***
I came to in darkness, still HERE. I’d spent the night digging for clues to my life until I passed out. There were flashes of pictures but I had no idea if they came from her life or mine. Avery woke up while I sorted through some scenes: snowflakes in a frenzy, bright sun glinting off the white slopes, and a tense moment where I held my breath, waiting for numbers to come up on a billboard-size screen. A score for something?
I didn’t pay her much attention until she muttered to herself, “Of course it’d be today.”
What’s that?
“Never mind, Marcus. Just talking to myself.”
I could feel her face heating up as she sat down on her bed. Did I want to pry? Did I care? I was taking in her room—the sheets of notes taped to her walls, the small blue rain pictures—when pain in her lower abdomen caught my attention, a weird sensation I’ve never felt before. By then she was popping a pill.
What’s going on? Did you hurt more than just your head?
“No … could this get any more embarrassing? I started today, and now I really feel like crap.”
Enough info!
Damn. She pulled on an old, ratty knit sweater. I started to say something but, just in time, somehow knew it’d been her mom’s. Hadn’t she said her parents were gone or something?
So, are you getting up?
She moaned and buried herself in the bed.
Avery! I can’t take this lying around. We have to get up and go do something.
“I can’t!” she muttered into her pillow. “In case you can’t feel it, my head is pounding, I have cramps, and my stomach won’t settle down. I’m going back to sleep. You’re going away!”
If only I could.
Chapter Four
Avery
I always wake up happy after dreaming about my mom. For a few minutes, I can hear her voice and laugh and see that shrug she always did with a one-sided smile, her perfume. It’s those little things that slip away, things you take for granted on a day-to-day basis until they’re gone. Then, right after the dream, it’s all crystal clear, like I actually just heard her talk. Her sweater even smelled like her again.
Maybe it’s my subconscious, but it usually takes a bit before I remember. Happens every time. Then of course remembering that my mom is gone is even more horrible after those happy, just-waking-up moments with her. She’s gone. Dead. Dead. Dead. I’ll never see her again.
I couldn’t tell her about the snowboarding trip or Marcus, because she might have been the sole person on this planet I could have confided in about this. Today was even worse because on top of my headache, I started and had cramps. This felt worse than when I had the flu for two weeks my first year of college. I rolled over in bed and burrowed down into the covers.
Babe?
“Hmm?”
Hey, sorry to wipe out into your life and all … but I couldn’t help hearing that. Sorry about your mom.
“Thanks, I guess.” Maybe he understood because he couldn’t remember any of the people in his life—assuming he was real and had people to lose.
How’d it happen?
“Not going to talk about it. That’s the ground rules for living in my head. Certain topics are off limits. Got it?”
Sure. Great. Not like I need to hear all your personal issues. Getting up today?
I blinked, rolled over and checked the time. I could get up and go to class, but my body felt like it’d fallen down a snowy mountain, which it actually had.
Marcus snorted.
I’ve seen much worse. This one dude somehow twisted his leg up under him. I saw the white splinters of his bones sticking out. This other guy smashed into the rim, the halfpipe lip, right on his kneecap.
“Well, that sure helped my stomach.” Apparently Marcus spent a lot of time in extreme sports. Groaning, I pulled my pillow over my head, making an executive decision to stay home. I dozed off again, then woke to Kristina feeling my forehead, like she was checking me for a fever. It was laughable, except it felt like my mom checking on me. She was on my mind a lot today.
“Feeling okay, sweetie?”
“Better.” This was a total lie, but I didn’t want to be a whiner.
She sat down on my computer chair. “You were mumbling about hitting a jump. I can’t believe you’re even thinking about snowboarding after that.”
That woke me up. “Really? Huh. I think I’m still staying home today … Is that soup?” I asked at the wonderful smell.
“Chicken noodle.”
I scooted up in bed and took the bowl she offered, feeling the warmth and breathing in the aroma. My stomach growled.
“Jazz said she’ll share notes with you. And I’ll text that guy—Nash?—about notes. He can ask your other friends, right? That super skinny nerdy guy?”
For such a sweet person, Kristina can also be completely clueless at times. “Ettore? Yeah, Nash can ask around about notes.” I spoke between sips. “I can email the profs too … tomorrow.” We laughed about that as she left. “I’ll talk to you later!”
You like Ettore?
Marcus tried adding a big flourish to the name.
“He’s my friend, yeah,” I whispered with the bowl raised to my lips. “He’s also yacht and airplane rich, but he never advertises that around here.”
And Nash?
“None of your biz. And I’m staying home to rest and get better.”
Think that’ll get rid of me?
“You say that like you wanna stay stuck in my head. So, while I’m thinking about it, let’s start the day by going over our rules.”
Yes, ma’am.
He did not say that like he meant it at all.
“You are NOT going in the bathroom with me. I don’t care where you go, but I need my privacy.”
He was quiet, and I got the very clear impression that he was picturing our little shower scene. I forgot the other rules I wanted to go over.
