As I fall on my back to his left I strike out with my foot and manage to land one last kick to the jaw. Luke is up and on me in a second, equally fuelled by adrenaline. He goes for the kill shot. His hand wraps around my neck, squeezing me. He’s got me held at arms length, beyond the reach of my fists, and his leg pins mine down. He thinks he has the upper hand. Stupid boy.
I slip my thumb between his palm and my neck, gripping his wrist. My other hand grabs the back of his elbow. I twist his wrist back on itself and push his elbow joint in the wrong direction. His shoulder naturally rolls with it and he cries out in pain before his face even hits the tile floor. I roll on top of him and put a knee in his back.
An arm bar hurts like hell, even relaxed. Luke struggles, kicking his legs and flexing his shoulder. I just push harder. One quick move and I could snap his fucking elbow.
Not bad for a little girl.
Luke has the nerve to ask for mercy. What does he think this is? High school wrestling? There’s no tapping out in this match.
“Shut up,” I bark at him. I replace the hand on his elbow with my other knee and he cries out in protest. My free hand grabs him by the hair, jerking his head back. His eyes are already bruising and he’s got blood running down from his split lip.
“Yeah,” I snarl at him, “I killed her. So what the fuck do you think I’d do to you?”
I throw his arm away and he whimpers in pain. Fucking pathetic. I take one last kick to the ribs as I walk away.
It’s not until I bend to pick up my purse that I realize Briana is watching from the top of the stairs. “Go help your brother clean up,” I tell her, and slam the front door behind me.
Monday
It’s nice to know that my left hand still good for throwing punches. I wear gloves with long fingers to hide my bruised knuckles. The first two knuckles on both hands are a little swollen and the tops of my fingers are purple. The marks are satisfying, because they’re the only ones on me and I know Luke looks a hell of a lot worse. He didn’t even make a mark on my neck when he choked me; his grip was too brief.
I can see Jem a few hundred yards ahead of me as I head toward the school. He’s the only one in the crowd wearing a hat in May. He’s a little hunched today, which could mean anything from pain to tiredness to a particularly cranky mood. Given his new drug regimen, I’m going to bet on pain.
I catch up with Jem at his locker a few minutes later. He looks miserable, slowly turning the dial on his lock and opening the locker. For a moment he just stands there, and then he angles his shoulders, trying to get his backpack to just slide off him.
I come up behind Jem and take the weight of the backpack, easing it off him as gently as I can. His joints must be killing him.
Jem looks at me with a forlorn expression. “Thanks.”
“That bad?” I hang up his backpack and he nods.
“I’m only taking half my regular dose, and only half as often.”
“Withdrawal symptoms?” I ask lowly. Jem shrugs. Some things are too personal to talk about.
“Nothing I can’t hide,” he says. It annoys me a little that he’s hiding his discomfort to keep others from worrying. But he’s done it before, and I know how hard it is to talk him out of these asinine ideas.
I hand him a mint and head off to class.
*
Jem doesn’t show up to lunch, which annoys me even more because it means he feels worse than he’s letting on. I take some of my frustration out on my lunch—enough that Hannah notices that I’m eating more aggressively than usual.
“Just trying to eat quickly. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Studying?”
“Something like that.”
When I get to the nurse’s office, I find her gone. The staff are on lunch break too. I peek behind the curtain at the twin cots and find Jem lying on his side, looking like death warmed over.
“Nothing you can’t hide, eh?” I tuck the blanket tighter around his shoulders and sit by him, keeping him company and rubbing his back. The pain in his joints is no better or worse than usual, but his stomach is easily upset. He’s afraid to eat anything because it will make him sick, and prolonged hunger makes him lightheaded and cold.
“Is it nausea?”
Jem turns red in the face. “No,” he mumbles. One of the more uncomfortable side effects of opiates is constipation. Now that he’s on a lower dose, his digestive tract has to reconfigure the whole food processing situation.
I go back to the cafeteria and buy him a fruit juice. He can drink, at least, and he needs the sugars.
“Does Elise know I’m in here?” Jem asks as he sips.
“Probably.” Elise is highly attuned to her brother. “I bet she just thinks you’re a little tired, though.”
“Thanks for your help. I’ll pay you back for the juice.”
“Damn right you will.”
Jem chuckles at my tone and drinks more of his juice. He has to sit up a little to do it because I didn’t bring him a straw. He doesn’t need to be sucking air back right now. The gas would just be harder on his gut.
“Come here.” Jem holds out an arm to me, inviting me to sit next to him against the headboard. I scoot over to join him and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“What happened to your hand?” He picks up my right hand and pulls my glove off to look at the bruises.
“I beat the shit out of a my friend.”
Jem’s eyes widen. He pushes both my sleeves up to my elbows, looking for hidden bruises. I tell him I’m fine but he insists on checking.
“Who were you fighting with?”
“Luke. You’ve met him.”
“That kid?” His voice pitches up. “He’s got at least thirty pounds on you, Willa.”
“More like forty.”
