashamed of them. I hide them because they make other people uncomfortable.”

  My heart thunders, and I want to tell her that they don’t bother me. I’m not afraid of her scars. I don’t get the chance to say anything as she crawls onto my lap and puts her arms around my neck.

  “And I need to say something before we do anything else.”

  “What’s that?” I ask. She kisses me.

  “You should go to school in London.”

  I flop backward. She lowers herself next to me and rests her head against my chest.

  “I know I should.”

  She traces little patterns over my stomach while I run my fingers lazily through her hair.

  “So why don’t you?” Her head tilts up. “You got a full scholarship. And Hector implied you have money by saying you can afford to do nothing.”

  My fingers stop midway through her hair. “My brother and I are more than okay for money, yeah. I’m mean, we are in no way rich or anything. M
y dad was a banker. We had trust funds from Mom’s life insurance money. He gave it all to us. I was given access to the trusts on my eighteenth birthday.” I absently twist a strand of her hair around my finger and let the words pour from me fast, to get them out.

  “I’m sorry, Jordan. I didn’t mean to pry.” Evan balls my shirt in her fist. I take her hand and lace my fingers through hers.

  Studying the ceiling, I count all the little glitter pieces embedded in the stucco and sigh.

  “I’m afraid of letting go,” I finally say. “I’m afraid to let go of what I used to have. Who I used to be. I’m afraid to let go of my fear because it’s easier to be afraid where I am than fight for where I want to be. It’s easier to fix other people than to fix myself.”

  “At least your future doesn’t depend on the eventual death of a stranger.” The words are so blatantly honest that it stings.

  “I’m sorry, Evan. I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.”

  She fights tears, and I lean in for a kiss. Our time is running out fast, and I want as many kisses as I can get, but there’s something I need to do first. I grab my cell and hold it in the air above our heads as I type.

  Jordan: Hector. We need to talk about London.

  I hit send and toss the phone onto a pile of clothes on the floor. Evan smiles; real and genuine.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to go to school, yet. I missed enrollment, but Hector wants me there for recording this summer. To help them write some songs. That I think I can commit to.” I grin at her, and she touches my lips lightly, like she’s checking if it’s real. “I could probably use a little vacation. Some time away to write...without Annie.”

  Evan’s fingers fall from my cheek. “I think that’s probably a good idea. Being alone is pretty awesome. A lot of freedom. A lot.”

  I roll Evan on top of me, and she giggles as my fingers dig into the skin of her hips. She stares down, her hair falling around both of our faces like our own private shield from the world, and I feel like I did at the diner—like I’m the only thing she sees.