Sighing, I finished the soup, snuggled down into my pillow and willed myself to sleep, hoping to get back to my dreams. I spent the day in bed, fading in and out of a wonderfully lazy half awareness. Jazz came in and brought me juice, crackers, cheese, water and even chocolate pudding.
Akkk. Good god, I hate pudding.
Kristina stopped by, too, but by then Marcus had gotten bored and wouldn’t stop talking. Kris didn’t stay too long. I probably acted way too distracted.
When I was alone again, I asked him, “Okay, here’s a question, Marcus. Do you have someone special?”
Uhh … I don’t think so.
“How is it possible for you to know so much about yourself but nothing about your life?” I laced my fingers behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. That way, it was almost like talking to someone lying next to me.
I don’t get it either. I can picture hitting a 180, but nothing comes to mind when I try to remember my last name, or where I work. I can’t picture any friends, but I feel like I hang out with other people all the time. Seems like I would miss them, especially a girlfriend or wife. Think I’m old enough to be married?
“Oh, gross.” I really hoped I didn’t have some married guy in my head. I’m not sure why, but that made it worse. “I’m going to sleep now.”
***
Avery, wake up. It’s light out. Let’s go for a run. You’re wasting the whole day.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” I asked into my pillow. “I don’t run, and I really don’t get up this early. How on earth can you tell it’s light outside from inside my head?”
Dunno. Maybe you blinked in your sleep? Feels like dawn. And it’s kinda gray here instead of dark.
I rolled over and lifted up just enough to peek at my phone on its charging stand … I had three hours till class, because I was going back today.
Plenty of time for a run! Get up!
Groaning, I pulled my pillow over my face. Not only was it the butt crack of dawn, but I’d stayed up way too late. Kristina had checked on me the first time I started to d
rift off to sleep. Then I was trying to get back to sleep but Marcus got restless and started asking all kinds of personal questions. We’d chatted for a few hours, and I guess that wasn’t so bad. Having someone inside my head meant we were skipping small talk and being completely honest and real with each other. I actually hate small talk, gossip and all that stupid stuff people waste their time on. It was, so far, the only thing Marcus and I had in common.
But, I still had a sore head and cramps.
Tell you what. If you take me for a run, I’ll stay out of the bathroom.
I flew up in bed.
“What the freaking hell? Are you aware that, one, you’re not a dog that needs taken for a run, and two, you should stay out of the bathroom out of basic human decency.”
So what am I supposed to do while you’re in the shower?
I cursed him and slid my feet to the floor. It didn’t look too rainy outside, but I didn’t have anything to run in.
Yeah, look over there. Running shoes.
“Those are for the gym.”
And running. And there’s shorts on that box thing. Come on. I need it. You do too.
I wasn’t sure I was able, so soon after my concussion. I rubbed my head and ran my fingers through my hair, yawning.
If you can do this, you can do anything.
“Did you read that off a cereal box?”
Can’t you feel that? You’re itching to stretch your legs and get some air in your lungs … don’t you want to feel the wind blowing over you?
I pulled in a big, deep breath, mostly to keep myself calm, but as the air rushed into my lungs, I got a hint of what he was talking about. And while it seemed illogical, I started thinking running would help me feel better.
Hell yeah! Let’s go baby. Come on. You want it.
“And you swear on your life that you’ll stay out of the bathroom? And you’ll step out when I ask for privacy?”
He laughed, a slow, totally male sound, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Is it a deal?”
It’s a deal. Unless you ask me to join you. Because I could show you a few things.
“We are going to shut up, get ready, and go on a SHORT run. Got it? Short. And you’re going to pretend you’ve learned some manners.”
Before changing, I cracked my door open and peeked down the hallway, just to make sure there wasn’t someone listening to my insane conversation. I kept trying to talk to him in my head, but that made me feel even weirder about the whole thing.
Ten minutes later, I couldn’t believe I was out in the forty degree, misty air, running down the sidewalk. The rain had made the world shiny and silver, but that didn’t mean I needed to be running through it. My legs burned. My lungs burned. My stomach hurt. Another runner flew by me like it was nothing.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I wheezed, then realized too late I was passing a man walking his dog. He glanced over but I pushed on, staring straight ahead. Marcus, can you feel the stitch creeping up my side?
It gets better. And those are just signs that you really need to get out for cardio more often.
“What happened to the smoking hot thing?” My words came between huffs. Was that just to butter me up so you could get me out here?
Let’s be quiet and run.
I laughed. Well, I would have if I had the air for it. Quiet. Being quiet. No, I needed to focus on breathing. In. Out. In, in, out. In, in, out. Soon my breathing fell into a rhythm, orchestrated with my feet, instead of the frantic wheezing I’d done the first two blocks. My face felt hot and my lungs still burned, but I kept moving. Then I felt Marcus almost like an energy streaming through me. He remembered hours and hours of running, arms moving, feet flying across the dirt, or snow, or sand. I could remember with him how it felt to fill his massive lungs, the length of his stride, the power in his limbs.
No wonder he felt trapped in my five-foot-four frame.