“Please tell me it was play fighting.” Jem still inspects my head and neck for hidden bruises. He wouldn’t believe me if I told him that Luke didn’t land a single blow.
“No.”
Jem glares at me. I feel like a little kid in trouble. “What were you fighting about?”
“He was talking shit about my sister. And you.”
Jem swallows. “What about it?” He puts my glove back on, hiding the bruises.
“That I was an idiot to get close to you. And he knows what I did to her—he acted like I should be grateful that he wants anything to do with me.”
Jem murmurs my name and kisses my hair, like I’m a child telling a parent about a nightmare. The arm around my shoulders squeezes me tighter and he tells me that I’m better off without Luke.
“I might not be able to go with you on Thursday after all. Once Frank finds out I’m going to be grounded till Christmas.”
“Even though Luke started it?”
“I threw the first punch. And I almost broke his arm.” Jem looks so surprised that I can’t help but laugh. “I also threatened to run him over with my car.”
“Jesus, Willa.”
“You’d do the same if someone said shit about your family. He said I was crazy to hang out with you because you could die tomorrow and I’d go insane again.”
Jem wraps his other arm around me in a soothing hug. “Now when you say you almost broke his arm…”
“I definitely sprained his wrist.”
“Good girl.” Jem kisses my head again. He says he’s sorry I hurt my hand and thanks me for sticking up for him.
“Jem?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re an idiot.”
He laughs. I think he’s the only one who can take my insults in stride. ‘Go to hell’ is a nice euphemism for ‘I love you,’ but so few people understand that.
Jem’s nose brushes lightly across my cheek. It’s like he’s asking for a kiss.
“We still need to have that talk.”
He sighs like I’ve just told him to go clean his room. “We only have twenty minutes left before class. We won’t have time to finish talking about this if we start now.”
�
��Fine. Tonight?”
“I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“Honestly? Or are you stalling again?”
“You think I’d lie?” he says with a smirk. “Really, I do. Cancer is one of those things that you have to check up on from time to time.”
“Are you worried?”
“No. I’m feeling better.” He smiles as if to prove it. It’s total bullshit. He’s blown me off for days because he’s been feeling so poorly. I refrain from pointing out that feeling lightheaded and shitting his guts out are hardly big improvements on his physical condition. He probably already knows, whether or not he wants to admit it.
“Fine. Tomorrow.”
Jem finishes his juice and lies down to rest before the bell rings. I lay down with him, lending Jem a little bit of warmth. The blanket on the cot is pretty threadbare.
“I’ll try to make it through Soc,” he promises as he lays his head on my shoulder. His arm is around my middle, mooching warmth.
“If you can’t I’ll walk you back here.”
“Thanks,” he murmurs. His cheek feels so cold against my collarbone. He needs to eat something, soon. I consider swinging by the cafeteria one more time before class. He can sip another bottle of juice during the lecture. Jem shivers slightly and I rub circles on his back, trying to warm him up. If he stays here instead of going to Soc, he might as well steal the blanket off the other cot, too.
Jem lifts his head and looks up at me. His expression is troubled. I adjust the blanket to warm him further but he leans away from it—toward me.
Jem kisses me very softly, just like the first time on the porch. We were supposed to talk about this first…
The door of the nurse’s office opens and Jem takes his sweet time pulling away. I have to put a hand on his shoulder and push him back, and by that time it’s too late. The other student in the door is watching us with red cheeks.
“Um…is the nurse here?” she squeaks. I don’t know this girl, but I’ve seen her before. She’s a freshman, skinny and still suffering through the first awkward stage of puberty.
“She’ll be back soon.” I get off the cot and swat Jem away when he reaches to take my hand. “Are you sick?”
She bursts into tears. How do I know it’s a Monday? I guide her to a chair and make her take deep breaths. She looks perfectly healthy to me. The nurse’s office is pretty sparse, but all the basic equipment is here. I ask if she came here for an icepack or bandage and she just sniffles and shakes her head.
“Do you need anything before the nurse gets back? Water, maybe?” I pass her the Kleenex box to wipe her nose.
She takes out a sheet of notepaper and writes the problem down, too embarrassed to just say it. I go to the supply cabinet and dig through the drawers of gauze and towels. The school must keep some feminine supplies around…
The only pad I find is thick enough to soak up the entire yearly rainfall of the British Isles. I can’t believe any woman could bleed enough to need this and still survive. I give it to the freshman and she takes it into the washroom, still sniffling.
“She okay?” Jem asks from behind the room divider.
“Shut up, Jem.”
She calls through the door, “I have a question.” She wants to know where she’s supposed to stick the adhesive tabs on the sides. I can’t believe that’s an actual question and want to tell her to take a wild guess, but that would be mean. I answer her question and Jem snickers behind the divider. Jackass.
The girl emerges a few minutes later looking flustered. I have to assure her that the giant pad isn’t visible through her jeans to get her to calm down, and send her away with the rest of the Kleenex box. Poor kid.
Jem gets up and shuffles around to the other side of the divider, weary but smiling. We have to leave for class soon.