Actually, he’d been nice about not comparing my body to other women or to his previous abilities. He’d been bossy and pushy but he hadn’t managed to crush my ego, but didn’t that play into my theory that he was a figment of my schizophrenic mind?
Babe, listen, don’t schizophrenic visions and voices make you do crazy things?
Like run first thing in the morning?
No, like kill people and weird shit.
We hit an intersection with traffic streaming through. I lurched to a stop and bent over, hands on knees, sucking air. I remained bent over for so long, a lady’s voice asked if I was okay.
“Yeah, fine.” I waved her away and tried to follow up with a smile. I stiffly straightened and turned to head back to the house. Marcus groaned, quietly, but I caught it.
I know that wasn’t far for you, but I won’t be able to walk to class if I push it any more.
All right. I’ll admit I’m being an ass.
Was that the Marcus version of an apology? Reluctantly, I pushed myself back into a jog, at a slower pace than before, and focused on moving my arms to keep my body in motion. Still, I stopped twice on the way back, and then figured out, as I fell onto my front steps, that I had covered about two miles in all. Not a bad start, right?
Well, if you’re calling it a start, implying that we’ll keep at it, then, yes, it’s a good start.
The door opened.
“Avery? What happened?” Kristina rushed down the steps, swooping in on me, hands feeling my back. “Did you get mugged?” She screamed back at the open door for Dawn while I tried to break in and tell her everything was okay. Dawn stepped out, eyes wide.
“I just went running.” I got up quicker than I felt like and stretched, hands on the small of my back.
“Right after a concussion?” Kris asked just as Dawn said, “Who’s the guy?”
I rolled my eyes at her and followed them inside. Kristina hurried off—her get-ready routine is epic and she can’t afford any interruptions. Maybe it’s just me, but the prettier a girl is, the more she worries about it, and the more effort she puts into looking nice. It’s like a competition, and the closer to the top you are, the harder you have to fight. I’ve seen her live on vegetables for days to lose a few pounds. And she has a steady, devoted, loving boyfriend!
At least we see eye to eye on women.
I laughed as I walked down the hallway, and had to hope it wasn’t too loud.
In my room, I checked the time, downed a glass of water as the shower heated up, and then stood underneath it, fighting goosebumps. My body was cooling down and it felt almost like getting sick to my stomach. The feeling spread up into my chest. Crap, what is happening? I gulped air as my chest tightened, my head spun and everything started going black.
Calm down! Bend over. Breathe slowly. You’re hyperventilating.
It’s a heart attack from running!
No, it’s a panic attack. You’re fine. Just breathe with me … in … slow … out. Slower.
He kept talking while I breathed. Finally, I straightened back up and found I could see.
“Wait, Marcus, you said you wouldn’t come in here!”
It’s not like I can just wait outside while you pass out.
“Can you see me?” I asked the question with my eyes staring straight ahead.
I can see what you’re looking at, but I’m not floating here, staring at you while talking to you in my magical voice, that, strangely, only you can hear. But seriously, we need an exercise plan. I wasn’t smooching up to you when I said you’re hot. You are. But you could get into better shape. Don’t you want to see what you can do? Don’t you want to run ten miles or climb a mountain?
“Climb a mountain? Not really my thing.”
Don’t you want to run two miles without falling over?
“I didn’t fall over, for the record, and you should be proud of me for running at all. And, also for the record, I’m totally skinny.”
Skinny, but your endurance is … Listen, I’m not trying to be a jerk. Sorry about the shower. I’ll go work on
our exercise plan and you can enjoy your coconut shower gel.
Yeah, you go do that.
Five minutes later, I was out, wrapped in a towel and staring at the clothes in my closet when he said we need to think about nutrition. Hmm, breakfast. After a run like that, I probably deserved a big ol’ maple bar.
No, no, no! That totally ruins the point of the run. We need protein.
I pictured one of those Facebook memes with the Cookie Monster: num, num, num, me want more protein! Marcus chuckled until I pulled down a black skirt and long sleeve brown sweater.
Okay, I told him, now go somewhere else while I change.
***
An hour later, I discovered a new twist in my nightmare as I sat in my movie theory class, trying to listen to the professor over Marcus and his asinine commentary. This is worthwhile stuff, I explained, trying to quiet him. I actually needed to hear the discussion.
I’d sat by Jasmine and Ettore like usual. She was an art major but took some writing classes too, along with an oddball acting class. Ettore glanced over and gave me a small smile and lift of his hand. He loved this stuff, and Ettore made it more interesting than the professor. He could even point out the same techniques in modern movies. Kris wasn’t wrong about him being too skinny and maybe a bit odd looking, but it’s almost like he didn’t care. At least, he never acted like it.
Matt, as the professor liked to be called, discussed how the light on an actor’s face could reveal him as the good guy, or reveal a mood, or simply reveal that the character was revealing something in their dialogue. Images flashed on the screen from older movies, scenes where the character gazed somewhere (close to the camera but not directly) as they confessed or implored, the light falling across their face.
You seem to like lighting a lot. Do you like photography?
All In My Head (First Tracks Book 1) Page 3