“Do you think she’ll tell anyone what she saw?” He nods to the cot behind him.
“No. Then she’d have to explain what she was doing in the nurse’s office to begin with.”
He nods, satisfied that I’m probably right. The freshman will be too embarrassed to admit that she was ever in here, let alone that she saw anything. “We’ll talk,” he says. “Promise. Tomorrow.”
“I believe you.”
*
I finish my homework when I get home, and when I head downstairs to make dinner I find company in the house. Luke is at the kitchen table, sporting a black eye, a fat lip, a tensor support, and talking to Frank like everything is just fine and dandy. They’re discussing plans for an overnight fishing trip with Doug and Mr. Thorpe.
“Hey Willa,” Luke says. He sounds so cheerful, like I didn’t beat the living shit out of him last night.
“What happened to your face?” I challenge him.
“Boys being boys,” Frank says with a smirk. Luke has already lied to him.
“Do you not know how to block a punch?”
Luke gives me a look that tells me not to push my luck. I suppose he thinks I owe him now, since he lied to my brother and covered my ass. No harm in being delusional.
I fry up some fish for supper. It makes Frank happy, and after the dishes are done I don’t linger. I don’t want to give Luke any opportunities, so I head out. It’s as good a night as any to volunteer at the hospital.
*
“Pick up, it’s me.” I lift my head and look at the clock. It’s one o’clock in the morning and I really have to change that ringtone. And I actually mean it this time.
I pick up the phone. “Mmmph?”
“Help me.” I’m wide-awake and sitting up with one foot on the floor before I realize I’ve moved.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not working.” The pain in Jem’s voice is so palpable it gives me chills.
“What’s not working?” My bare feet hit the carpet. There are jeans on the back of my desk chair.
“Heartbeat,” he answers shortly. Oh God, he’s hurting.
“Take another dose.” He still has an open prescription for Oxycontin. He can take as many as he needs until he’s ready to be off painkillers, which he obviously isn’t. The zipper on this sweater is stuck.
“Can’t. Not till five.”
“Take it. You’re in pain—you need it.”
“I’d have to wean off it again.” Jem blows out a sigh that breaks with a wince of pain. I’ve had this conversation before.
My keys bite into the skin of my bare hand.
“Then you’ll wean off them again. You need it now. Take it.” Before I lose my mind, please.
“Please, just help me. I don’t want to take—”
“I can’t help you.” I want to. “There’s no shame in it.” My voice cracks as I repeat myself. “You need…you need to take another dose, okay?”
“Willa…” I shut the car door and Jem’s breathing changes. “Don’t come over.”
“I’m not.” What a ridiculous thing to say. Then I realize that I’m sitting in my car, in the driveway, and Frank’s bedroom light just came on. I even have one hand poised above the ignition slot.
I drop my keys on the passenger seat. “Just take your medicine, okay?”
“Please, just…talk. I don’t know. Keep my mind off it. Please.”
It hurts more to cry quietly than it does to sob, but I don’t want him to hear me. I think he does anyway. “Um…” I’ve got nothing else, so I sing. It’s an old Dutch lullaby, one that Oma sang to me when I was a kid and needed soothing. I don’t know what the words mean and I can’t remember the third verse so I repeat the second, voice wobbling with emotion until I run out of verses.
Frank opens the car door and demands to know what the hell I’m doing. I push his hand away.
“Are you crying?”
“I’m sorry,” Jem says.
“Take another dose.”
“Just a few more hours.”
I can’t fucking stand it. I hang up on him and dial his house number. It’s Ivy that picks up. She sounds worried by the lateness of my call
.
“Jem needs another dose. Force him if you have to.” I hang up on her too, drop my head against the steering wheel, and fall thoroughly to pieces.
Tuesday
Jem isn’t at school today. I find myself thankful for that. If he’s not here it means he’s at home resting, and I don’t have to look at him and think of last night. He’s so stubborn, just like Tessa was. I used to slip small amounts of powdered painkillers into her food on the worst days, but most of the time she caught me. She could tell when she started to get high and I would get scolded.
Tessa was stoned—not my fault—when the hospital’s social worker first brought up the DNR paperwork. Tessa couldn’t have located her feet at that point. Mom was still convinced that Tessa was going to live, but my sister just chuckled and said she didn’t want machines doing her living for her. “I’d much rather you just held a pillow over my head,” she said. And thus began another fight.
Holding a pillow over her head probably would have been a cleaner way to go.
I’m in a lousy mood when lunch rolls around. I arrive at the table and everyone suddenly stops talking. The hell? Diane has a mean smirk on and looks away from me with a snicker.
“What? Do I have ink on my face?” I was chewing on my pen in class…
Paige makes a very conspicuous change of subject, leaving me to wonder what they were saying about me. I have this paranoid feeling that Luke might have said something, but how would the rumor have gotten around my school? Luke doesn’t even go here.
I tell myself to stop being a twit and put the whole thing out of my mind. Whatever Diane is smirking about, it probably isn’t worthy of my attention.
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